Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, July 20, 1882, Image 1
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' VOL. 28. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 2Q, 1882. NO. 29.
j&Iecied f ?(trg.
UNSPOKRNPRAYER.
BY MARGARET J. PRESTON.
Too tired?too worn to pray,
I can but fold my hands,
Entreating in a voiceless way,
Of htm who understands
How flesh and heart succumb?
How will sinks, weary?weak.
Dear Lord, my languid lips are dumb,
See what I cannot speak.
Just as the wearied child,
Hirough nobbing pain opprest,
Drops, hushing all its wailing wild,
? Upon its mother's breastSo
on Thy bosom I
Would cast mv speechless prayer,
Nor doubt that >Tbon wilt let me lie
In trustful weakness there:
And though no conscious thought
Before me rises clear,
The prayer of worldless language wrought;
: 'Then yet will deign to hear;
For when at best I plead?
1*7mw onirit ttuifh?
?? nab o? "K...
I only aai the bruised reed,
And Thou the breathing breath.
f he feller.
i^OT ANI) DIMPLES.
AN ENGINEER'S STORY.
I was off work that week and found myself
at a loss what to do witli the time. It was so
mid not to be whirling along till the fields and
trees and pretty little cottages and snug gardens
seemed flying by in a wild dance. It's a
singular thing to be always looking at vanishing
things, and yet, jf I was inclined to mor,
alize, I might say that life is made up of it for
every one, though not in the same way it is for
an engineer. But I had some pretty steady
pictures in my mind, and they did not seem to
disappear?a vision of a dear little cottage of
my own and a sweet-faced woman who would
call me husband, and, perhaps, a golden-haired
toddler who would run out to meet me when I
went home. Naturally, I thought a good deal
of this 011 my off week. It was holiday time,
too, and the stores were full of suggestions of
happiness. I used to stare at the big dolls
jtwI wish t hiid snmfl one to surprise with one,
or those wonderful Noah's arks with the animals
always tumbling out of the door. I was
in a sort of reverie of this kind one eveuiug
when I heard a sweet voice say :
"Oh, there's that poor vagrant dog again.
I wish I could make it a merry Christm;is for
him."
"What a queer girl you are, Dorothy. Here
you haven't got a decent suit to your back,
and you're wishing for the dog instead of
yourself. I think Miss Mangles might give
you a Christmas present."
"Ha, ha !" the musical tones sang out?
"imagine it ! Why, the idea would paralyze
her ; but I shall be eighteen next week, and
then I'll be free to earn wages, and one of the
first things I'll get will be a dark-blue serge
suit like that."
I turned and looked at the speakers. The
. one called Dorothy was a pretty, fair, slender
thing, very shabbily dressed, with only a thin
sliawl on, though the night was bitterly cold.
She was stooping to pat the most forlorn specimen
of a vagalxmd dog I had ever seen. I
^ am not very fond of dogs myself, but there was
something of dumb misery in the eyes that
this one lifted to the young girl's face that
V went to my heart. The. companion, a rather
V coquettish and dressy young person, was grow^
ing impatient.
"Come," she said, "you'll freeze here. You
can't du anything for him."
"Yes, I can. I have ten cents. I will buy
him some liver for a Christmas present."
"You goose I and you might buy a ribbon
for your hair."
. "I shall enjoy this more. You don't mind ;
there's a butcher's round the corner ; see, the
j>oor fellow understands! What speaking eyes,
and how he wags his tail."
The dog did indeed seem to vibrate with
iov from head to foot. He lost a little of the \
wretched, vagabond air as he trotted by
Dorothy's side, and gazed up at her with something
in his eyes that looked like a soul, only
they say dogs have none?who knows ?"
;'There now, you poor, forlorn doggy," said
Dorothy, as she came out of the butcher's with
a brown paper parcel in her hand. ';It would
be better to keep it for two meals I suppose, j
but I can't, and you shall be happy for once in !
your miserable life."
The dog snapped at the delicious gift with I
very little regard for the hand that offered it ; j
but when it was swallowed he seemed to be-1
think himself, and fawned upon her by way of
thanks and apology, and he seemed resolved to
follow her.
I did the same at a little distance, and I saw
the young girl stop before a small house on i
which was a large sign '"Miss Mangles, Fashionable
French Dressmaker." The vagabond j
dog seemed much inclined to go in, and Do-;
rothy's distress was great at having to turn ,
him away with any degree of severity. I had .
discovered that she would not hurt the feel-1
ings even of a dog.
' * * * - j - l n..a I
VViien me animai compreiienueu at ia?t mat i
he could not go into the house, and that the
piece of liver comprehended all his happiness,
he gave one reproachful howl and went down
the steps with his tail in a very depressed condition.
He did not go very far, but took his
station by the nearest lamp-post, and fixed his
melancholy eyes upon the house that had
swallowed up the wondrous being who had i
given him a glimpse of happiness.
I went over and stood by him with a strange j
sense of sympathy and companionship.
"We both like her, don't we ?" 1 said "and
we want to see her again, eh, old fellow V"
The dog did not look at me, but he feebly
wagged his tail, and I left him there. I went
back to the place where I had first heard the
sweet voice, and in the window near by I
caught sight of the pretty blue serge costume.
An inspiration came to 'me. Dorothy should
have a Christmas present after all. I bought i
it and had it addressed "To Miss Dorothy, at i
Miss Mangles'." I didn't know the rest of j
her name, but it went all right, for I saw i
her wear it on Christmas day to church, and
the sight wanned my heart. I did not rest j
till I knew her, and 1 accomplished this
through a friend, for whom Miss M.iugles j
worked. Dorothy brought home the dresses, j
and I made such good use of my opportunities ;
that before the roses bloomed I had won her
and the day was fixed.
"But there's one thing you must promise," |
she said as her head nestled slyly on my shoulder.
"As we are to have a little cottage of
our own, I want to give my poor Trauip a!
home. He knows me now, and waits for me
every day."
"Tramp is welcome to a home?that's a j
good name for him?but I hope you do not j
marry me for the sake of accommodating the !
dog, Dot V" I said.
I called her Dot because she was too little
* and girlish and pretty for her longer name.
She laughed.
"Not entirely; but I have a corner in my
heart for him?that's a fact. But only think
what a home means to me. I who have never
had anything but the corner of the lot, where
the roof slants so that I cannot stand up, and
then there is Miss Mangles nagging me from
morning till night."
"I shall have to learn to nag," I said, "for
fear you'll miss it too much."
We were very silly and happy together, and
when Dot took possession of her new home
she was wild with delight. No queen on her
throne could have been prouder than my little
wife the first night she sat at the little round
table and poured out tea for me. And as for
Tramp?for lie had been duly taken to the
cottage?I never saw such rapture in a dog's
eyes. He walked about and surveyed his domain
with an important air?he really appeared
to assume the dignity of proprietorship at
once?and had set at human tramps who
dared to pause at the gate and look into our
little Eden. Dot had stipulated with one of
the men who brought the furniture for a good
bath for him, to which Tramp made little objection,
evidently regarding it as some mystic eer
emony of induction to the new home. When
washed and combed he was quite a handsome
fellow, of spaniel breed, with long silky ears,
and very wistful brown eyes. He followed
his mistress with dumb admiration, but noticed
me scarcely at all.
"He will be a sort of companion for you
when I am busy," { said, quite glad of his
presence, although I had never cared for dogs.
And so Tramp shared the little home that
grew dearer to me every day. When, one
morning, a new life woke in it. and a baby's
cry stirred the echoes, he looked very much
excited and puzzled. He had been quite unhappy
at the disappearance of his mistress
from the table, and had taken up his station
on the rug at her door. I, who was feeling
the new happiness of fatherhood, felt benevolent
to all the world.
"Tramp is much exercised in his mind," I
said. "My darling, shall' I let him come in to
see if you are all right V"
"Yes," answered my little Dot, languidly.
"T shall like to see him. and I hope he will ap
prove of the baby."
"If he don't, we must send her to the
Foundling," I said with a happy laugh.
Tramp came in in a very dignilied manner.
Good food and care had improved him wonderfully.
His coat was glossy as silk, and his
clear eyes full of love and .intelligence. He
went to my darling and licked her hand, then
he looked about. His mind was not easy ; he
heard a strange cry.
"Here she is, Tramp," said Dot, uncovering
the little crumpled red morsel; "and you
must love her and take care of her always?do
you hear, sir ?"
What inmost vow Tramp registered as he
stood on his hind legs and calmly surveyed
the odd little sj>ecimen of humanity l>efore
him we can never know, but what we know
is that he was faithful to it even unto death.
"He likes her?see, be is trying to kiss her
in his way. He knows she is ours, and he
adopts her at once I" cried Dot.
After that Tramp made a visit to the room
as loner as Dot stayed there, and the first j
thing baby noticed was the dog moving about
her and wagging his tail slowly. It became 1
a matter of speculation to her, as she grew
older how to get hold of that tail, and the
day she accomplished it such a crow of delight
issued from the little rosebud mouth
that Tramp made no effort to release himself.
From that time he seemed to feel it to be his
duty to bear innumerable woolings, crushing,
huggings, pinches, and every other torture
which an active child of inquiring mind can
indict on an animal.
The baby had been duly carried to the font,
and a very dignified name bestowed on her,
but we never called her anything but Dimples,
for she had two of the dearest little rosy
dents in her round cheeks that ever invited kisses.
I used to tease the child as she grew older, j
"Two holes in her cheeks," I would say.
"What is to be done, mamma ? See, I can j
put my finger in 1 Could we get anything to
fill them up ?"
And then she would look quite indignant
and say:
"Not 'oles?dimps!"
And Dot would answer :
"Fill tliemwith kisses?that's what they are
made for."
Before her third birthday Dimples was the
prettiest little maid imaginable in our eyes,
and even strangers stopi>ed to look at her as
they passed our gate. She had a voice like a
little bird, and could sing several little songs
in her own way. When she forgot the right
words she supplied words of her own of the
oddest kind. Generally Tramp figured largely
in her improvisations. I had promised to
bring her a doll that would open and shut its
eyes for lier birtnuay present, .aim uie u.iys
were counted till the time. I had to explain
to her how you pulled a string and the doll
went to sleep, and then what you did to wake
it up. The wonder about it never ceased, and
we had to make her believe for several nights
that she went to sleep in the same way. Mamma
touched an imaginary string, and the blue
eyes would close at once.
Dot was almost as much of a child about
that birthday. She had made the little thing
a new dress?a wonderful arrangement of
tucks and embroidery?which she showed ine
in triumph.
"It seems to me she's old enough for a polonaise,"
I said, laughing ; for I had caught a
few terms from Dot.
"Much you know about a polonaise," my
wife answered, scornfully. "You haven't
found out the difference yet between a basque
and an overskirt."
I looked back after I started, and I saw that
Dot had lifted Dimples up as high as possible,
and she was calling after me, "Bing it in a
boty, papa, and shoes on, and parasol."
1 smiled at the Hottentot idea suggested ; |
only shoes and parasol, as they say, is a cos- j
tume sometimes seen on one of the belles out i
for calling. I found a chance to get the doll,
though I was very busy all day ; and I was
foolish enough to take several peeps at it my-!
self when I had a moment. There was also a j
wonderful parasol, trimmed with lace, and a j
fairy-like pair of boots, buttons and all. I i
could imagine Dimples1 joy and the look in |
her blue eyes when she saw it all. We were j
late that night. There was a detention at
Grafton, and all sorts of things seemed to j
hold us back, so that it was nearly ten o'clock j
as we were approaching Birkenhead. "Poor
little Dimples will be sound asleep," I thought. !
"Dot could not keep her up till this hour. J
We'll have to keep her birthday to-morrow." I
It was a moonless, starless night, and we !
were within a mile of Birkenhead, when I saw j
something before me on the track?a dim
shape, that 1 soon settled was a dog. He was
howling dismally, but did not seem dismayed at
the approaching engine, for he kept hisground.
"What the deuce does he mean," I thought,
impatiently. There was time to stop the engine,
but I was not going to add to the delay
for a dog.
lie did not move, and we drove on. He uttered
the most heartrending cry as we drove
down upon him, but stood firm, and met Ills
deayi. As we neared him?when we almost
touched him?I saw there was something
white on the track. In one sickening throb of
terror I took it all in, a child asleep? my child.
Oh, God !?for the dog was Tramp! Yes, it
was so. In the drear blank that followed, I
scarcely knew what was done?who helped me
to my feet?who brought in the little crushed
body, so daintily decked in the birthday robe?
who dragged poor Tramp, the hero, the martyr,
from the blood-stained track. I felt like a
murderer. I had had no pity. I Had thought
it is only a dog, and rushed 011, when the poor
faithful creature was telling me as well as he
could that the little wife had fallen asleep
waiting for me?that Dimples, strangely excited
at the thought of the coining doll, had
let herself out of one of the doors, and Tramp
had anxiously followed her, till she sat down
dead with fatigue, on the track. How he had
tried to draw her away, but he was not strong
enough, and so he had taken his place beside
her and waited his doom. Poor, faithful creature?faithful
unto death.
I could not shed a tear when I saw my darling,
with her bright curls flecked with blood,
i,?. (iruoi!tttitinori !iiill her blue eves
I illlll 1IV1 I'ICtt) UlV...).;u,.uvx.,
closed for ever. There was a weight on my
heart that would not let me weep, but when
the body of the faithful friend was brought
home and buried under the willow in the gar1
den, as poor Dot begged, I found the tears
; coining fast enough. We keep his grave green.
; As for our darling, we know she is safe with
i the angels, and we have learned with time to
! *ay"Well
done of God to have the lot?
And give her all the sweelnosH,
To uk the empty room, and cot ?
To her the heavens' completeness.
To u.s the grave?to her the rows?
The mystic palm-trees springing?
To us the silence of the house.
To her the choral singing.''
mmmmmmtmmmmmmmmmmm
j UgrThe swiftest bird on the wing is undoubtedly,
the frigate bird, or eagle of the sea,
j which often measures sixteen feet from tip to
| tip of the wings. It hovers at <111 elevation of
1 10,0b0 feet whan a storm sweeps over the
j ocean. If it wishes to travel, says an eminent
i French naturalist, it can almost annihilate
space. It can breakfast in America and dine in
Africa. This bird reposes 011 its great motionless
wings, literally sleeping on the bosom of
the air.
|^iscdlau?ous Reading. |
Correspondence of the Yorkville Enqnirer.
NOTES OF TRAVEL.
Washington, July 15.?Several days could
be pleasantly ?pent in this beautiful city, visiting
the various public buildings and grounds,
the Botanical Garden, the art galleries and
many other objects of curiosity and interest?
and they are certainly not a few in number?
and all are well calculated to impress the
memory if not improve the heart. I shall not,
however, attempt to describe in detail any of
the objects that came under my observation
during a short stay in this city.
Suffice it to say that our own Capital City
can no longer be sneered at, as once it was, by
a proud son of the Old Dominion as a city of
magnificent distances and great pretensions.
It is far the opposite to-day. It is now one of
the most beautiful, and I think in many re^
spects decidedly the most lovely and attractive
of any city in the Union ; a city where any
one of ordinary taste and acquirements can
spend a month, or even longer, with 110 small
degree of pleasure and satisfaction, if not
decided profit.
There are doubtless many art galleries, public
grounds, gardens and buildings that are
more extensive, costly and attractive than
those of Washington; but I am sure that there
r ? " ? li-" in flm nrrvflrl
are lew 11 any jjuuiiu uuuuiu^ n> i>uc nwm
that excel our National Capitol, or the new
war and navy buildings now in course of erection,
and which may yet require years for their
completion. Indeed, I doubt much if the day
will ever come when there will not stiil be
something to do on our Capitol, as on the
Church of St. Peter's, at Rome. The dome is
the most impressive feature of the building,
and ranks fifth in height and size among the
notable domes of the world. It is 3(30 feet
high above {-he west gate of the park. Its diameter
is 138? feet, and it is pronounced by
those competent to judge, to be one of the
most symetrical, graceful structures in the
world. Its octagonal or stylobate base rises
93 feet above the basement lloor of the capitol. 1
As it leaves the top line of the building it consists
of a peristyle, 1*24 feet in diameter, of
thirty-six iron-fluted columns "H teet mgn. ,
{ Each of tiie.se columns weighs six tons, i
Above tliern is a balustrade. Above the balI
ustrade begins the dome, whicli converges up,
ward to an apex, surmounted by a lantern fifteen
feet in diameter and fifty feet high, which
is surrounded by a peristyle and crowned by
! a bronze statue of Freedom. This statue,
j designed by Crawford, was raised and placed
in its present position on the 11th of December,
1803, and was the occasion of a grand
civic and military demonstration ; though if I .
remember rightly none of our Southern inilita- i
ry organizations were invited. The view from
the dome is magnificent beyond description.
The dimensions of the dome and the elabo- J
rateness of detail in all its parts, its height .
and massive weight may give a faint concep- ]
tion of the extensiveness of the building it
surmounts. A minute description of the 1
building, however, is unneccessary to the pi es- J
ent purpose.
But to give the reader an idea of the elabo- ,
rate, costly and artistic skill in which the interior
of the Capitol is being ornamented, i
some forty years ago Congress authorized the 1
employment of a celebrated Italian painter?
Brumidi, I think?to come to America and or- |
nament the interior of the building. Soon ]
after his arrival he set to work on his life-task, (
and continued sedulously to employ his pencil '
and brush, until two or three years ago he was 1
called on to desist from his labors and cross '
the dark river Styx with Charon, the oldest of j
all ferrymen. And yet at his death, though i
he worked continuously almost until the day i
* - J. i ..li? \
lie died, the work ot ornamenting was nor nan 1
completed. Still, what has been finished is by J
for too grand and beautiful to admit of this
great work of art to stop, and Congress very ,
properly corn missioned another artist of equal 1
fame to continue the work. But when it will 1
be completed it is impossible for any one now 1
to tell, or even conjecture. The work is so J
elaborate, complicated and highly artistic that
the painting of necessity progresses slowly.
For my own part, after beholding the match*
??~ 1 ^ fl-vnwAo fi-no/iAoa 'Uwl ?lp_ I
less ufuuneo in uic iiwtuu i?iu i?... ,
gorical representations, I cannot conceive how J
any mere inortal'can manage to accumulate a ,
stock of patience sufficiently large to enable j
him to acquire such exquisite skill, and then \
keep 011 continuously employing his mind and i
hands, for so many slowly-revolving years in '
one spot, and ornamenting comparatively so j
I small a space. Nevertheless, though slowly, (
; the artist continues to apply his pencil and ]
brush, and the work progresses in about the j
j same ratio as rises the monument near by to <
! the Father of his Country. I imagine that it i'
! will be several years yet before it can lie said j
I that either of these great works is completed.
But many and great as are the attractions of
j our Capital City, other engagements admonish i
j me that I must hie myself away, promising \{
I another letter from a more northern clime. i'
(tCILFOUD. '
..
TIIA I'S.
Man has been called a tool-making animal,
and the first tool was probably a trap. I do
i not believe that our primogenitors were car- i
I niverous. Long before they began to covet j
! Ilesh tliev probably hankered alter eggs and :
' milk, and had to devise means for catching 1
j the creatures to supply these. They had no j
| need of elaborate contrivances. Experience '
i makes savages the best hunters, and it alone ;
j can explain their success in capturing animals j
whose cunning defies the best inventions of j
the amateur sportsmen. With the simplest of j
all imaginable traps?an elastic stick with a '
noose?the Patagouian nomads catch hares, !
foxes, wolves and the shyest of all American j
quadrupeds, the mountain vicuna. Von j
Tschudi in;ule the acquaintance of a Chilian j
farmer who had passed several years in the I
Andes before he succeeded in catching a live j
vicuna. He had imitated the traps of the In
I dians, their method of fixing them in the sand I
I in the river banks, their precaution in oblit-1
j erating the traces of their footsteps, but all in \
j vain, till an Indian renegade revealed the se- j
i cret?namely, that the vicunas invariably s'e- i
. !.... n,,.;.. .11'iiiL'inir.ii1:k*pk where there is an i
IfOK lliVU Mini ?*lli0 ? .. .... v
| audible ripple in the current of the river, per-!
j haps for the same reason that cows prefer a
j brook to a pond, and a running to a sluggish i
i creek. The murmuring of the stream seemed !
: to suggest the idea of purer and cooler water; I
and when the current was slow the Indians i
I contrived to produce a ripple by an artificial j
! obstruction.
Nearly every animal has some way or other i
' that may be utilized for its capture. Minks i
: have a queer fashion for rummaging a pile of j
| dry leaves, and the wild t urkey can he taken !
i in an open trap, because, for some, reason, the. i
| idea of going backward never suggests itself to j
| his mind. A Kentucky "turkey-pen" is siin- j
; ply a ditch with a roof of logs and ending in a j
cul-de-sac, but opened at the other end. To
this opening turkeys are allured by spriuk- j
I lings of corn or cranberries, and, entering the 1
! ditch where the bait is scattered more liberal- j
j ly, they follow it until they reach the ne plus :
; ultra eritt ; and it is a decided fact such half
captives will poke around their pen for weeks ;
| without discovering the means of exit. j
The female puma has a marvelous talent i
I for hiding her lair, but the trap|>er knows
I enough if she has torn her prey, for to that
! place she will return again and again, even
j after ihe carcass has been gnawed into a
smooth skeleton, .Tackalls, too, are fond o
revisiting the scenes of their former revels
some animals would seem to be endowed witl
the gift that supjiorted Cardinal de Ilatz ii
his exile?tlie fact of "luxuriating on recol
lections." In Europe where new preserve
have often to be' stocked with game birds
hundreds of partridges are sometimes caugh
alive by this simple device. Near the haunt
of the game a brush-edge with an openinj
here and there is set across a field and oi
either side of the transit-holes the trapj>e
fastens a wire noose. No bait is needed
partridges never fly over a hedge if they cai
cr.iwl through, their motiYes being probabl;
their general reluctance to betray their wlierea
bouts by taking in an oj>en field. Hunto<
coonies, as well as fats and mice, are likewisi
almost sure to make for the next hole, incur
ring any risk for the-sake of momentary con
cealment. fn chasing a rat around the room
much trouble can be saved by twisting an oh
newspaper in the form-of a sugnrloaf bag am
placing it on the floor alongside tiie wall. I
the outlaw can be induced to approach it fron
the open side, he will dash in with a squeak o
delight and can be captured before he discov
ers that bis harbor of .refuge has been block
aded.?LippinroL K ^
WOMANHOOD AND PROVERBS.
There is one proverb in "Don Quixote'
wherein all the old high-bred Spanish courtli
ness (which was quite a different thing fron
the Teutonic reference for womanhood) ii
briefly and characteristically expressed. W<
cannot resist quoting it in the original: E
consejo <lc la mujer es poco, >/ el que no toma e.
toco. "The counsel of a woman is not worth
much, but he who does not take it is wortl
nothing."
In Puttenham's "Art of English Poetry,"}
curious and interesting work, published about
the end of the sixteentli century, the author
speaking of the tender heartedness of the fe
male sex in general, alludes to the comraor
proverb, "A woman will weepe for pitie to se*
a gosling goe barefoote." There must have
been a touch of real humor about the origina
tor of this ancient proverb, ridiculing, but
nevertheless loving, the prodigality of tender
ness which caused him such amusement.
Among the notes to the third chapter of his
"History of England," LordMacaulay allude*
to the vulgar proverb, "that the gray mare i>
the better horse," attributing its rise to the
preference generally given, in the seventeentl
century, to the gray mares of Flanders, ovei
the finest coach horses of England.
In George Herbert's "Jacula Prudentum,'
there are many proverbs which are descriptive
of the lives and qualities of women. Among
others we select the following : "Empty chain
bers make foolish maids," a proverb which
like so many others, only expresses a half truth
for we are willing to believe that some verj
wise little maidens have grown into woman
hood like moorland blossoms, which only the
grouse, and the adder, and the humble bee
have looked em ; but "foolish" is no doubt
used here in its slighter significance of bashful
in which case the prove-b is of course a true
one.
"A fairwifeandafronties castle breed quar
rels" reads like the sigh of some baronial Ben
edict, who fruitlessly thirsted after quietnesi
in the weary ages of warfare. "Mills and
wives ever want" was 110 doubt the miserly
conclusion of some mediaeval Harpagon : om
can almost recognize the snap witli which it
was uttered in the laconic brevity of tin
phrase. "Who lets l\is wife go to every feast,
and His horse drink at every water, shall neither
have good wife nor good horse" was possikl..
4-lw? aw/imIiuiHam r\f ? moi-f inof urlm l*?i.
Uiy Lilt; .ICU-CALUI jKlllwu Ul CI JIIIH 1/nn.u, Ii?u IV
illy objected to the extravagance of his helpmeet's
festal garments, but succeeded in perwading
himself and his acquaintances that he
was a very pattern of magnanimity, exercising
i judicious rule over the morals of his submissive
spouse.
"In choosing a wife and buying a sword one
aught not to trust another." Here one detects
a shade of bitterness; the proverb was
probably spoken by one who had tried the same
experiment as Milton (in his third marriage)
but without Milton's good fortune ; possibly
jwing to the selection of a less discreet adviser.
"In the husband-wisdom, in the wife
gentleness." Ilere we recognize a bachelor's
ideal ; it was evidently composed by a young
man who was well assured of his personal sapience,
and desirous of discovering in his "better
half" the high priestess who should assist
liin in burning perpetual incense before the
shrine of that celestial wisdom.
"Choose a house made and a wife to make,"
laid some strong-minded gentleman, who llat;ered
himself that he had moulded the character
of the girl whom he had married, who very
probably all the while had gained entire ascenlency
over him in essentials by battering his
weak point of moulding her in non-essentials.
The. Queen.
Egyptian Mummies.?As for the Theban
P..11..I, I,,,,,!!,,,, ;a Ilia liorpfliliirv vn.
ICiKllI, IIJ UUliiJ J ~I1 till l | li^ ig i ML' ...
cation. lie passes Ijm life in digging, finding,
liidiug and selling ; his home is an einpt>
sepulchre; his shirt is made of mummy cloth :
tiis childrens' playthings and his wife's ornaments
are spoils from the dead. Ilis forefathers
have subsisted for generations by this
equivocal industry, and his descendants will
subsist by it for who shall say how many generations
to come V Even now after centuries
of spoliation, the soil needs only to be dug a
little deeper in order that the spade may strike
a lower stratum of graves. And if. this be
true of a mine so long and persistently worked
as the neeropollis of Thebes, what must bt
the sepulchral wealth of thousands of otliei
burial fields, some partially and some wholly
unexplored ? To this day the mountain ranges
and shifting sands of Egypt conceal some
hundreds of millions of mummies, Dr. Birch?
counting from B. C., 2001 >, when mummification
was supposed to have been first practiced,
down to A. D. 700, when it may be
said to have ceased?calculates the approximate
number of bodies embalmed during thai
period at 420,000,000. But recent explorations
among the pyramids of Sakkara, and
the discovery of the mummied corpse of King
Merena (Vlth Dynasty,) must henceforth com
pel us to ascribe a much earlier date for the
begiiiningof the art. I would venture, in fact
to cany it back to B. C., 3800, or even to B,
C. 4000, so assigning a period of 4700 yean
for the observance of the process, and approximately
estimating the gross number of mum
mies of all epochs at not less than 713,000,
uu'i?a giganuc ioiai. 1 eiwoen 11, i? it-mirm
bered that the. rites of mummification wen
performed not only for Egyptian man, wonnu
and child, gentle or simple, lmt for every
stranger, no matter what his nationality 01
religion, for every captive, for every slave
for every crimnal, for every leper and outcast
this presumed total of 731,000,000 falls proba
bly far short of the. actual number?Harper*i
Muyazinc.
A Lapland Snow-Stokm.?In one of his
journeys in a sleigh drawn by reindeer, Pau
du Chaillu was overtaken by a Lapland snow
storm. Ilis route carried him across a rougl
mountainous country, where the wind blew
with the force of a hurricane and the mercury
approached zero. lie says :
The line snow Hew so thickly that at time!
the atmosphere became almost dark. I conic
not even see my own animals. The line snow
dust was getting through the open spaces ol
the mask into my eyes.
Thy small particles then adhered to eacl
other, gathering on my moustache, eyebrows
eyelashes and hair, and at last forming j
mask of ice which blinded me.
Every few minutes I had to break this thai
I would be able to see. The ice was scarce
ly removed when it would form again, causing
me great pain whenever I broke it.
.Suddenly through the mist I discovered whal
appeared to be the figures of reindeer am
men. They werestandingstill, afraid to mov<
farther, and my animal stopped in their midst
I shall never forget how the storm raged a:
we lay by a rock with our hacks to the wind
For three hours we remained still, frequently
almost buried, the thermometer being at fif
teen degrees below zero.
The description answers well to a deseriptioi
of a blizzard in the Northwest, in our own
country, in which the wind pulverizes tin
snow and drives it with fearful force over tin
open prairies.
f THE LAST OF SUMTER'S ME\.
} It was a dreary day in January, 1849 when,
1 at three o'clock in the .afternoon, I arrived at
1 Mr. Leslie's plantation within two miles of
King's Mountain battle ground, in South Car8
oliua. I had traveled with a single horse
' and light wagon the rough road that skirted
c the foot of King's Mountain. The heavens
s were shrouded with clouds, and melting snow
' and mud more than fetlock deep had jaded
1 my horse. I explained to Mr. Leslie the ob[
ject of my journey, expressed a desire to visil
' the battle ground that afternoon, and asked
1 him to show me the way.
P "Your beast is tired," he said, "I have two
" good saddle-horses in the stable."
' They were brought out. We rode to the
'* ' C-.l.l I.JIln viau.0,1
ISIIUOUS 11C1U uiiiuji^ wuuucu jjkiyci-iijikj, ncmu
the topography of that strange battle-ground,
made two or three sketches, and returned at
: twilight. William McElwee, Mr. Leslie's
j father-in,law, had just arrived. He was a
' stout built man with an unmistakable Scotch
. face, flowing white hair, blue eyes, and as
1 vigorous in appearance as a hale man of sixty.
1 lie was the last survivor of Sumter's famous
partisan band in the old War for Independence.
His reminiscences were the theme of
the evening's conversation.
"When did you join Sumter ?" I inquired.
"Just before Clinton took Charleston, and
' Cornwallis began to overrun the State. South
* Carolinians were discouraged, and hundreds
1 took British protection. Sumter would not
i yield, but retired into North Carolina. I
followed him. There he gathered a little
f band of exiles and we returned. Sumter call*
ed for recruits, but few came until we struck
1 the camp of wicked Houck one hot night in
1 July, killed him, and scattered his whole army
to the winds. Our party numbered only oiu
1 hundred and thirty all told. Timid men took
; courage, and joined the standard of Sumter,
i Governor Rutledge made him a brigadier and
I was commissioned a lieutenant."
J "Indeed I was. AVe struck British and
\ Tory parties here and there so uuexpectedlj
' and sharply that Cornwallis declared that Sumter
was the greatest plague in the country.
" Before the end of July our little army numbered
about six hundred, and was daily increasing.
Sumter felt strong, and determined to attack
5 a British and Tory force sit Rocky Mount, si
* little west of the Catawba'river. They were
| only about two hundred and fifty strong, and
were stsitioned in three log-houses near the
1 foot of the slope, and surrounded by ubnti*,
1 sis the French csill it?a row of felled trees.
, laid brush end forward. We had no cannon.
so we got to the top of the hill, filled an old
' wagon with dry brush and straw from tin
' (ibutis, fired it, and sent the blazing msiss down
the slope against the log-houses. The British,
; seeing their peril, hoisteu a wnue nag. wi
; that moment a shower of rain put out the
lire and the little garrison defied us. We could
[ do nothing, so we withdrew, crossed the
J Catawba, and pushed on toward Hanging
' Rock."
"What caused your defeat there ?" I in?
quired.
; "Rum, sir!" said the old soldier emphatically.
"Rum, the deadliest enemy of mankind.
You see, we had whipped the British
and Tories completely and sent them running
l like frightened deer, leaving their camp and
\ all behind. Their camp was tempting, and
our men, instead of pursuing, engaged in plundering.
They drank freely of the liquor found
[ in the British quarters. Our force became
disordered, and when the British rallied, two1
thirds of our men were too drunk to do duty.
With about two hundred men, brave Sumter
charged upon the enemy; but seeing a reinforcement
for them coming, we retreated with
some prisoners and booty."
| "You were hard pushed at Fishing Creek,"
, I remarked.
; "Indeed we were; surprised?badly surprised."
"I thought Sumter was always wide awake,"
I said.
. "So he was; but accidents will happen in
| the best of families, you know. Sumter had
| been sent by Gates to intercept a British es.
cort from Ninety-Six. We captured more
than forty wagons, loaded with clothing andstores,
and were returning to the Wateree,
| when we heard of the defeat of Gates, near
, Camden. So we went up the river about
; forty miles, and halted for needed rest near
the mouth of Fishing Creek. We did not
dream that an enemy was near. At noon on
<i imf a iiinmt. d;?v while our arms were stack
? IIWU ??J1
ed, the horses were grazing, and more than
half the men were asleep under the trees, the
fiery Tarleton, with his cavalry, dashed among
us, seized our arms and horses, killed about
one hundred and fifty of our men, and made
three hundred prisoners. Sumter, who seein,
ed never to sleep, seeing his men slaughtered
and dispersed, sprang upon his big white
j horse, and closely followed by myself and a
I drummer-boy with his drum, both on a bay
j mare, fled into North Carolina, nor stopped t
, i until we reached Charlotte. We made a sorry |
figure when we rode into the village. Sumter j
I was without a hat ; I was without a coat; and |
i the drummer boy, sitting astride behind me. I
j was nearly naked, having just come out of
| the creek in which he had been bathing. Our {
horses were without saddles."
"What then V" 1 asked.
' "Action! Only Marion was then in the [
J field with Whigs, in South Carolina. Sumter i
j immediately went to the upper country, where i
: a few of his men who had escaped joined him, |
j and many volunteers flocked to his standard, j
| We were then all mounted, and were soon j
joined by other parties. We had an opportu-;
nity, presently, to show Tarleton that Ameri- >
. j cans could strike heavy blows as well as
. British. lie chased us late in November. \> e ;
\ had encamped at Blackstocks, on the Tiger J
' river in Union district, when Tarleton over- j
took lis with a part of his force. We fought
. | desperately, and at dusk set Tarleton running J
, for life and liberty, leaving about two hundred j
\ of his men on the field, nearly one hundred i
of them dead."
' [have heard there were many brave wo-j
[ men in that region," I observed,
r '"Brave ! Why, they helped the cause al- j
! most as much bs the men ! There were Brace j
> and Rachel Martin, Mrs. Dillard, Dicey Lang- j
stun, and scores of others in that lonely country !
' left at home by the men in arms, and they j
j performed their part in the contest. Grace i
. and Rachel were the young wives of two sons j
. of Mrs. Mautin, of Ninety-Six district, who j
. were in Greene's army. These young women !
. j were with their mother-in-law. One evening i
. they were informed that a British courier, with :
, i two guards, would pass that way with iin- i
: i portant dispatches for a British post beyond.
r j They put on their husbands' clothes, provid-:
j themselves with arms, and lay in ambush j
] ; by the side of the wood, hate in the even- j
11 ing, the courier, and his escort came along,
! iifimii tiio niimir u'ntiipii snddotdv snrancr be- I
> I ""V J n - c j
j fore tliein, presented their weapons, and bade i
j the travelers surrender with their papers, j
I Utterly surprised, they obeyed, and were pa-!
j roled. Returning, they slopped at Mrs. Mar-1
; tin's, and craved accomodations for the night. !
{ On being asked why they returned so soon,
i they said they had been made prisoners by i
two lads, and showed their parole. The j
' young women allowed their captive guests to j
depart the next morning ignorant that their
| captors had entertained thein. The dispatches !
j were sent to Greene." <
' Who was Dicey Langston ?" I inquired. !
j "A girl as brave and patriotic as Joan of ]
i Arc, and not so old?only fifteen or sixteen, j
j She was the daughter of a Whig in i.aureus i
; district, whose son was in my company in Sum- j
i tor's army. She was continually getting val- [
j liable information about the movements of tlie j
j Tories, and informing the Whigs. At one j
! time she heard that Cunningham and his [
i "Bloody Scout" were about to attack a settlej
incut in which her near relatives lived. She
determined to give them warning. Leaving
1 her home near midnight, she sped through ,
1 swamps and thickets, and across running |
< I streams, until she reached the Tiger river, it j
. j was swollen, and the ford was dangerous. .She
r pressed into the river in the darkness, and in
- i the channel, neck-deej>, became confused. Hut j
' she reached the shore, and gave the warning, '
1 | and when the scout came the inhabitants had j
i tied to a place of safety. < )ne day she was cap3
tured by some Tories, and ordered to give in1
formation about a Whig neighborhood from j
j which she had come. She positively refused, j
The leader, placing a pistol at her breast, said,
' Tell, or you shall die in your tracks." She !
snatched oft a long kerchief, which covered i
her neck and bosom, and said, "Shoot me, if j
you dare ! I will not tell." He was about to ;
fire when a companion threw up his hand and
saved the brave girl's life. I might tell you a
hundred stories of our brave women, but it is
getting late."
"Tell me, please," I said, "where were you
at the time of the battle of King's Mountain ?"
"In it," he promptly replied. "I was at
home on parole, and volunteered to resist Ferguson
and his Tories. We met him among
these gravel-hills you saw to-day. He was
killed, and a large portion of his men were
made prisoners. You saw the stone that
marks the place where he fell and was buried."
"Yes, and made this sketch of it," handing
him my rude drawing.
"On that limb," he said, pointing to one on
the tree nearest the memorial stone, "I saw
the Tories hung. They were a murderous
gang, and deserved their fate."
"Did you meet Sumter after tne war t" i
inquired.
"Often. He died only a few years ago, 1832,
when he was almost a hundred years old. I
was at his funeral at his home, South Mount,
near Camden."
Turning to a grand child, Mr. McElwee
said, "It's nine o'clock ; hand me the Bible."
He read a short chapter, a hymn was sung,
and he concluded the simple family worship
with a most impressive prayer.
I bade the venerable man good-night with a
feeling of gratitude for a rich entertainment.
Benmn J. Lommj.
Genius and Talent.?No artistic achievement
is ever the outcome of genius pure and
simple. The creative, instinctive and incalculable
factor may make its presence and operation
most largely and impressively felt, but
in tiie very greatest work, from which it is impossible
to disassociate the idea of inspiration
there is an element which is not inspired?
which belongs to the mechanics rather than
to the dynamics of the intellect, and which is
seen in those portions of the poem or the picture,
or the symphony, which bear witness,
not to that unconscious creation" whose laws
are hidden with the secrets of personality, but
to that conscious construction which laboriously
adapts means to ends. In the highest
find of this complex work the genius may be ome
so potent as to absorb the talent into itself,
so that we may see everywhere the two
elements in union, and cannot say where one
ends and the other begins ; but this is a rare
exnerience. and the more ordinary spectacle is
that of an imperfect amalgamation, or perhaps
of no amalgation at all, the two products
existing side by side in a combination which
is not vital or even chemical, but simply mechanical.
In these instances, whatever error
or imperfection may exist in the work will be
found to inhere in that part of it which owes
its being to talent, for the simple reason that
talent is fallible, while genius is infallible.
Genius is like a sixth sense, and as we are never
deceived by our senses but only by our reasoning
from sensory impressions, so in like
manner the errors to be found in a work of genius
are not errors of genius, but errors caused
by a temporary absence of genius?by a reliance
upon talents for which talent is not
equal, or to which it is only equal by good
luck.?London Spectator.
Cultivate a Sweet Voice.?There is no
power of love so hard to get and keep as a
kind voice. A kind hand is deaf and dumb.
It may be rough in iiesh and blood, yet do the
work of a soft heart, and do it with a soft
touch. But there is no one thing that love so
much needs as a sweet voice to tell what it
means and feels, and it is hard to get it and
keep it in the light tone. One must start in
youth, and be on the watch night and day, at
work and play, to get and keep a voice that
shall speak at all times the thought of a kind
heart. But this is the time when a sharp voice
is most apt to be got. You often hear boys
and girls say words at play with a quick, sharp
tone, as if it were the snap of a whip. When
one of them gets vexed you will hear a voice
that sounds as if it were made up of a snarl,
a whine and a bark. Such a voice often speaks
worse than the heart feels. It shows more illwill
in the tone than in the words. It is often
in mirth that one gets a voice or a tone that is
sharp, and it sticks to him through life, and
stirs up ill-will and grief, and falls like a drop
of gall on the sweet joys at home. Such as
these get a sharp home voice for use and keep
their best voice for those they meet elsewhere,
just as they would save their best cakes and
pies for guests, and all theirsour food for their j
own board. I would say to all boys and girls,
"Use your guest voice at. home." Watch it
by day as a pearl of great price, for it will be
worth more to vou in the days to come than
the best pearl hid in the sea. A kind voice is
a lark's song to a hearth and home. It is to
the heart what light is to the eye.?Jewish '
Messenger.
Fixgeii-Mahks.?A gentleman hired a mason
to do some work for him, and among other
things to "thin-whiten" the wall of one of
his rooms. This thin-whitening is almost colorless
until dried. The gentleman was much
surprised, on the morning after the chamber
was finished, to find on the drawer of his desk,
standing in the room, white finger marks, j
Opening the drawers, he found the same 011
the articles in it, and also on the pocket-book.
An examination revealed the same marks on
the contents of the bag. This proved clearly
that the mason with his wet hand, had opened
the drawer, and searched the bag which contained
no money, and had then closed the
drawer without once thinking that any one
would ever know it. The tnin-wniieiiiug,which
happened to be on his hands, did not
show at first, and lie probably had no idea that
twelve hours' drying would reveal his wickedness.
As the work was all done on the after-1
noon the drawer was opened the man did not I
come again, and to this day does not know I
that his acts are known to his employer, lie-1
ware of evil thoughts and deeds. They all I
leave their finger-marks, which will one day
be revealed Sin defiles the soul. It betrays
those who engage in it by the marks it makes
on them. These may be almost, if not quite,
invisible at first.
Legend of a Rose.?-It isn't every rose
that has so pretty a romance connected with
its name as the Cherokee rose. Ilere is the
legend :
An Indian chief of the Seminole tribe was
taken prisoner by his enemies, the Cherokees,
and doomed to torture, but became so seriously
ill that it became necessary to wait for bis
restoration to health before committing him
to the fire. And, as he lay prostrated by disease
in the cabin of* the Cherokee warrior, the
daughter of the latter, a young, dark-faced
maiden, was his nurse. She fell in love with
the young chieftain, and wishing to save his
life, urged him to escape, bnt lie would not do
so unless she would llee with him. She consented.
Yet, before she had gone fur, impelled
by soft regret of leaving home, she asked
permission of her lover to return home for the
purpose of bearing away some memento of it.
So retracing her footsteps, she broke a twig
from the white rose which climbed up the poles
of her father's tent, and preserved it during
her flight through the wilderness, and planted
it by the door ot her new home in the land of
the Seminoles. And from that day this beau
tittu nower uas always miiMiunn
the capes of Florida ami throughout the Southern
States as "the Cherokee rose.
Duapi.y Enkmies.?While excessive labor,
exposure to wet and cold, deprivation of suffi- :
cient quantities of necessary and wholesome
food, habitual bad lodging, sloth and intemperance
are deadly enemies to human life, none
of them are so bail as violent and ungoverned :
passions. Men and women survived all the I
former, says the writer, and at last reached an | <
extreme old age ; but it may be safely doubted ]
whether a single instance can be found of a
man of violent or irascible temper, habitually ! i
- j ? i.~ 1.?.-. ...r i.
SUUjeci 10 ungovernauie paaaiuu, wiiu n?? <u- i
lived at a very advanced period of life. It is 11
therefore a matter of the highest importance '
to every one desirous of preserving 'la sound <
mind in a sound body,1' to have a special care,
amid all the vicissitudes of life, to maintain a
quiet possession of his own snirii.
THE EGYPTIAN COMPLICATION.
A gentleman who has just returned from
Constantinople was iisked to give some account
of the Egyptian imbroglio. "Impossible,"
he replied. "I asked Lord Dufferin for ail
explanation of it and he said he had none; I
iisked General Lew Wallace to tell me all
about it, but he also shook his head. I talked
with some twenty prominent persons, Turks
and foreigners, and they were as much in the
dark as anybody ; it seems to lie a case of
"spontaneous inflammation,"?is one of the
explanations that does not explain. The
Egyptian question is older than history, and
though it has been settled a hundred times
' ' /-II *.... ?..1?A
SlllCe tut: OeilULlLIll V^lCDJitlUit luuu Iiiiiu niiutu
and lost lover and life, and the kingdom fell
into Roman hands at Actium, B. C. 31, it has
always refused to stay settled, and is not
likely to be permanently composed by the present
Conference or any other. Since it became
a province of Turkey, 1517, it has belonged
directly to the European system, and has entered
as an element into all Eastern problems.
Had England done her duty to the brave
Mohammed Ali, in 1840, after he had made a
part of Arabia tributary and had wrested
Syria from the Porte and had won the victory
of Nisil, which should have put him upon the
Turkish throne, the Egyptian question would
have been put to rest for a hundred years;
but England took St. Jean d'Arc and joined
with the other powers, excepting France, in
forcing the victorious lion back .to his cage.
No wonder that lie tore out handfuls of his
white beard when the English fleet off Alexandria
pointed its guns on the town, ready
to fire in case he refused to sign a treaty compelling
him to reuouuce his conquests, that
"the Sick Man" might continue to rob Egypt
and keep the rest of Europe by the ears by
playing upon their jealousies.
Lower Egypt is merely the Nile and its
narrow valley. The annual inundation of the
land makes the soil wonderfully productive,
and adds about six inches to its depth every
hundred years. Cotton culture was introduced
by Jumel, a Frenchman, in 188'J, and the
present yield is about 700,000 bales. One-,
eighth of the cotton used in Europe is raised in
Egypt. Tne sugar crop is next in importance,
and most of it is taken to France, while fourfifths
of the cotton goes to England. It produces
all the grains, the date palm, tobacco,
the cactus, and cattle raising is one 01 lis
growing industries. The population of Egypt
proper is about 5,000,000, and four-fifths of
the people are fellaheen, who are peasants of
the lowest class, scarcely a remove above
slavery?ignorant, supersitious, fanatical, degraded.
Under the system of forced labor,
which is one of the ancient institutions of
Egypt, when the Khedive wants a railroad
built, or a canal dug, or work done on his
lands, he sends out an order for the requisite
number of men to do it; and they work slavelike,
from morning till night without pay and
without food. They are obliged to he by their
wives and children and parents or starve.
It is by this conscripted labor that all the
improvements of modern Egypt were made.
Every European idea that lias seized upon a
Khedive has taken so much unrequited toil
out of the muscles and bones of these unclothed
and only half-fed fellaheen. Some of
them have land ; but one-fifth of all the land
of Egypt proper belonged to Ismail Pacha,
and the tax upon the rest of tiie land amounted
to about 81*2 an acre, with an additional
tax on every fruit-bearing tree. The government,
not content with taking a portion,
stops all. When the tax gatherer enters a
village he is received with terror. If an unfortunate
holder of anything happens to be
unable to pay the tax, he is beaten until he
dies, unless his neighliors club together and
make up the deficiency. And the biggest
part of the tax goes to pay the interest on the
national debt of over $400,000,000 contracted
very largely for European improvements and
luxuries for the rulers. The annual tribute to
Turkey amounts to $1,500,000 but the Sultan
is not only the recognized sovereign?he is the
visible head of the Mohommedan Church, and
there is no complaint of the tribute sent to
Constantinople. It is the other tax, which
the miserable and overburdened people attributed
to European influence, that makes them
indignant.
Mohammed Ali meant to make Egypt a
powerful, independent nation, and he had the
vigor and force of character to do it had he
been allowed to have his way. His successors,
Said and' Ismail, have aimed to Europeanize
Egypt. The latter, who was educated in
Europe, a man of vast ability, but deficient in
practical judgment, went further in this direction
than all his predecessors together. He
built railroads, bridges, roads, palaces, public
works of all kinds. He made immense improvements
in and around Cairo, Alexandria
and other places. His light houses on the
Mediterranean and lied Seas are as serviceable
as they are astonishing. His Abyssinian
and Centoral African expeditions cost over
S10,000,000. His fleet of merchant steamers,
his sugar mills, which did not pay ; his factories,
which cost more than they yielded;
his schools, which were entirely out of place;
his army of 70,000 with European equipment;
his palaces, built by European architects?all
added to the burdens of the people, lie made
Cairo and Alexandria semi-European cities,
and, to induce foreigners to build there, h<*
gave Europeans land to build upon in proportion
to the cost of the houses they proposed to
erect, and one of the finest residences was
owned by Mr. Remington of this city, who
succeded in obtaining a contract from the
Khedive's government.
About 100,000 foreigners were enticed to
settle in Egypt by the tempting privileges offered
by Ismail and continued byTewfik. The
former was forced to fly, very largely in consequence
of the private debts he had contracted.
Hut when it is remembered that about 5,000,000
of Egyptian fellahs are forced to pay taxes
aggregating over $8 a head, and that, more
than half of the tax is ground out of them to
pay the interest on English and French bonds
and for costly and extravagant works of European
improvement, it is easy to understand
why they hate Europeans and cry "Down with the
foreigners !"' Arabi Bey may be a consummate
demagogue and knave, but he merely
heads a discontent which nothing can hinder
from showing itself in outbreaks. Tewlik is a
weakling, whose only discovered virtue is the
fact that he has only one wife. lie was put
on the throne by the European creditors of
Egypt to pay the interest on the bonds. And
! 5 " ?. flu.
UflllllU me WUISC itiau ni<ivui,> jii uinvii
millions of Egyptians are kept stands the
British government.
It is impossible not to sympathize with these
crushed and degraded Egyptians in their detestation
of the foreigner, their hatred of European
improvements and influence, and their
determination to drive out Europeans or die
in the attempt. Of course, there is another
side to the difficulty, growing out of the jealousies
of the Great Powers and the Sublime
Porte. Unquestionably, the Sultan has encouraged
Arabi Bey to play on the fanatical
passions of the fellaheen and act the usurper,
while he has made abluent promises to Tewfik
and deplored the unsettled condition of Egypt
to the representatives of England and France.
Egypt pays a heavy penalty for being bound
up in the great mesh of European complications.
Were it free from Turkish dominion
and under a native ruler, or were it a province
of England or France or Italy, it would soon
recover from its troubles and become prosperous.
But there is little hope for the country,
and no hope at all for its crushed millions,
when the last word of European statesmanship
is for the Great Powers to ask the Porte
to request the Khedive and his War Minister
to keep the peace, and to be sure to pay the interest
on the bonds at any rate.? JVo"' York
Slur.
t&r M. G reliant has made a series of experiments
which convince him that death is caused
by alcohol when the proportion of absolute alcohol
in the blood is equal to the hundredth
part of the latter, that the condition known as
"dead drunk'' exists when the alcohol imbibed
[ eases to lie absorbed, and the blood presents
the proportion of one part of alcohol to 19f> of
blood?more than one-half the fatal quantity.
This observer thinks that if fewer deaths occur
from drunkenness than might be expected,
it is because drunkards stop drinking before
the fatal proportion of alcohol in the blood
has l>een reached. ^
I