Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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t.ewis m. grist, Proprietor. ) Jnkfieiiiititl Jfamilj Itepap: Jor fjrt |romatian of % $olitieal, Social, Igricnitaral anil Commercial Jntcroats of t(re &onl{i. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 28. YORKYILLE. S. C., THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 14, 1882. JSTO.,,37. ?&e ftarg feller. A HEROINE AFTERALLT It was a lover's quarrel?no doubt about that. Sky threatening?a regular storm brewing?one could see it at a glance. She stood, all flushed and excited, in the curtained*bay window, her face clouded, her blue eyes flashing, her breath coming quick and fast. He stood at her side, stern and pale, his hands clenched excitedly, his dark eyes full of sorrow and mingled passion. "Lottie!" William White's voice was low and intense with feeling. "It is all your fault, remember," he went on, with an effort at calmness. "1 have only requested you, kindly and gently?and, as your betrothed husband, I surely have some rightto desist from these foolish flirtations. Why, Lottie, yon were flirting last night with that Mr. Bookbamtuer, whom public opinion pronounces a?a?I can't tell ycra, only that he is not proper company for you, my darting." William's voice lost its angry tone, and grew very gentle and tender. "Yon know that this would not trouble me so, if you were not dear? il ? fiun won nrft lint. or iv uie uiuu my unu iiw. u?j jv? ?angry with me, sweetheart." William White bent his handsome head, and hiB dark eyes gazed into Lottie's blue ones. But the little lady was in a contrary mood that morning. She felt like anything but meek submission to the will of her lover, even though she knew that all he had said was true, and was prompted by his love and care for her. LiOttie Blake was an orphan?an heiress, too?just released from the restrictions of boarding-school life. She had lost both her parents in her infancy, and had passed the eighteen years of her life in the care of hirelings, and later at a fashionable school, and, pur? as a flower, she had grown up amidst weeds. She had boen betrothed to William White for nearly a yeAr, and was now under his mother's-care, passing a few weeks at a watering place. Society pronounced Lottie a heartless flirt ; but she was merely a thoughtless, careless girl, plunging headlong into the unaccustomed gayeties about her, with all her heart. Surrouuded by scores of admirers, no wonder her head was nearly turned with adulation and flattery. * Wrtliam White's words had touched her pride. Did he then imagine that, because she was careless and "happy, she was shallow and silly, and needed a guiding hand ? She mentally resolved to cut Mr. Bookhammer's acquaintance that very day; but then William should not have the satisfaction of thinking that his words had instigated the step. William had no confidence in her love, she told herself. Well, let him think as he pleased. All the girl's defiant spirit was in arms when William, at last fearing that he had wounded her sensitive nature, attempted to set matters right. He was struck dumb with amazement as she turned upon hi|h a face that was white and angry, her blue eyes fairly scintillating. "You've said enough, William White !" she cried,-passionately. "I can see now the? the mistake I have made. We were never intended for each other ?we are not suited. You want a wife that will obey you like a puppet? a woman with no will or mind of her own?a perfect Griselda ; and I can never submit to tyranny in any form. The man I love must trust me, and since you have ceased to do that we are best apart. I give you back your freedom." . . "Lottie, stop I" He was white as a statue. "I)o you mean what you say ? You do not love me then, Lojtie ?" The girl was thoroughly aroused now and regardless of consequences. "No 1" she cried,' madly ;* "I do not love you any more I" She dashed aside the heavy curtains that draped the bay window, and was gone. And just then a man arose from the lounging-chair beside the.window, where he had ostensibly been reading, and sauntered slowly away. It was Mr. Bookhammer, and there was a curious smile on his sensual lips and an evil light in his gray eyes. "Listeners hear no good of themselves," he muttered. "Well, maybe not; but at any rate I know which card to play next. Piqued and angry at White, the beauty, will turn to me. I'll play the heart-broken lover, step in beforo her anger against my handsome rival has time to cool, strike while the iron is hot, and I'm mistaken if I'm not engaged to Lottie Blake and her fifty thousand dollars before the sun sets." "The best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft aglee." But Mr. Bookhammer had forgotten that. For a long time William sat in the bay window, bis head bowed, staring his misery in the face. Could it be true Lottie loved him no longer ? Ah, well, it was beetter for him to know the worst before it was too late ! An hour or two afterward he saw Lottie, radiant in white organdie and pink ribbons, sitting on a rustic seat in the hotel grounds. <" ?n??OMottAn nriOi Ur RnnkhflmrtlPl' Wil 1U V/Vll V V>4 CHVW1V11 11 tvn AU.4 . .. ? Ham bit his lip and hurried away out of sight. Well, after all, it was nothing to him now. He had no longer any right. Lottie had ceased to love him ; and only a few hours before he would have staked his life on her love and truth. But William did not know what was taking place out there in the cool shade of the oafc tree, beneath which Lottie was sitting beside her obnoxious companion. Mr. Bookhammei had asked Lottie to be his wife, and had beer very decidedly?not to say contemptuously? refused. And when he arose and left her, there wa.( an angry gleam in his wicked eyes, while in his heart he registered an oath soonei or later to be avenged. Lottie came down to dinner in the greal dining-room at sunset, to find William's place vacant. "Where is William ?" some one was siskin; his mother, sis Lottie entered the room anc took her usual seat. Mrs. White looked troubled. "There's been an accident," she said "Some men were out fishing ; the bosit cap sized, and two of them nearly drowned. Mr White was sent for in hopes that he coulc save them, their families being totally igno rant of any means of resuscitation. But it ii several miles down the beach, and I fear ii will be late in the night before he can return.' It chanced at that instant that Lottie raiset her eyes to encounter a glance from Mr. Book hammer, who was her vis-a-vis. She could nol repress a shudder as she saw the audacioui triumph in his face. Diuner was over, Lottie threw a shaw about her and wandered off on the beach alone The sun liad set now, and twilight, weird am uncanny, was gathering. Lottie wanted to get away from everybody to be alone with her thoughts. She sat dowi at the foot of a tree, and gave way to he bitter reflections. A voice aroused her and startled her fron her musings. It was the voice unmistakably of young Bookhammer?eager, earnest. "He bit at the bait mighty easy!" Book hammer exclaimed. "Won't he be furious though, when he has had his long, hard ridi for nothing, and finds that there has been n< accident?no capsized boat?no half-drowne< men ?" Bookhammer paused, and laughed heartily "And you're sure the bridge is unsafe ?' he went on, eagerly. "Ob, yes, sir ?" another voice replied. "Th high waters and the late storms have jus played the mischief with the old thing. No body can pass over it on horseback withou going through?sure as shootin'!" "And there will be no mistake?no failure V queried Bookhammer. "White will be sur to come back that way ?" "He'll have to 1" the other'answered griralj "He went by the beach road, it is true; bu lie can't come back that way after night falls for the tide is in now. No, sir; there ain' hot one road for William White to come bj and that is over the old bridge; and if li crosses or tries to cross that?well you know the rest." o And, with a savage chuckle, they moved si away. Lottie sat half stunned at the revelation to si which she had listened. She knew the whole P vile, murderous plot now. This was Book- t< hammer's vengeance! In a flash she saw her own way clearly, cj She had brought this 011 William White?she 1 must save his life though she lose her own. it She staggered to her feet, and, drawing her r< shawl about her, turned away in the direction of the old bridge, perhaps half a mile distant \s from the hotel. To-be-sure she did not even know the road he had taken ; but if sbe could k only cross the rotten structure, she could then \\ await his coming on the other side. She reached the place at last. Gathering all p her courage together, shB stepped on the old 0; bridge. It was nearly dark now, but, with an ei agonized prayer for protection, she moved q onward. a Even beneath her light weight it tottered and shook. She could see, away down below, it ho KlonV nr.trrv wafpr with its Swift, awful VI1V Uiwvn, J , current, swollen by recent rains, and choked " by driftwood. It was a wild sight, there in P the gathering gloom. w Onward she moved, holding her breath, and, with clasped hands and dilated eyes, watching s< the other side. ts Thank God, she is over?safe at last 1 She sank down on a mossy stump, and, crouching ti down, awaited William's coming. Y And darkness gathered and fell over all d things. She felt timid aud afraid; but she calmed her fears as best she might, and re- L mained patiently at her post. ti An hour passed. What if he were not coming that night ? The thought made her \ heart stand still. But even then she heard, away in the dis- p; tance, the tramp of a horse's feet, coming li nearer, nearer. She arose and stepped for- ji ward. The moon had risen now, and its clear hi rays showed her plainly that the horseman was really William. p: She stepped into the road ; she forgot everything?all that had happened that day?and, li raising her voice, she cried, wildly: 11 "William?0I1, William!" sf William checked his horse, and paused irresolutely. His heart beat tumultuously; he could not credit His own eyesight. "Lottie?you here!" he gasped "What is the matter?" p He sprang from his horse, and in a moment it I more?she was in his arms, her head on his ' breast, while she sobbed out the whole story, ir He listened, With a new light in his eyes, his heart full of happiness. And while they stood alone in the midnight, with^a great sj rush and roar the old bridge went down. si William shuddered, and drew Lottie closer s< . - it t.C.,1 ol 10 mm, Willie H UIUIIMih piiijrci hcih ul* wv I heaven. A "My darling," lie uttered softly, "you have tl saved my life !" h And, after tying the horse to a tree, to re- e; main until he could send after it on the ti morrow, when the tide would be out and the beach road passable, William assisted Lottie into a boat found near- by, and they made si the passage in safety. Home in Mrs. White's cozy parlor, where the mother was anxiously awaiting her son's return (she had not missed Lottie, but sup- o posed that she was safe in her own room), si William told her the whole story. And when b he finished he laid his hand upon Lottie's. "You risked your own life," he said, his a voice all a-tremble, "to save mine! "Why lj did you do it, Lottie ?" fi And Lottie answered, bravely?their quarrel a thing of the past: p "BecauseI love you, William !" r< The next day Bookhammer was arrested tl and convicted.on Lottie's evidence, and sen- si tenced to several years in'prison. " William and Lottie were afterward mar- d ried, and are now living happily together. tl THE LOST RING. The summer was in its glow and prime. The hilltops were wreathed in amber mist; the river murmured softly through its willow- o fringed shores; the woods, all rifled of their p leafy honors, like cathedral aisles, carpeted T with gold and russet and crimson Layers, and E the nuts had never been so plentiful up in tl , Wrex's woods. p Squirrels, schoolboys, picnic parties and si tramps all had their pick and choice of the tl i nuts, and yet with every midnight frost and ri sunrise gale, ti.e ground was strewn afresh $ with them, and any adventurous stick, thrown o up into the branches, would bring down a p shower of new treasures. si "But why don't they bring these nuts to tl market ?" cried Laura Heritage. "Why don't e we have them in London ?" I "Ain't enough of 'em miss," said Job, a a sturdy, young farm laborer. "Besides, they v i ain't what you'd can a iancy nut." u Just then Mr. Austin, the handsome young is curate of Comberdale, came up, and held out e his hand to Miss Heritage, with a smile. n i "I am glad to see you here!" he said. I i "And I am so glad to be here !" said Laura, J i enthusiastically. t "How do you like country life ?" he asked, t , "Oh, so much !" cried Laura. "Maple Farm c is delightful, and Mr. and Mrs. Jennings are t , like two antiquities out of a curiosity-shop, t' And mamma would give untold gold for the o , china that they use?extravagant creatures? e , on the table every day ! I could have cried o [ outright last night, when Phoebe dropped a b ; cup and broke it. And we have open wood e 1 fires on huge hearths, and the logs are so deli- 1; ciously fragrant as they burn, and? # si ; "And little Phoebe ?" said Mr. Austin, s'mi- is linor?"Hnp<i she strike von as a curiositv. c ? also?" o Laura laughed. t i "The niece ?" said she. "Do you know I rJ - have scarcely looked at her? I like pretty n people and pretty things, and that child is such o 5 a figure 1" P j She sj)oke carelessly, quite unaware?and r : very possibly she would not have cared had i; she known it?that Phoebe Jennings was in the v ; shnken glade just below, where the yellow i ? sunshine quivered, and a noisy little rivulet o leaped over noisy stones on its way to the river. $ r Phrebe was big eyed and solemn, with face p I and hands almost as brown as the nuts, and i: hair that waved and crinkled all over her head, s Mr.. Austin had always had a pleasant word t . and a smile from her ; Miss Heritage was the ,S - realistic of her ideas of an angel?and now s . they are laughing about her. t 1 Phcebe stood a minute with her great eyes o - brimming over, her lower lip tightly elapsed r 3 by pearl-white teeth. A t "Job," said she, at last, "my bucket is full, g ' I think I'll go home." I 1 "What, a'ready ?" cried Job. a "Yes," said Pluebe. "Maybe Aunt Jen- t t nings wants me. I'd better go." t 3 Mrs. Jennings, cutting a piece of gold clear \ honey in the comb, out of a glass box, was as- I 1 tonished at the breathless apparition of her J . i little niece, flying headlong down the steep I I grade of the apple orchard. t "Bless me, child !" said Mrs. Jennings, c , "Didn't I tell you you could stay till sun- 1 i down ?" a r "I?I didn't want to," said Phmbe. 1 And she rushed up-stairs to her room, and c i cried until she could cry no longer. 1 y i Miss Heritage "liked pretty people and pret- c j ty things," and she (Phoebe) was "such a i - j figure!" 1 , j She had not known it before. She had c e i thought her calico dress, with the black stars I 31 upon it, was beautiful; and she had innocent- j II ly rejoiced in the brown ribbon bow for her ! neck, that had been her uncle's own present. And then Pluebe looked in the little six-inch ' ' glass and realized how brown, how unkempt, i I and gipsy-like she was?how dissimilar was t e ; her dress from Miss Heritage's soft lace and s t! floating ribbon-loops. And Mr. Austin, in s i-; whose Bible-class she was? i t' "1 wish I was dead !" sobbed poor Pluelje. } j "No, aunt, please !" to Mrs. Jennings' kindly 1 " call. "I don't want any tea." 1 e I "No tea !" said Mrs. Jennings, in amaze- < ; ment. "Child, does your head ache V" i "Yes," said Phoebe, who had never known 1 it what it was to suffer an ache or pain in her 1 }, life. "Yes! Please?please let me alone!" i t , Two days later Miss Heritage came down to I r, breakfast with a perturbed air. 1 ie "My pearl ring," said she, "is gone." 1 "Now, Miss Heritage's pearl ringwasnotan rdinary trinket, but a costly pearl, set in a lender hoop of braided gold. Farmer Jennings set down his coffee cup and :ared; Mrs. Jennings uttered a little cry ; 'boebe, who was bringing in a plate of.hot )ast from the kitchen, stood still. "Dear me 1" said Mrs. Jennings, "where an you have dropped it ?" "I never dropped it at all," said Laura, pos;ively. "It has been taken?stolen from my )om !" "But Miss Heritage," said the farmer's rife, mildly, "who is there that would steal it?" "I don't know," said Laura, excitedly. "I now that it has been stolen, and I wish you rould send for a police at once." Of course there was no one upon whom susicion would fall but Phcebe?poor friendless, rphaned Phoebe ! Not exactly friendless eithr, for Mr. Austin quietly declared that it was uite impossible that she could have committed crime like this. "I have known her ever since she came to [aple Farm," said he. "She never did it!" And Mrs. Jennings valiantly asserted that she wouldn't never believe no such thing of hoebe, as she never yet so much took a pin as asn't here I" "You are all infatuated about the girl," lid Laura, petulantly. "Who else could have iken it." "But surely Miss Heritage," plead Mr. Aus11, "you wouldn't prosecute the poor thing ? rou will give poor Phcebe the benefit of the oubt V" "I do not see that there is any doubt," said aura, stilly ; and my pearl ring must be reamed." "I will pay you the value of it myself," said [r. Austin, eagerly, "if?" " You are very much interested in the culrit," said I ..aura, with a curl of her full, red ps ; "but that will not answer the ends of istice at all. No. She stole the ring?let er confess or suffer 1" The curate looked at Laura with mute surrise?almost with disgust. At that moment, when Miss Heritage sat, ke a female Fate, on the sofa, and Mrs. Jennies was comfortine poor little Phcebe up ;airs, Job came shuffling in. "Found your ring !" said he. "No," cried Laura. "Here it is," said Job. And sure enough the great pearl-shaped earl lay glimmering, like a drop of moonlight, 1 the homy palm of his hand. "Where did you get it ?" breathlessly delanded Miss Heritage. Job chuckled, and looked rather sheepish. "Sent a bushel o' nuts to my cousin Jenny," lidjie. "Jenny was always partial to nuts and le writ back to me?what did I mean by mdin' her a pearl ring in 'em ? Didn't I know le was keepin' company with Peter Crane V md I writ I didn't send no pearl ring ; and jis mornin' this came by post," nodding his ead at the jewel. "An the veiy minute I set yes on it I knowed it was the one Miss fleriige wore that afternoon at the nuttin'." Laura turned scarlet. "I must have dropped it in the nuts," said ie. "Of course you did," said Job. "Wonder you never thought of it afore ?" So the awful shadow of suspicion was taken ff Phoebe, and Miss Heritage even conde3ended to murmur some sort of an apology efore she went away. "Hut it's too ridiculous the fuss they made bout that girl," said Miss Heritage, vicionsr. "Richard Austin will never forgive me :>r daring to doubt her." No ; it was quite true, Mr. Austin was comletely disenchanted with the dimpled and jck-hearted Laura. And when he did marry, iree years afterwards, the bride's name was imply "Phoebe." "For this dark^eyed child had grown into raiant womanhood, and Richard Austin knew lat she was a diamond fit to wear on any lan's breast. THE BUREAU OF ENGRAVING. As soon as the act authorizing the funding f the continued 'M per cent bonds into 3 er fPnts was nassed. the Secretary of the 'reasury directed the Chief of the Bureau of Ingraving and Printing to prepare models for lie new bonds and submit them for his aproval. This was done, and the plates of ome of them have already been made and lie printing commenced. The bonds will be egistered onlv, and of the denominations of 50, $100, $500, $1,000 and $10,000. The face f the $50 will have in the upper centre a ortrait of ex-Secretary of the Treasury Fesenden, with a lathework counter containing he denomination on either side. In the lowr centre will be a picture of the Treasury )epartment building. Over the head of Fesenden, forming the arc of a circle, are the fords, "Three per cent loan, 1882," and imlediately beneath the portrait is the date of isue, "August 1, 1882." Along the left side xtend the Roman fasces and axe, with the lonogram "E PluribusUnum" in scrollwork. )own the right border are the words "Act of uly 12, 1882." The centre is filled up with he story. The other denominations will be he same, with the exception of the necessary hanges to indicate the amounts and the porraits, which will be as follows On the $100 he head of DeWitt Clinton ; on the $500, that f Benjamin Franklin; on the $1,000, that of x-President Garfield, and on the $10,000 that f Alexander Hamilton. The backs of these onds will be different from any that have ver been made On the first fold will be a irge denomination lathework counter; on the econd will be, first, the act authorizing their ssue, then an oval denomination lathe-woik ounter, under which will be the number f the bond. Then follow the words,?"Unied States Three Per Cent Loan of 1882. transfer, No. ?. Original date?and origial number?." Thus making a complete brief j f the bond. This form of brief is Secretary Niger's own idea and its convenience will eadily be seen. The remainder of the back s occupied by the regular form of transfer irhicli is found on ail registered bonds. The lacks will be printed in the following coirs ?50, green; $100, blue; $500, red ; 1,000, brown, and $10,000, black. With the assage of the National Banking act authoring the national banks whose charters were hortly to expire to continue their organizaions within two years, it was determined by lecretary Folger to make new notes which hould present additional obstacles to the counerfeiters. As the five dollar note was the ne most generally selected an entire new aodel of this note was prepared by Mr. George V. Casilear, the superintendent of the en;raving division, which is as follows :?On the eft is a large portrait of ex-President Garfield, .hove which is a small lathe work denorainaion counter, and the charter number of the he bank is repeated six times in the border. Che usual title and story fills up the centre, n the denominations of $10, $20, $50 and ;100 no clthnce has been made in the vignettes, ?ut the charter number is repeated in the (order as in the five dollar notes. The backs if all the new notes will be printed in chocoato brown instead of green as heretofore, md in the centre, where the large pictures lave been placed, there will be a large series >f lathework counters, across which will be irinted in some color yet to be selected the iharter number of the bank, each figure restng upon a lathework counter. The National banking act authorized the issuing of gold :ertificates, and the models for these are now (eing prepared by Mr. Casilear.? Wushinjton Republican. Advice to Boys.?Horace Mann writes : 'You were made to bekind, generous, magnannious. If there is a boy in school who has a :lub foot, don't let him know that you ever law it. If there is a lame boy, assign him iome part of the game which does not require tinning. If there is a hungry one, give him (art of your dinner. If there is a dull one, lelp him on with his lesson. If there be a jright one, be not envious of him; for if me boy is proud of his talents, and another s envious of them, there are two great wrongs and no more talent than before. If a larger or a stronger boy has injured you, and is sorry for it, forgive him, and request the eacher not to punish him. All the school will show by their countenance how much i>etter it is than to have a great fist." Ijftiscdlattcflus Reading. EATING AND SLEEPING. These two occupations have a closer connection than most perrons in active life are willing to admit. We gave some advice to our readers on this subject a year or two ago, drawing largely from experience in confirmation of our theory, and. have reason to know that many profited greatly by what was to them a new revelation. We have been asked by several correspondents, who changed their habits at our suggestion, to rei>eat the lesson for the benfit of others. The notion is widely prevalent that it is unhealthy to eat late at night or just before retiring. This came from the severe denunciation of "late suppers," contained in nearly all the old popular works on diet. The argument in these publications was not directed against food at a late hour in the day, but against what was involved in a late supper, at a period when the revelers slipped from their chairs and spent the night under the table, or were carried by waiting lackeys insensible to their beds. r It was the midnight debauch that was the object of attack; and ti#n here it was less the gluttony than the drunkenness which alarmed the doctors and called forth their reprehensions. A man may induce apoplexy by gorging himself with food at any hour of the day, but the bottle after bottle of heavy wine or the bowls of hot punch at the evening revel were what did the business for most who ran a brief career of dissipation to an untimely grave. Man is the only animal that can be taught to sleen auietlv on an empty stomach. The brute creation resent all efforts to coax them to such a -violation of the laws of nature. The lion roars in the forest until he has found his prey and when he has devoured it he sleeps over until he needs another meal. The horse will paw all night in the stable, and pig will squeal in the pen, refusing all rest or sleep until they are fed. The animals which chew the cud have their own provision for a late meal just before dropping off to their nightly slumbers. Man can train himself to the habit of sleeping without a preceding meal, but only after long years of practice. As he comes into the world nature is too strong for him, and he must be fed before he will sleep. A child's stomach is small, and when perfectly filled, il no sickness disturbs it, sleep follows naturally and inevitably. As digestion goes on the stomach begins to empty. A single fold in k will make the little sleeper restless ; two will waken it; and if it is hushed again to respose the nap is short, and three folds put and end to slumber. Paregoric or other narcotic may close its eyes again, but witlwut either food or some stupefying drug it will not sleep, no matterhow. healthy it maybe. Not even an angel who learned the art of minstrelsy in a celestial choir can sing a babe to sleep on an empty stomach. We use the oft-quoted illustration, "sleeping as sweetly as an infant," because this slumber of a child follows immediately after its stomach is completely filled with wholesome food. The sleep which comes to adults long hours after partaking of food, and when the stomach is nearly or quite empty, is not after the infantile repose. There is all the difference in the world between the sleep of refreshment and sleep or exnaustion. To sleep well the blood that swells the veins in the head during our busy hours must flow back, leaving a greatly diminished volume behind the brow that lately throbbed with such vehemence. To digest well this blood is needed at the stomach and near the fountains of life. It is a fact established beyond the possibility of contr^dtetyon, that sleep aids digestions, and that tne process of digestion is conducive to refreshing sleep. It needs no argument to convince us of this mutual relations. The drowsiness which always follows the well-ordered meal is itself a" testimony of nature to this inter-dependence. The waste of human life by the neglect of this lesson is very great. The daily wear and tear of the body may be restored more fully than it usually is if this simple rule was not systematically violated. Sleep is wonderfully recui>erative, but it may be shorn of half its benefits by unfavorable conditions. Foul air in the bed chamber leaves the sleeper almost as exhausted in the morning as when weary with the day's labors he sank upon his bed. A gnawing stomach, empty of food, takes out the mighty sleep that refreshing sense of comfort which proj)erly belongs to it. It leaves the blood to throb in the heated brow, and haunts the slumber with ever-present source of disquiet. It is like the sleep which the mother takes while her child is under the care of the watchers in another room. An uneasy stomach is just like an aching heart, in its effect upon the nightly repose. A healthy person who goes to bed on a full stomach will always awake in the morning with a better appetite for his breakfast. If dinner is eaten in the middle of the day and a light supper is served at six o'clock-in the afternoon, a hearty luncheon should be provided at ten o'clock in the evening, or just before the hour of retireing. The rule should be to eat the last moment before going to bed, whatever the hour may be. And this latest meal should not be of "light" viands, as this phrase is commonly understood. The less a person eats at any time of cake or pie, or the countless flummeries that go to make up a fancy tea table, the better; but none of these should be eaten at bed-time. Cold chicken, cold roast beef, corned beef or wholesome meat of any kind, with well-baked bread and butter (sauce and pickle will do no harm), will serve the substantial requisites for this callation. Milk is perhaps the best of all where the pure article can be obtained ; "Border's condensed" will supply it in the best shape to suit our taste, and if this l>e used it should be mixed with warm or hot water, instead of cold, and eaten before it cools. With bread and fruit (baked apples will serve when berries and peaches fail), this makes a very wholesome evening meal. * 11 - - - ?1 - - - ' 1 1ttiUnn f lwitr All persons siiouiu ue c<tunuun ?iim imj reform their habits in this respect. A mouthful or two each night at first is all that should be attempted, gradually, increasing the quantity until the luncheon, becomes a pretty substantial meal. If indigestion follows at any time, chewing the meat of one or two peach pits (for the prussic acid in them) after eating, is better than sending for a doctor. With a clear conscience and a full stomach, any man in tolerable health may derive from his nightly sleep that recuperation which ought to come from this sweet restorer of life's daily wear and waste.?Practical Health Hints for Business Men. Mud Volcanoes in Sicily.?Two eruptions of mud in places remote from each other, and offering different and remarkable characteristics, are under observation in Sicily. One is taking place in the interior of the island, about eight miles north of Girgenti. It proceeds from a mountain about three hundred feet high, called Macaluba, the flattened summit of which is dotted with small cones, each containing a tunnel shaped crater, from the bottom of which a bubble of mud rises and bursts every minute. The other eruption is near Paterno, the western side of the lower region of iEtna, nearly forty miles west of Macaluba, and takes place on openings and small cones on the level of the surface. It is considerably more violent than that of Macaluba. The mud spurts out in jets several yards high, and forms a large fuming lake, I which runs into the bed of the River Sinet. The eruption has been renewed three times within a year, and is at present accompanied [ with deep subterranean rumblings and strong tremors of the earth, some of which are perj ceptible several miles away. The mud that issues from these volcanoes is saline and petroleum-bearing. A kind of scum of petrolum may be seen on the edges of the crater of Macaluba. The gases escaping from them contains from 34 to 30 per cent of carburetted hydrogen, with sulphuretted hydrogen and carbonic acid. The soil around Paterno, in which the centre of the second eruption is situated, is calcareous, and abounds in springs containg carbonic acid. The waters infiltrating the soil, raise its temperature and form a kind of veined alabaster, which is much esteemed. The eruptions are occasioned by the passage of carburetted hydrogen, which is formed by the decomposition of organic matters within the earth, in seeking its way to the surface through beds of clay which have been washed down into the crevices. Mud volcanoes of another kind, of which those of New Zealand and Iceland afford examples, are formed by vapors of water proceeding from ordinary volcanoes, and are distinguished by the high temperature of the mud and the absence of carburretted hydrogen. A TYPE OF MOUNTAINEERS. There are many men in the Rocky Mountains whose lives are passed in wandering through the dense forests and frosty valleys of these rugged highlands. During the summer they tow with heavy rope an obstinate donkey, preferably a white, sad-faced donkey, or a wise pony, laden with provisions and the tools used in prospecting for placer mines. During the arctic winters they glide over the surface of the donn unnw nil lnr cr naiTnw hoards, curved in "~wr ? ? 07 j ? - ? ? front as sled runners, and concave 011 the under side, old-fashioned skates known as Norwegian snow shoes, visiting their beaver traps; or they tramp over the barren, windswept foothills, searching for the bodies of such greedy, credulous wolves or bears as may have eaten of the feast of strychnine-impregnated meat prepared for them. These men have no families. They are possessed of a spirit of unrest. The desire for change, the love of solitude, rather than the hope of gain, animates them. They seldom search for leads ; indeed, they have a hearty contempt for hard rock mines and miners. They like to live alone in a rude hut standing under a spreading pine by the bank of a mountain trout brook. They will not work for other men unless hunger compels them, or poverty has entailed a dearth of cartridges. They trap, they hunt,"they placer mine, they prospect. They undertake long, arduous tours, apparently aimlessly through the forests. They are always going to the Snowy Range. They build huts in localities widely separated. On the .shore of Trout Lake, lying behind the mighty second range, is one hut. At the base of the perpetual snow, where the elk graze during the summer, will be another. On the banks of the creek where beaver are numerous, the creek being regarded as a private game preserve, will be another. And in the. valley where he winters, and which he claims is ua good meat and wolf ground," will be another hut. -In these men the qualities of hunter, trapper, gold miner, and tramp are combined. They know the mountains thoroughly and love them. Their earnings depend on the price of fur and on the yield of their placer : rPl.,.S? Im.mlnnou ilunatirla nrilv nil tlif.il' U11I1CD. J.IJC11 UappUlCOiS \iV/^V/l<uu vwij vji ?.iv?* freedom. Their annual earnings will probably average about $400 each. I know an instance where they reached $3,000; but this was a winter of a famous beaver catch, on a Montana creek, where the jaws of a trap had never before snapped, and where the wolves were hungry for strychnine. The unlucky, or it may be the lazy, may not earn more than enough to buy the cheapest clothing and a scanty supply of bacon and flour for the winter's use. This they supplement with genererous rations of elk, deer, antelope, and beaver meat ; indeed, it is 011 the flesh of game animals these men generally depend for food. Successful or unsuccessful in trapping and mining, they enter upon the winter in about the same condition of financial bankruptcy. If successful, after selling their furs and gold dust, and buying supplies for the winter's use, as they tersely express it, they "Go in baldheaded for whisky." While engaged in the pleasures of going in, they are ready to fight witli any one who encroaches on their freedom of personal action. When sober, tlrey are an earnest quiet people, brave of blood rathei than combative. There is no kinship between a sinewy, quiet-spoken mountaineer and the buckskin-clad, long-haired, whiskey-bloated fraud who swaggers around frontier towns, and whose existence is a never-ending search for verdant tenderfeet, to whom he talks as the hero of a dime novel, loping to be rewarded by the gift of a drink of liquor for the recital of mythical adventures in killing Indians and grizzly bears, and the display of the lying record of his prowess notched on his pistol 01 rifle stock, the notches having been cut whilt the fraud lay behind a cowshed hiding from a dunning dry goods clerk who had rashly trust' ed him for the flashy red handkerchief tiec around his whisky-eroded gullet. The former are seldom seen by Eastern tourists. The latter obtrudes himself on them. During the summer the former are in the mountains, min ing in lonely gulches, or hunting elk just be low the snow line, or prospecting for trapping ground. The latter rouse themselves wit! difficulty from a drunken stupor to swaggei around the railroad stations when the passenger trains arrive. They are prospecting foi tenderfeet. "WINSOME WOMAN." Woman?the crown of creation.?Herder. Woman is a miracle of divine con trad ictions.?Michelet. All that I am my mother made me.?Tolir Q. Adams. Shakspere has no heroes; he has only he roines.?Ruskin. Narrow waists and norrow minds go togeth er.?uomion. Woman is most jxerfect when most woman ly.?Gladstone. In wishing to extend her empire womai destroys it.?Cabanis. If woman lost us Kden, such as she alonx can restore it.?Whittier. I wish Adam had died with all his ribs ii his body.?Boucicault. To a gentleman every woman is a lady ir right of her sex.?Bulwer. What is woman ? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.?Cowley. A handsome woman is a jewel; a good wo man is a treasure?Saadi. A fashionable woman is always in lov< with herself.?Rochefoucauld. All women are good,?good for something or good for nothing.?Cervantes. Women detest the serpent through a pro fessional jealousy.?Victor Hugo. A woman changes oft; who trusts her is the softest of the soft.?Francis I. There was never yet a fair woman but sh< made mouths in a ghiss.?Shakspere. A passionate woman's love is always over shadowed by her fear.?George Eliot. Handsome women without religion an like flowers without perfume.?Heine. Between a woman's "yes" and "no" J would not venture to stick a pin.?Cervantes Earth has nothing more tender than a wo man's heart, when it is the abode of pity.Luther. Trust not a Aj-oman when she weeps, for i: is her nature to weep when she wants he: way.?Socrates. O woman I tliou wert fashioned to beguile so have all sages said, all poets sung.? Jeai Ingelow. Ideas are like beards, men never have an] until they grow up, and women none at all.? Voltaire. Often the virtue of a woman must be ver; great, since it has to suflice for two.?Eliza beth of Roumania. Friend, beware of fair maidens! when thei: tenderness begins, our servitude is near.?Vic tor Hugo. Unhappy is the man for whom his owi mother has not made all other mothers ven erable.?Richter. At present the most valuable gift whicl can be bestowed upon women is somethiuj to do.?James A Cfarfield. A <unnU in dociinir if ll'ltllre hjl( il ? UllJclll VIVIUU UV, 111 ui >I|>||1. i. formed her as a fashion makes her appear. Mile, de Lespinasse. A man never so beautifully shows his owi strength as when he respects a woman's soft ness.?Douglas Jerrold. A beautiful woman is the hell of the soul I the purgatory of the purse, and the pardise o | the eyes.?Fontenelle. A woman set on anything will walk rigli | through the moral crockery without win I cing.?Charles Dudley Warner. The most fascinating women are those tha 1 can most enrich the every day moments o existence.?Leigh Hunt. A beautiful woman is a practical poem planting tenderness, hope, and eloquence ii all whom she approaches.? Emerson. They govern the world, these sweet lippe< i women, because beauty is the index of a larg er fact than wisdom.?0. W. Holmes. > One can, to an almost laughable degree, _( i infer what a man's wife is like from his opinion about women in general.?J. S. Mill f There are only two beautiful things in the ? i world, women and roses; and only two sweet ? things, women and melons.? Malserbe s? It goes far toward reconciling me to being a ? i woman when I reflect that I am thus in no d danger of ever marrying one.?Lady Mon- n tagu. n A young man rarely gets a better vision of b himself than that which is reflected from a p ' true woman's eyes, for God himself sits behind " them.?J. G. Holland. h The divine right of beauty is the only divine r right a man can acknowledge, and a pretty o woman the only tyrant he is not authorized ] to resist.?Junius. d The soul's armor is never well set to the tl heart unless a woman's hand has braced it; si and it is only when she braces it loosely that jj the honor of manhood fails.?ltuskin ^ She was of that light, unreflecting class, of b that light, unreflecting sex,?a Woman. Read- tl er, for thy sins thou must have met with such f< fair Irrationals; fascinating, with their lively n eyes, with their quick snappisn rancies, uniara- u able as flies?Carlyle. d THE PATRIOTS OF 1776. In looking at the signatures to the declara- h tion, not one is written with a trembling hand v, except Stephen Hopkins'. It was not fear r< that made him tremble, for he was as true a n patriot as any of them, but he was afflicted ti with the palsy. si But one of the residences of the signers is o: attached to his name, and that is of Charles c< Carroll. It is said that one was looking over 11 his shoulder when he wrot^his name, and 11 said to him : "There are several of your name, rj and if we are unsuccessful they will not p know whom to arrest." Heimmeniately wrote n "of Carrollton," as much as to say if there is o: reproach connected with this, I wish to bear v, my share ; if any danger, I am ready, to face b it. "There was genuine patriotism. " It was rather amusing, after they had sign- p ed their names, to hear Benjamin Franklin n say to Samuel Adams: "Now, I think we c will all hang together." "Yes," said Mr. o; Adams, "or we shall all hang separately." t< Many have supposed that all the names were w signed on the 4th of July, 1770. Not so. It b was signed on that day only by the President, E John Hancock, and with his signature it was g sent forth to the world. On the second day a of August it was signed by all but one of the li fifty-six signers whose names are appended to F it. The other attached his name in Novem- g ber.? p The signers of the declaration of indepen- ei dence were all natives of the American soil c with the exception of eight. Sixteen of them p were from the Eastern or New England Colo- C nies, fourteen from the middle and eighteen t< from the Southern Colonies. One was a na- t< tive of Maine, nine were natives of Massa- p chusetts, two of Rhode Island, four of Con- h necticut, three of New Jersey, five of Pennsyl- tl a * H ,-v? 1, vania, IWO OI UeiilWaiC, live Ul luiujnanu, i\ nine of Virginia, and four of South Carolina, e: Two were born in England, three in Ireland, j| two in Scotland and one in Wales. Twenty-seven of the signers had been regularly graduated in colleges, or about one-half. Twenty others- had received a thorough aca- Sl demic education, and the remainder had each f( been taught at a plain school or at home. Of p . the fifty-six signers twenty-five had studied e the institutions of Great Britain while sojourn- ^ ing in that country. All had something to ? lose if the struggle should result in failure to v them. Many of them were very wealthy, and ,, . with very few exceptions, all of them were ^ blessed with a competence. t Thirty-four of the signers were lawyers, v [ thirteen were planters or farmers, nine were j. merchants, five were physicians, two were , mechanics, one was a clergyman, one a ma- c , son, and one a surveyor. The youngest mem. ber of Congress when the declaration was ^ . signed (Rutledge) was twenty-seven years of t . age ; the oldest one (Dr. Frahklin) was seven- t , ty. Forty-two of the fifty-six were between ., ^ thirty and fifty years of age ; the average age j , of all was forty-three years and ten months. ^ They all lived to a good old age. The aver- j . age of fifty-three at the time of their decease t I was over sixty-eight years. The hist survivor t . was Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, being ^ . over ninety when he died. Fourteen signers { , lived to be eighty years old, and four past g [ ninety. The pen used by the signers is pre. served in the Massachusetts Historical Society f . at Boston. What tales that pen could speak ! ; \ What a history there is connected with it ! j r Not one of the signers ever fell from the t . high estate to which that great act had eleva- ^ r ted him. It had been well said that "the an- ^ nals of the world can present no political body t the lives of whose members, minutely traced, exhibit so much of the zeal of the patriot, dig- g nified and chastened by the virtues of the man." ^ The Causes and Cures of Old Age.?L. ? 1 Langer has recently l>een engaged in the com- . parative analysis of human fat at different ages. lie finds that infant fat is harder than J that of adults or old men, that there are oil J globules in our fat, but none in that of babies ; ' the microscope shows one or two oil globules J in every fat cell of the adult, while very few j have fat crystals. The fat cells of the infant 1 contain no oil globules, and nearly every cell , contains fat crystals. "Infant fat forms a lioJ mogeneous, white, solid, tallow-like mass, and melts at forty-five degrees C.," while adult fat ' 1 standing in a warm room separates into two ' layers ; the lighter and larger is a transparent . 1 yellow liquid which solidifies below the freezing point of water, the lower layer is a granu5 lar crystalline mass melting at thirty-six de- . grees C. Infant fat contains 07-75 per cent. " of oleic acid ; adult fat 80-80. Infant contains 28.07 per cent, of palmitic acid, against J 8-10 in the adult, and 3-28 of stearic acid (. against 2.04. These latter, the palmitic and 1 ? stearic acids, are the harder and less fusible, while the oleic acid is the softer and more fusi- J ble constituent of fats. ' No attempt is made to explain the reason of 5 these differences, or to suggest any means by which we may re-harden or re-palmitize our fat, * and thus regain our infant chubbiness. Old age is evidently due to changes of this 1 " kind, not only of the fat, but also of the other materials of the body. The first step toward ; the discovery of the elixir of life, the "aurum 1 potabile" of the alchemist, is to determine the 1 ' nature of these changes, the next to ascertain their causes, and then to remove them. If, as 1 - wo ni'B cut often told, there can be no effect " without a cause, there must be causes for the j organic changes constituting decay and old ' t age. Remove tliese, and we live forever. r The theory is beautifully simple. , A Russian Convict's March.?On the i road to Omsk, just before arriving at that ' city, writes a correspondent from Siberia, we f met a number of detachments of convicts, and what attracted my attention particularly t a small company of distinguished political ex- s f iles, banished for their supposed plottings > - against the Czar. Among them were a number of young nobles. Special care seemed to be taken r of these and they were watched as though they 1 - were unusually dangerous. Half a dozen of t them were conveyed in sleighs singly, each of 1 i them having for a personal guard seated beside I - him an armed soldier, to whom he was tightly i chained. The party was also closely guarded t i by a company of mounted Cossacks, and thus 1 ? H-- anv oqpmiia urns C i lilt! SllgllLCSl puaniuniuj iwjj ww.j-w. ..? quite avoided. Political exiles, that chance 1 1 to be particularly prominent and dangerous, > - are almost invariably forwarded to theirdesti- 1 nations under this close surveilance, and \ i rushed through, by night and by day as fast as i - the swiftest horses can take them. t . ^ ? ? ? i , Tiie Indian's Pear of Lightning.?In t f the course of a lecture at New Haven, upon f j the customs and religions of his race, the Rev. s t Thomas S. Dana, an educated Indian, made ( - this singular statement : "The Indians never ( cook anything in the house where they live. ' t They cook outside, and they give as a reason . f that if they cook inside the steam collects in ' their clothing and draws the lightning. < , Whether this is so or not I do not know, but I ; < ii know that an Indian wigwarm is never struck : < by lightning, and no Indian has been killed by j i d lightning in 100 years. h WARFARE IN CHIVALROUS TIMES. One instance of promiscuous slaughter is emarkable for the high esteem to which it ometimes raised its chief perpetrator. In the wnous war between the citizens of Ghent and lie earl of Flanders there was no worse epiode than when the Lord of d'AnghieU took lie town of Grammont by storm one fine Sunay in June, and showed no mercy to man wolan or child. Numbers of old people and wolen were burned in their beds, and the town, eing set on fire in more than 200 places, was educed to ashes, even the churches included. Fair son, " said the earl of Flanders, greeting is returning relative, "you are a valiant warior, and, if it pleases God, will be a gallant ne ; you have made a handsome beginning." listory cannot but rejoice that the young uke's first feat of arms was also his last, and bat not many days later, he lost his life in a kirmish. Of course, all persons found with1 a town taken by assault were by the rule of rar liable, and all the male adults likely, to e killed. Only by a timely surrender could tie besieged cherish any hope fbr their lives or artunes ; and even the offer of a surrender light be refused, and an unconditional sublission be insisted on instead. There is no arkerbloton the character of Edward III lian the savage disposition he displayed when, rith respect to the brave defenders of Calais, e was only retained from exercising his strict rar-right of putting them to death by therepssentations made to him of the danger he light incur of an equally sanguinary retaliaion in the future. There was in general a trong feeling against making ladies prisoners f war; nor could the French ever forgive our auntryraen for allowing the soldiers of the Hack Prince to take prisoner the duchess of tourbon, mother to the king, and to obtain a insom for her release. To the French apears to have bean due whatever advance was lade in the more humane treatment of prisners. Both the Spaniards and Germans were ront to fasten their prisoners with iron chains; ut of the French Froissart says expressly : They neither imprisoned their captives nor ut on them shackles and fetters, as the Gerlans do in order to obtain a better ransom? urses on them for it! They are without pity r honor, and ought never to receive any quar?r. The French entertained their prisoners rell and ransomed them courteously, without eing too hard with them." In this spirit lertrand du Guesclin let his English prisoners o at large on their parole for their ransom, generosity toward their foes which the Engsh on no occasion knew how to requite, 'roissart gives one striking illustration of the . reater barbarity of the Spaniards toward their risoners, which should not be forgotten in ndeavoring to form a general estimate of the haracter of the military type of life in the almiest days of chivalry. In a war between iastile and Portugal, whenever the Castilians aok any prisoners, th0y tore out their eyes, are off their arms and legs, and in such a light sent them back to Lisbon. It speaks ighly for the conduct of the Lisboners that liey did not retaliate such treatment, but alivved their prisoners every comfort they could xpect in their circumstances.?Gentleman's Ingazine. THE BARGAIN. There are some people whom nothing pleases o much as a bargain. To secure something 3r less than its worth seems to them to make ife worth living, and in order to compass this nd they will waste more time and thought hat would achieve something greater, and * erhaps, after all, buy something they do not rant, simply because it is a bargain. Such eople will crowd into a free lecture room, rhen the smallest entrance fee would deter hem, not so much because they dislike to part rith their money, but because the love of a inrgain is inherent in their natures, and a free ecture, though it be as dry as chips, is more ?r less of a bargain, comparatively speaking. On one occasion a certain firm advertised a [uantity of sheeting, damaged by water only, o be sold on a certain day, and the rush for hat sheeting was something unheard of in the mnals of sheeting. But the bargain lovers lad the tables turned upon tliern this time. It akes two to make a bargain. The wily firm, nstead of marking it down, as the buyers had aken for granted, had marked it up a cent or wo on the yard; but as they were none the viser, they are probably still hugging their largain, and looking out for more damaged iales. In fact a bargain is often found to be a lelusion and a snare. If you have not paid a air price, you may be assured that the article s not what it pretends to be, whether houses io.wi onHnii alioofincr nr silver mines. till! lftlJU, WUbV/ii ui<wvA>i^j w. 'If there are cinders in the coal, it is because here were cinders in the pay." Some of us vill spend half a day at a time in search of .his scarce thing?a bargain, which is as hard 0 find as the .philosopher's stone, and as illulive as the old recipes for making gold. We ire not content with getting our money's vorth, but we want something thrown in ; md the shopman understands our case when le invents pleasant fictions, making us believe hat he is losing by the sale?a bait which we ire always ready to swallow in our hunger afer our pet bargain. We do not believe this is 1 national characteristic, but one which we ihare with human nature. Yet the temperaueut of the American people is so persistenty hopeful that we see a bargain where a Scotchnan, for instance, would only detect a fraud. )n the other hand, we sometimes meet those vho avoid a bargain as they wohM a bear, and ire sensitive enough to believe that it is only i polite name for taking advantage of anotht?a sort of legalized swindling?and despise he neighbor who buys her friend's India hawl at half price after her husband's failure. U the same time, in most cases, each party hinks that the bargain is his own. Cake of the Eye.?At the recent sanitary onvention at Ann Arbor, Michigan, Dr. J. 1 Lundy, of Detroit, read a paper on "Hygi die in Relation to the Eye," 111 wmcn ne laiu lown the following rules for the better care of he eyes: I. Avoid reading and study by poor light. 3. Light should come from the side, and not rom the back or front. 3. I)o not read or study while suffering great jodily fatigue or during recovery from illness. 4. Do not read while lying down. ^ 5. Do not use the eyes too long at a time for lear work, but give them occasional periods f >f rest. . S (J. Reading and study should be done sya;ematically. 7. During study avoid the stooping position, >r whatever tends to produce congestion of the lead and face. 8. Select well printed books. 9. Correct errors of refraction with proper jlasses. 10. Avoid bad hygienic conditions and the ise of alcohol and tobacco. II. Take sufficient exercise in the open air. 12. Let the physical keep pace with the menal culture, for asthenopia is most usually observed in those who are lacking in physical development. Australian Animals.?Sydney Smith ong ago described, in his most jocular vein, he frolics which nature permits herself to day in Australia. Having made cherries and 1?- ?ofAnAo mifuirln CIIA Willi OlUliCO VUVU1UV, -Jltyy vw ig out a monstrous animal, as tall as a grenalier, with the head of a rabbit, and a tail as )ig as a bed-post, which hops along at the rate >f five hops to a mile, with three or four young cangaroos looking out of its false uterus to see vhat is passing. Next comes a quadruped as arge as a cat, with the skin of a mole and the )ill and web-reet of a duck, puzzling naturalsts and making life miserable to them from heir utter inability to determine whether it s bird or beast. Add to these a parrot with lie legs of a sea-gull, a skate with the head of i shark, and a bird of such monstrous dimenlions that three carniverous Englishmen could line upon one of its side-bones, and the witty Danon's list of Australian fauna is completed. Hie kangaroo is, i>erhai>s, the greatest jiest Australian farmers have to contend against. 'Hundreds of miles of good pasture," states a ;orrespondent of a contemporary, "have been ;aten as bare as a bone by the unproductive lonsumption of these useless brutes." It is laid to be impossible to describe the marvelous apidity of their increase. i