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"\ lewis m. gbist, proprietor, j-' ^.n litbtjunbtirt ^famila ^tctuspapfr: JfBr t|t ^rnmiitiira fff t|i ^dliticai, Social, Agricultural anb (Jiramercial Interests sf tjje jJnnttr. jTERMS--$2.50 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 28. YOEKYILLE, S. O.. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1882. IsTO. 39. idler. A RACE FOR A WIFE. BY JULES CLARETIE. I have this story from a friend who was dear to me. He related it to me one day when we were talking of the hazards of life, more astonishing far than the inventions of fiction. He had seen this little drama develope itsef, he still knew the actors in it. "I will present you*" he said to me, "and we will go together to Mezieres, where we shall find one of the heroes of this narrative still living. All the romances have not yet been written : the most marvellous have still to be published. And who knows how many romances each one of us takes away with him profoundly buried in secrecy of his conscience, painfully smothered under the tombstone ?" Eugene Decary did not know how true his words were, and the story of Jean Chevancheux was the last that he told me. It is he who will tell you the story. My father used to live at Jtethel. in the high N street, in a house I can still see before my eyes with its slate roof and projecting beams, "a hospitable house if ever there was one. Poor folks nil .j knew tne way to it. ? ney euwueu w itu turn wallet empty and went away with it full. We were all seated one night at the fireside ; my father was smoking his pipe and watching the fire burn, my mother was ironing, and I was reading, when we heard a noise at the door, and saw a boy enter with frightened looks. "What is the matter ?" "It is a soldier very tired who has just fallen exhausted before the door." My father loved soldiers. He rose brusqely, ran out, and there he was, before I had taken a step, coming in again with a young soldier leaning upon him. or rather my father had taken him up ana was carrying him like a sack of corn. My mother hastened to draw the big armchair to the fire. The soldier was made to sit, or rather recline in it, and my father said, looking at the poor fellow: "It is possible 1 Walking in that state!" The fact is that the soldier was very thin and pale, his hair flattened 011 his forehead, the veins of his temples big as your little finger, his face black with dust. We were then in the month of October, and the weather was beginning to grow fresh, but the poor fellow was nevertheless sweating big drops as if it had been dog-days. He must have had a long tramp; his shoes were in shreds; you could see where the stones had torn the leather ; the left foot was bleeding. The soldier did not move, but remained in the arm chair with his head thrown back, his eyes half open, and white as a sheet. My mother had already put some soup on the fire and a pan of wine. "Bah," said my father, "the first thing to be looked after is the feet!" And kneeling down, he began to tear and cut away the shreds of leather. The soldier's feet, all swollen and full of blisters, looked like the feet of the martyrs, swollen with pain, and wealed by hard cords, which we see in the pictures of the Spanish painters. My father dipped his handkerchief in vinegar and washed the wounds. "You," he said to me, "make some lint." . And I began to tear up some old linen that my mother had taken out of the big cupboard. Meanwhile the soldier had come to himself. He looked at us, at my father^ my mother and myself, and the two or three neighbors who had come in one after the other. His wandering eyes seemed to interrogate eyerything. It was no longer the road, the stones, the great deserted woods that he saw before htnf; fttrt a gay room, with a ceiling of shining oak, a cloth on the table, a knife and fork laid, and a brown earthenware soup bowl emitting a rvf ?if?l\V\onro art)ill aavuij oiiicai ui vauvu^v wup Then he raised himself up, leaning on the arms of the chair, and said to my father, with confused emotion: "Ah! monsieur! But you do not know me!" "Ah! well that does not matter; we will become acquainted at the table." We have already dined, but my father wished to bear the soldier company. He sat down to table opposite him, as it were brooding over him, and looking at the regimental huttons that shone on his cloak. The soldier, ate, and ate heartily; my mother served him. My father took charge of the wine, and the glasses did not long remain empty. "Well," said my father suddenly, pointing to the tin box that the soldier carried slung on a cord, "you have finished your time, for there is your conye. Then why do you go and kill yourself by toiling along the highway? I see how the matter stands. You have no money to pay for the diligence ?" "I ?" replied the soldier. "I have received ray pay and my bounty, and my mother had sent me enough to pay for a place in the coupe, if I had liked. But I could not." "I understand," said my father, who did not understand at all. Then he asked for another bottle of wine. When the meal was over, the soldier tried to walk. He tottered, uttered a smothered cry, and fell back into the chair. I then saw a tear in his eye. He was a young man, rather thin, but nervous, dark, and with an energetic lnnl- Wo who imt u mini in qliod a t.oar for a little, and that tear puzzied me. "Ah," he said, with a movement in which there was a little anger and a good deal of grief; "I shall not be able to walk until tomorrow morning!" "Walk !" cried my mother, terrified. The soldier shook his head. "You don't know, tell you, I must." It was a vow. In our Ardennes those primitive souls have respect and faith. 1 saw my father look at the young man in the face without astonishment, and with mute interrogation. "Yes," said the soldier, "I will tell you the whole story. You have, perhaps, saved my life ; I ought at least tell you who I am. My name is Jean Chevaucheux, and my father is a wood-splitter at Mezieres. Seven years ago, when I drew for the conscription, I was madly in love with Marguerite Servan, a good hearty girl and a pretty one. 1 had already jisked her in marriage, and her father had not said no ; but, you see, Pierre Puvioux had asked her in marriage at the same time I did. Pierre Puvioux is a man of my age, who carried his heart in his hand, ?is the saying is, gay and well-looking. Well, farmer Servan said to me as he held out his hand : " 'You are worthy to be my son-in-law, my lad ; but first of all you must please my daughter. T will ask her.' "Marguerite, when asked, said that she would gladly consent to be my wife. But she said the same when they talked to her about Puvioux. She loved both of us, one as much as the other ; she hesitated, she did not dare to decide. But still she could not marry both of us. "Time went on. When the time for the conscription came we drew lots, Puvioux and I, on the same day. I had numoer 6 ana he had number 7, and so we both of us became soldiers. For a moment I was in a state of great fright, I confess. People at Mezieres said that Puvioux had a rich aunt, and that she would buy him off. If Puvioux did not join the army, Puvioux would marry Marguerite, and I, knowing that I should be obliged tc go, for I was poor, I thought I already heard the tiddler at the wedding, rending my ears and my heart. "I must tell you that Marguerite Servan has not her equal. If I lost her now, after having waited seven years for her, upon my honor 1 think I should blow out my bcains! Luckily, Pierre Puvioux was not bought off, His aunt died leaving debt instead of a fortune. He had not a penny any more than I had We were obliged to shoulder our guns, and we were expected on our way-bill every moment, One night Fanner Servan took us each by the arm and led us to an inn, and this is what he said to us as we emptied a bottle of Moselle wine : "My boys, you are good and faithful Arden nais, equal in merit. I love yon with all rni heart. One of "you shall be my son-in-law that is understood. Marguerite will wait sev on years. She has no preference either, fo you, Puvioux, or for you, Chevaucheux, bu she loves both of you, and she will make hap py the one whom fortune shall choose. Thesi are the conditions on which one of you shal marry my daughter. You start the same day i is probable that you will return on the sarai day. Well, the one who first comes and shake: hands with Farmer Servan, and says : "Hen lam, my time is out" ; he, I swear, shall bi the husband of Marguerite." "I was astonished. I thought that I hac misunderstood. I looked at Pierre Puviouj and he looked at me, and although we wen sad enough at heart, we were certainly ready to burst out laughing. 'But Farmer Servan was not joking. Hi discovered this means of getting out of tin difficulty, and meant to stick to it. I held oul my hand and swore to aet neither by ruse noi Violence, and to let Pierre Puvioux marrj Marguerite, if he returned to Mezieres befori I did. Pierre stood up and swore the same and then we shook hands while Farmer Ser van said : " 'Now the rest is your affair. The onlj +fcini? io Ia oowitifl Tnillpft: jnirf t.n return saf( and sound!" "He filled our glasses once more and w< drank a parting draught. 'Before leaving I wished to see Marguerite, Just as I was arriving under her window?it was at dusk?1 saw some one in the shad( coming in the same direction. I stopped short. It was Pierre Puvioux. He seemec' vexed to find me there. I was not particular ly pleased to meet him. We stood there a mo raent like two simpletons looking at the toes of our boots. Then with a moment of coinage I said to Puvioux : "Shall we go in together?" 'We entered and took our farewell of Mar guerite. She listened to us without sayinj anything, but there were tears at die tips ol her blonde eyelashes. Suddenly Pierre, who wai talking, stopped and began to sob, and I to dc the same. Then Marguerite joined in, anc there we were all three shedding tears anc pressing each other's hands. 'When the diligence that took us awaj from Mezieres began to rattle on the paveraenl the next day, I felt inclined to throw myseli down from the imperial and get crushed undei the wheels. The more so as there was a Lorrainer at my side who was singing in a melancholy voice a song of his country, and I said to myself : "It is all over, Jean, you willnevei see her again." 'Well, you see. Time passes. The. seven years are over, and who knows ? Perhaps 1 am not only going to see her again but tc marry her. 'There are indeed strange chances in life,' continued Jean Chevaucheaux. 'Pierre and I started on the same day and at the same hour, and we were placed in the same regiment. At first I was vexed. I should liked to have known that he was far away. As you may imagine I could not love him much. But I reflected afterward that if Puvioux was with me I could at le:ist talk about her. That consoled me. Well! I said to myself, I am in for seven years of it. After all, one gets over it. 'In the regiment I became a fast friend of Pierre Puvioux. He proved to be an excellent good fellow, and at night, in order to kill time, we used often to talk of Mezieres, of Father Servan and of Marguerite. We used to write to Mezieres often, but each told the other the contents of his letters. It was a struggle, it is true, but it was loyal. When Marguerite or old Servan replied the letter was for both of us. An equal dose of hope was given to both of us, and so we went on hoping. 'One day the colonel took it into his head to appoint me corporal. I was vexed and proud at the same time. You seel was no longer the equal of Puvioux. My stripes gave me the right to commaud him, and in the eyes of our Ardennais that was no small advantage. But I did not glory in my rank. I neglected my duty and was forthwith degraded. But who should be made corporal in my stead but Puvioux. But Puvioux was not to be outdone ; at the end of a week lie resigned. After that there was no danger of any propositions being made to us to make any change in our uniform. We were condemned to remam common soldiers. "'So much the better," said Puvioux. "What luck !" said I. 'When we had served our seven years?for I do not mean to tell you our history day by day?I said to Puvioux : \ ' "Well now is the time to start, eh V" - ... , . , , , J J 44 4 "Yes," he replied, "we-are expecieu." '"You know," I said, "the game will not be finally won until both of us have arrived at Meziers, and until the loser has declared that the combat has been loyal." ' "Agreed," said Puvioux. 'And so one morning, with good shoes on our feet, and stick in hand, we set out for Meziers from Angers, where we were in garrison. At first we walked along in company, not saying much, thinking a good deal and walking above everything. The weather was terribly hot and dusty. Half way on one of our marches we sat down on the roadside overwhelmed. ' "Are you going to stay there V" said Puvioux to me. '"Yes." ' "Adieu !" lie said, continuing his march. k "Au revoir !" '1 watched him as he went on with a firm step as if he had only just started. When I saw him disappear at a bend of the road, and when I was once alone, as it were abandoned. I felt a great despair. I made an effort. I rose and began to walk again. That little halt had done me good. 4 walked, walked and walked until 1 had caught up Puviouj and passed him. j 'At night too 1 was well ahead, but I waf ! worn out. I entered an inn to sleep a nuie | I slept all night. In the morning I woke up I saw that the day was getiing on ; I was furious and called some one. ' "You have not seen a soldier pass on foot ?' '"Yes, monsieur le viillitairc, very late last ! night. He asked for a glass of water." 'Ah ! I was outstripped in my turn ! I start ed hurriedly. At 1 o'clock in the afternoon ; I had not caught up Puvioux, nor at (> o'cloefc either. At night 1 took my rest while I ate j and started again. I walked a good part ol | the night, but my strength had .limits. Onef ; more I stopped at an inn. The door opener | and there sitting in a chair I saw Puvioux : pale as death. He made a movement of dis ; pleasure when he saw me, that was natural We did not talk much. What could we say ' j We were both tired ! The great thing was t< I know who should get up first next morning | It was 1. "The next morning was this morning Since this morning I have been walking, takinj j a rest every now and then, but only a ver; i short one. We are getting close, ltethel i: I the last stage" between Angers and Meziers j I know my map of France now ! The las stage ! Good heavens, if I arrived too late!' 'And Pierre Puvioux,' asked my father, ha caught you up V' 'No,' replied Chevaucheux, 'I am ahead Tf I pmilrl st-.nrf. iinw I should hp saved.' ! i 'Start ? In this state! Impossible !' I 'I know?my feet are swollen and cut?am j provided that to-morrow?1 i 'To-morrow you will be rested. You wil f I be able to walk !' i J 'Do you think so ?' said the soldier with ,; look ardent as lightning. ; 'I promise you.' My father then advised the soldier to go t ?i bed. Chevaucheaux did not refuse. Th I; bed was ready. He shook hands with us am > went up to his room. It was 10 o'clock. "I will wake you at 5 o'clock,' said my f;i i ther. ; It was not yet daylight on the followiiij [ morning when my father, already up, looke out of the window to see how the weathe , was. While lie was at the window he hear , some heavy footsteps on the road below, am . in the obscure light that precedes daybreak h > perceived a soldier who was walking in the di . rection of Mezieres. i 'Up already ?' said my father. } The soldier*stopi>ed. i 'Well !' continued my father, 'are you oft' The soldier looked up and tried to make on - who was speaking to him. f 'You are .lean Chevaucheux, are you not ' ; asked my father. 'No,' said the soldier, 'I am Pierre Pi r vioux !*' t And as if that name of Chevaucheux had - been the prick of a spur, he resumed his walk 3 more rapidly and was soon lost in the obscuri1 ty. When my father could no longer see him t he could hear the noise of his shoes on the 3 road leading to Mezieres. s 'Ah !" said my father to himself, 'Chevau3 cheux must be sharp if he means to catch 'up 3 that man.' And he went straight to the room where Jean had slept. lie was already up I looking at his feet by the light of a candle, c 'Victory !' he cried when he saw my father, 3 'I feel fresh and strong, and I suffer no more. ' En route 'And quickly !' replied my father. "Pu3 vioux has just passed through Itethel.' 3 'Pierre Puvioux V' t "I have just spoken to him. He passed unr der the window, going along as if the devil j were after him.' 3 'Ah ! mon Dieu /' exclaimed Chevaucheux, , as if he had been struck down. He repeated - once more : 'Ah ! mon Dieu." Then he buckled on his knansack and cried : 'After all what r you have told me gives me courage. Let me } be off !' In the room below, my mother, already up, 3 was filling a wallet with provisions for Chevaucheux. But he refused. He was not hun, gry. Nevertheless he let her fill him a fiask of brandy, and putting on a pair of my fa? ther's shoes he started, blessing my mother I and leaning on my father's arm to take the I first step. Three or four years after this we had heard } no news of Chevaueheux. "We used often to talk of that evening when the soldier had come into our house bleeding and weary. What had become of him ? What bad been the end of that romance of love so strangely : begun V One day my father had to go to Mezieres on * business. He took me with him. At Me! zieres he wished to enter the first barber's shop that he saw to get shaved. On the door1 step a little child was sitting with its legs apart and smiling at the sun. 'Willyou allow me to pass ?" asked my faP ther laughing. ; 'No ! I won't !' replied the child with a little lisp. At that moment the door opened and a man. [ in his shirt-sleeves appeared?the father?and | took the child up in his arms saying : "Pierre! Pierre! do you want to drive away the customers ?" ! I recognized the voice, and so did my father. The barber looked at us. It was Jean Che1 vauceux ! He laid down the child at once and held out - his hand. His face was all red and beam| ing with pleasure. ! "What, is it you V?Ah ! and to think that I have never written to you I?Ah ! you don't know?it is L who married her, I arrived 1 first." And rushing into the back shop: "MaroNinrif.p i M:ircriierit,e !" he cried "Come ! Come! He was wild with joy. A young woman 1 appeared, blonde, pretty, blue eyed, with a , pensive and gentle air, a little sad. "You do not know V" said Chevaucheux to her. "It was this gentleman who took care of me so well at Rethel the night before I arrived at your father's house. I have often 1 and often talked to you about him?this is the gentleman." Marguerite fixed her large calm eyes upon us, saluted us and thanked us softly ; then, as j her husband continued to evoke the past, she 1 looked at him tenderly with a look that supplicated and was not without reproach. But 1 Jean saw nothing. "Ah ! it is to you that I owe all my happiness, monsieur!?my child, my little boy, look | at him, my little Pierre! It was my wife who wished that he should have that name! Isn't he a fine boy V and strongly built! and my shop is going on first-rate. My wife ! I adore ' her; and all this owe to you!?" "And the other ?" asked I imprudently. "The other V'said Chevaucheux. He curled his lower lip, did not see that [ Marguerite turned her head away, and answered : "Pierre Puvioux ? Poor fellow I He arrived second, and that very evening?it made me cry, I can tell yon?that very evening, he threw himself into the river.?Parisian. End of the War.?The British commander telegraphs from Benhar, September 15th: General Lowe has occupied Cairo. Arabi ; Pasha and Toulba Pasha have surrendered un' conditionally. Ten thousand troops at Cairo have laid down their arms. The war is virtually at an end. It is fortunate that Cairo escaped the fate of Alexan . dria. It is probable that the English pressed Arabi's straggling and plundering hordes so ; rapidly that they were not able to burn and r rob and ravish Cairo as they did Alexandria, r Now that the uwar" is substantially at an . end, it is time to recognize the courage and spirit with which England, single-handed, un. dertook in the interest of humanity and civilization, the work of restoring order in Egypt when all the other powers, recognizing the need and righteousness of the work, still shrank from performing it. Under the Engi lish and French protectorate, replacing an ; oriental despotism of the typical sort, the i condition of the toiling masses of the Egyptian people, still bad enough, was yet greatly im; proved. Order reigned and prosperity was > beginning to revive. To permit Arabi to set [: up a personal government, would have been ! :! to invite a return of all the horrors of the' reign of Mehemet Ali and Isihail. The loses i to the i>eople have unquestionably been enor, mous. The most valuable crops?those of , cotton and sugar?are probably altogether lost, . and that of wheat either lost or stolen by Arabi and eaten up by his troops, Fortunate' ly the war ended in time to jiermit the cereiil ; crop for next season to be sown, which in that country must be done within the next . two months. With the institution of stable t government, the rich soil of the Nile Valley, ; which lias furnished foo?' '' man longer than , any other part of the earth's crust, will soon f make good this year's losses. i p^hwivb PKnm.TAuiTiRs.?There are lit , tie peculiarities individual to the fair sex I - which are both curious and amusing. Why [ . does a woman so often drop her fan or her | '( han kerchief? That has puzzled many a mas11 culine brain. There are two reasons for the . accident, if it be so called for want of a better | word. First, the fair creature's tongue runs.so , ] fast that the wagging of the organ loosens the r tension of the muscles of the hand ; second, f I the fan or handkerchief is purposely dropped 3 j that a "horrid man" may show his gallantry j by picking it up, and ten chances to one the t j lady purposely beats him in that oi>eration af' i ter lie has bent his rheumatic legs in an effort | s | to be gallant. She is satisfied with the dis-1 i play of servility. Why do women, if looked j !' at by a man proceed at once to chew their lips I or convulsively press them together in the | intervals of chewing ? That proceeds from 3 modesty which urges them to do something to | divert their minds from masculine impudence 1 or admiration, or it may suggest that the owner has a very kissable mouth, the lips of a [ which, bitten, win become oeauwruny itu, ui j it may be the result of an unpleasant feeling j of a new set, or the oscillatory movement of o the old set, of false teeth. You need not pay e any money for the, show, and yet you take :] : your choice of reasons. "Why is it that women | with line eyes roll them toward the ceilings or j the sky ? That is easily answered. They j wish to look angelic, and they usually do. s\ d j The Magic Word.?Do your work at once, r ! Don't stop to dawdle. And if ever you find d I yourself where you have so many-things presd ; sing upon you that you hardly know how to e j begin, let me tell you a secret; take hold of i-1 the first one that comes to hand, and you will | find the rest all fall into file, and follow after, like a company of well-drilled soldiers ; and though work may be hard to meet when it " charges in a squad, it is easily vanquished it if you can bring it into line. You have often seen the anecdote of the man who was asked ?' how he managed to .accomplish so much in life. "My father taught me," was the reply, l- "when I had anything to do, to go and do it." There is the secret?the. magic word, rune. Miscellaneous jKcafling. ? ? WOMAN'S UNSELFISHNESS. In comparing one race witli another, we all feel that selfishness is not characteristic of race. But this observation suggests one striking exception to its general drift. You may say that one i>ersoii is more selfish than another, but you may not say this of any group of persons till you come to the largest into which you can divide the personal world. It is not easy to make any generalization about men and women, for everyone is either a man or woman, and knows his or her'own sex in a different manner and a different degree from what he does the opposite ; but we think the general opinion may, in this case be taken as its own justification; and it appears to us that in some respects this great distinction exhibits what we mean by the antithesis of truth and of charity, or of what we have called the non-preferential element in love. Men are about as much or more true than women as women are more unselfish than men. "We do not mean that if you could reckon up all the lies thafc.ar? told in a year you "* 1 J A nun>lvii* hofl fa_ WOUIO nil (I IHHt uuuiiA/i iuiu male origin. When it comes to conscious deceit, we shouldauppose that men and women were pretty much alike. We mean that a man's words and thoughts originally stand in much closer relation to life than woman's do, and that to some extent this explains his being much less ready to make sacrifices than a woman is. For the habit of assuming any excellence has opposite effects, according to the gap between our moral position and that of excellence. We actually widen the chasm, if it be already so wide that the profession must be called false. But sincere words are actions ; and .in professing a readiness for self denial, even with knowing fully what it is, we may to some extent, approach it. It is not possible to imagine a person bound over to a self-sacrificing life by professions that might be called, unreal. Every human being must discover, when it comes to the point, that the expectation of surrendering the pleasant things of life without reluctance or difficulty, is mere ignorance of what sacrifice means; but an engagement to betray no reluctance or difficulty may possibly tend to diminish these feelings, unless they be very great. And, in fact there is a great deal of this unselfishness among women?faithfulness we mean to an ideal that is to some extent illusory. "In a matter so utterly insignificant as anything personal to oneself," as we once heard it said by a brilliant and cultivated woman, "one would not of course, think it worth while to hesitate." The life long since concluded, was not only by means of such glaring contradiction with that piece of fantastic morality as we should be apt to imagine. And perhaps many of the inconsistencies we find in complex human nature may be explained by reniemembering that it is not impossible that both these effects should be found in the same person, so that at one moment a woman should be more unselfish because she has put herself in a position in which self-sacrifice is a necessity, and that the next moment her natural impulses should yet rush back upon her with a rebound, and her professed readiness to share a crust with her husband should no more share any sacrifice of her wishes to his than the sight of "your obedient servant" at the end of a letter suggests the discharge of some menial office. In the. fluctuating ebb and flow which we know as character, the influence of exaggerated professions may tend both to weaken and to strengthen our moral life, and none but the eye that reads all hearts can discern what influence is to give the ultimate bias to the spirit which feels both.?Spectator. -fcif*. CHOOSING A PAIR OF SPECTACLES. To many, perhaps to most persons, the notion of having sooner or later to wear spectacles is not an altogether agreeable one. The reason of this dislike (remarks a writer in Oassell's Family Magazine) may possibly be found to a certain extent in considerations of personal vanity, but much inoi*, it is to be hoped, in a not altogether inexcusable ignorance of the full value of spectacles as a means both of increasing and preserving visions. Any one at all acquainted with the structure of the human eye knows that spectacles are usually an absolute necessity to all persons with healthy eyes once they have reached the age of forty-five or fifty. Sometimes, indeed, persons optically old, that is, over fifty-five or sixty, have been heard to boast "that they can read and write just as well as ever, and have never worn glasses in their lives and the suppressed inference is that, therefore, their a. t j nn/1 fImu eyes must ue exwauruiijcuuj ^uuu, ?uu themselves more than usually hale and hearty for their years. The truth is, however, that such persons are, and always have been, more or less short-sighted. If tested for distant vision their sight would be found considerably below t he average standard, and, in fact, what they gain in one respect they lose in another. It cannot, therefore, be toc^ distinctly insisted upon that the use of glasses is not a sign of either failing strength or failing sight. As every individual increases in years, his body undergoes certain changes. The hair, for instance, turns gray; the skin becomes more or less flaccid and wrinkled, the muscles waste, while, in sympathy with these changes the eye, too, undergoes a gradual and imperceptible change. This change amounts, to put it in the simplest way, to a loss of elasticity. The loss of elasticity can, moreover be provfld to have been in f., u.jv ft vim flip moment of birth. vv. ...v, and it will continue up to the last year of the longest life. The practical result of this is that small objects after a certain age can no longer be perceived so clearly and comfortably, for that is after all a most important point, at short distances as they used to be. An infant can probably see distinctly anything held at two inches from its eyes, whereas a man of fifty could not look continuously at the same object j/ much nearer than eight or ten inches. It is to neutralize the effects of this perfectly healthy physiological change that spectacles are most frequently required. The condition of sight induced by the above change is known as '"presbyopia" or "oldsight." Fortunately, however, for mankind in general this condition can very readily bfc remedied, and vision, indeed, rendered just as good as ever for all practical purposes by the use of proper glasses. In such cases spectacles are a source of the greatest comfort. They clear hazy outlines, they brighten colors, and they restore vision in a moment to what it has been ten or twelve years before. They are at once a necessity and a luxury beyond compare. Ilence, no one who is not either inordinately vain, or somewhat lacking in knowledge, will defer their use a single day or hour after he feels he requires them. I The Office of Resinous Matters in Plants.?It has been diflicult to make even a plausible conjecture of the uses of the "proper juices" of plants. In their production a large amount of nutritive material is consumed ; and for the most part they are stored up irretrievably in the plant, not being reconverted into nutritive material. This gave some color to the old idea that they are excrementitious. But besides that under normal conditions they are not excreted, why should a pine tree convert such an amount of its assimilated ternary matters into turj)entine, which is merely to be excreted ? .Or, if it be a by-product, what useful production or beneficial end attends the productions ? If excrementitious, the tree should be benefitted by drawing it off. But, as De Vries remarks, and as the owners of the trees very well know, the process is injurious, and if followed up is destructive. It goes almost without saying nowadays that the turnmiHiip i? nf rpiil pood to the tree, else tur pentine bearing trees would not exist. ,I)e Vrieshas made out a real use, which he thinks is the true function of the resiniferous matters in Conifene and in other resin-producing plants. Kesinons juce is stored in the tree as a balm for wounds. It is stored up under tension, so that it is immediately poured out over ah abraded or wounded surface ; for these wounds it makes the best of dressing, promptly oxidating as it does into a resinous coating, which excludes the air and wet and other injurious influences, especially the germs or spores which instigate decay ; and so the process of healing, where there is true healing or repara-' tion, or of healthy separation of the dead from ! the living tissues, is favored in the highest de- j gree. The saturation of the woody layers j with resin, in the vicinity of wounds and fractures (as is seen in the light wood of our hard pines) is referred to as effectively arresting the decay which parasitic fungi set up, this "fat" wood being impervious to mycelium. Latex or milky juice is a more complex product, of which certain portions have been shown to be nutritive ; but as to the caoutchouc and the waxy matters they contain, I)e Yries insists that they subserve a similar office, are, in fact, a remedy?a protection against decay, a natural provision for the dressing of wounds, under which healing may most favorably proceed.?American Journal of Science. A CALIFORNIA DESERT. The Klamath is a narrow, cold, blue river. There are a few farms on its banks, but the country for the most part is a desert upheaved into hills and hollows and covered with stinging bushes and unwholesome weeds. Along the creeks running into the river are some green belts of settlement with grain fields, grass and willow trees. A little gold mining is still done in this region. I saw three gravefaced, plodding Chinamen washing red dirt in a sluice-way. They had dug out a hole in the ground ten feet deep and about two acres in extent. No doubt they had been at work for years. In other places I saw diggings abandoned in the summer for want of water. There is nothing attractive about placer mining. It is hard work in dirt and muddy water, under the broiling sun of a California summer or in the winter rains and winds, and it rarely yields the miners more golden particles than amount to the wages of a day laborer. Toward noon of the fifth day's drive I came upon an excellent example of what can be accomplished with a little work and a little water in a Califorinia desert. For two hours the road had led over a sandy waste, sparsely covered by a growth of dwarf cedars. Here and there were strewn pieces of lava rock, reminders of Mount Shasta's former volcanic activity. The sand itself looked like ashes, and the whole region seemed hopeless for any agricultural purpose. As the hot hours dragged on and the horses toiled more and more wearily through the sand, the question of a dinner and a noonday rest began to grow serious. A cabin came in sight, and strangely enough right in the middle of the desert there was a big i>ond covering perhaps five acres of ground, that was one immense long spring of cold water. An Irish bachelor lived in the cabin in as rude a fashion as any of his bog-trotting kindred in the * rrst 1.1. _ 1.4. ..4* ureen jsie. mere was no tuouguL <u aniwng hospitality in his dirty fioorless liut, but lie gave the cheering information the "foinest place ye iver saw" was only two miles further ; on ; and sure enough, there in a sandy waste soon opened a vision of trees, grain fields and meadows, and of a pretty, white house with wide piazzas and a flower garden in front. It ( was like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land to get out of the glare of the sun into a pretty sitting room?a neat rag carpet on 1 the floor, pictures on the walls, volumes of ! history and poetry on the table,?and rest in ' a big rocking chair, while a friendly, gray- 1 haired lady made good her hospital offer of a j dinner "if you will put up with what we have." What they had proved to be an excellent meal of venison stew, eggs and corn bread, with such accessories of cake and pre- ; serves as good housewives usually keep on hand. The owner of the farm told how he made it out of the desert by the aid of water J brought five miles in a ditch. lie raised excellent crops of wheat, barley, Indian corn, and timothy ; he had all kinds of fruit trees and bushes; his cattle thrived on the mountains the year round, and whenever he wanted fresh meat he had only to go out in the cedars early in the morning and wait for a deer to pass. [ These good people lived a hundred miles from ! a railroad, with neither school nor church nearer than fifty miles, but they were bright, 1 well informed, and contented and enjoyed nearly all the comforts to be got out of country living anywhere.? Correspondence of the New York Tribune. Taking Risks on the Loveus.?The business of marriage insurance is now carried on ! very extensively in some Southern States. It does not seem to differ much from the business , as recently conducted here. It does not sj>ec- ( ulate in the lives of the insured, but only in ] their capture and enslavement in the bonds , of wedlock. Instead of devising ingenious | schemes for putting them out of the way, its , object is to put them in the way of each other. Its subjects are not the aged, the enfeebled or the moribund, but the prettiest, cheeriest and brightest girls to be found. Like every other variety of insurance, its chief feature is the element of uncertainty on which its business is based. An engaged young lady is considered to be one of the most uncertain of all human beings. It is on the probability of her fulfilment of her engagement to marry that the insurance company takes its risk. She may greatly admire 1 the man to whom she has pligmea ner anec- 1 tions, and his loving admiration of her may i be just as great. And yet there are so many , possible mishaps and so many interruptions of the smooth running of the course-of true love that a risk of insurance may safely be taken in many an instance where two loving souls have taken to calling each other sweet names : and vowing undying affection.> The plan of the marriage insurance companies is to issue policies on young ladies who are engaged to he married and Whose term of engagement is to last some months. The ' longer the term the more numerous are the circumstances which may tend to break the engagement. If the young lajly becomes a bride within a certain appointed time, the amount of the policy on her is paid to the holder of it. An outsider may, if he please, 1 gamble on a young lady's chances of matrimony. In some cases a number of risks are taken on the same girl by her friends and acquantances. There are, as in life insurance, good risks and poor risks. A snappish and petulant girl, with a dash of vixen in her make up, is not half as likely to hold out as the calm easygoing maiden whose cheerful good nature rises superior to difficulties, and who laughs off the i>etty slights and mistakes which peo- % | pie of less happy disposition would construe | into personal affronts. Marriage insurance is not to be commended. It has been broken up in Pennsylvania as vicious. Vet in some sections it is lively and promises to become a leading social industry.?Philadelphia Times. Ballooning.?We are now within a single year of the centenary of the first balloon, which was sent up on the .3th of June, 1783, by the biothers Montgolfier. Their balloon was inflated with heated air, but in the following August, M. Charles employed hydrogen gas for ti e same purpose. In September the Montgolfitrs attached a card to a fireballoon, and placed in it the first aerial travelers?a sheep, a cock and duck. The cock's leg was broken by a kick from the sheep, but otherwise the strangely-assorted trio sustained no injury. In October the first human aeronaut, M. Francois Pilatre de Rozier, who was afterward killed in an attempt to cross from France to England, made his first ascent in a "captive" fire balloon tethered to the ground j by ropes. In the following months, accom- j panied by the Marquis d'Arlandes, De Rozier ascended in a free fire balloon ; and ten days latter MM. Charles and Robert ascended in a free balloon inflated with hydrogen gas. The I first balloon was sent up from England about j the same time, and in February, 1781, the j first which crossed the channel, while in j August of the same year the first human as-! cent from British ground was made by Mr. J Tytler. Thirty-seven years elapsed before j there was any definite advance on the achieve- j ments of the first two years of aeronautics;; but in 1821 Mr. Green showed that hydrogen j might be replaced by ordinary coal gas, and that a balloon might l>e inflated and dispatched wherever there was a gas manufactory capable of supplying the necessary quantity.? London Times. fjjMiticfll Ifljjics. MACKEY'S CANDIDACY. HTS REASON FOR NOT WITHDRA WING FROM THE FIELD AS AN INDEPENDENT. Your correspondent, knowing tliat Judge Mackey 011 his retirement from the field as a Congressional candidate promiseTl to give the public his reasons for doing so, sought and found him at his office in Chester and received the following as his views thereon in answer to various questions. The interview is given in the exact language of the ex-Judge : "My puri>ose or retiring ironi uie coiuesi was sincerely avowed for the following reasons : Colonel Cash having received the endorsement of the Republican State Convention would necessarily carry away from me a fraction of the cobred vote, estimated by me at one-third of the whole, in a District which has not less than one thousand white registered majority, although there are eight hundred and sixty-four more colored than white per sons of voting age. I was unwilling, therefore, to render myself obnoxious to the charge of dividing the Independent vote by my continued candidacy and thus aiding in the certain election of the Democratic candidate. 1 have been led to reconsider my purpose of retiring by the earnest protest against my leaving the field which comes from white and colored Independents in all parts of this Congressional District, who refuse to recognize Colonel Cash's leadership. Especially is this true in Chester county, where an actual canvass has proved that I have to my satisfaction a majority of the white voters with me. Hence, I shall remain in the field unless the Independent voters will yield to my judgment and permit me to retire. I will not support the Greenback State ticket, although recognizing Colonel McLane, who is at its head, as a worthy gentleman and patriotic citizen, lam not in any degree responsible for that ticket, as nearly every man upon it was personally unknown to me. As it stands before me now in its entirety my sense of duty to the State will not permit me to aid in its elevation to power, while good faith to the Greenbackers will restrain me from assailing it. As to the Democratic State ticket, I cannot support it, as it represents a party system and methods of government to which as a Republican I am unalterably opposed. "Among the many peculiarities of the canvass is that Cash as a candidate is never assailed by the Democratic speakers, their batteries being entirely directed against me as the assumed flagship of the Indei>endent squadron, while Cash sails the political waters in his little cutter flying the black flag of the Republican party and is not even recognized as a belligerent although the declared endorsee of the Republican party, whose leadership, with a few honorable exceptions, symbolizes political brigandage in South Carolina. This is all the more singular from the fact that Cash claims still to be a Democrat, while I have canvassed as a Republican who was reelected as such to the Judgeship of this Circuit by the Democratic Legislature in 1878, and yet my supporters among white Demo ? /^-i 1 n i. ^4. erats out number tnose or I'oionei ^?i?u ?n, least fifty to one in Chester county, and very largely in the entire District. In my judgment Colonel Cash will lie defeated overwhelmingly?that is by at least six thousand majority?while if I ran alone I am convinced that I would carry the District." A little later the Judge told me "the Independents of the District generally are now preparing a written appeal to Colonel Cash requesting him to retire -from the field in my favor as the regular Independent and Greenback candidate." In answer to a question, he said : "I have been assured by several of the intimate friends of James E. White that they called on him and requested him to state to them whether he wrote the "tell-tale letter"?money against honor?and he declined either admitting or denying the authorship. In other words, to use a term of the law applied to a criminal at the bar of the Court, who will not plead to the indictment, "he stands mute," and yet the public will not follow the established rule in the criminal Courts in such case of entering a plea of 'not guilty' for the defendant." In answer to another question, he said : "There is no doubt that Mr. Capps of Chester bore the damaging letter, but knew nothing of its contents." Judge Mackey further states as his doxology in this case that he had always regarded Mr. White as a praying Christian, but is sure now that the revenue politician spells pray with an e, thus : Let us prey !"? Cheater Correspondence, Columbia Register. - - ? POPULAR EDUCATION. THE SOUTHERN PROBLEM FROM A NORTHERN STANDPOINT. The feeling and conviction, 011 the part of the white people of the South, that the elevation of the negro race is indispensable to the safety of society, and that their present condition of ignorance and debasement is full of danger for both races, is a most wholesome i * *- xr^i.x.: ana necessary sentiment. jMuuimg nuuum be done to release these white jieople from their proper duties and responsibilities connected with the education of the negroes, and their moral guidance and control. The whites and blacks together form tlte political community or society.in tiie Southern States, however they may be separated by social or other distinctions. The people of the two races jointly and equally, in proportion to their numbers, constitute the state in our political system ; and it is in every way best for all the interests concerned that they should learn to bear the burdens and perform the work of the state or civilized community, together, learning the imjjortance of cooperation for the accomplishment of great objects of civilized life, and developing mutual respect, sympathy, and confidence. As education is in our country one of the functions of the state, it is letter for the people of these Southern communities to attend to the organization and direction of the activities connected with this function, and to bear their necessary cost, even though it may involve some temporary inconvenience, than to shift the responsibility and expense for such objects to the nation at large. A system of national education for the blacks, or the appropriation of national revenues for their education, would be a source of evil and injury to both races and to the nation. I do not think that the poverty of the Southern people is so great as to render national aid for educational purposes indispensable or really desirable. Such destitution or paucity of resources as now exists in some of the Southern States need not be permanent, and is not likely to be so. There is already a marked and steady increase in the wealth of many of these States; and on the other hand, a degree of self-sacrilice for the sake of objects really valuable is an improving and civilizing influence of which the Southern people should not be deprived. The advantages of education will be valued more highly if they are obtained by the provident foresight and public spirit of the local communities, than if they are derived from gifts bestowed by the national government; and much better use will naturally be made of them. It is important to develop a spirit of self help and independence among the black ii.-wi .ivni/i ;mvHiinnr Hi at wnnld incline pcui'ic OIJU IMViU WHJ tlieni to look to the national government for interference in their behalf, or for special fostering or protection of the interests of their class. It would be easy to injure and degrade many of the colored people by creating conditions which would have the effect of leading them to expect the interposition of the national government, for their assistance, in every experience of hardship and difficulty. Their chief dangers and calamities are likely to be produced by their own indolence and want of self-restraint, and they should not be encouraged to expect, from any source but their own efforts to improve their condition, relief from suffering which is the natural consequence of vice.?September Atlantic. SUPERINTENDENT OF EDUCATION. FAVORABLE PRESS COMMENTS ON THE NOMINEE. Charleston News and Courier. If there was anything needed to add strength and completeness to the State ticket put in the field by the Democratic party of South Carolina, that want was admirably supplied by the nomination of Col. Asbury Coward, principal of the King's Mountain Military School at Yorkville, for the office of State Superintendent of Education. Reared in the School of the Citadel, devoting all his maturer years to the cause of education in South Carolina, and of an exceptionally high personal character, Col. Coward is peculiarly well fitted for the high position for which he has beeen named. He has a thorough acquaintance with the subject of education in general, and the educational wants of South Carolina in particular, acquired by a life spent in the profession of teacher. His administrative capacity and habit of looking after matters of detail have been cultivated and developed by his experience as brigade adjutant in the Confederate service and by more than twenty years spent in active superintendence of a military school. Thus he will lie enabled to continue the thorough system established by his predecessor, while his good health and personal energy guarantee a live and progressive administration. As a candidate, if lie takes the stump with the other members of the ticket, Col. Coward will make a most effective addition to the campaign party. He is an orator of no mean ability, always vigorous in thought and graceful in expression, and at times impassioned in delivery, and never fails to enlist the sympathy as well as command the attention of his audience. His Citadel education and his career in the army have won him strong personal friends in all parts of the State, while among the younger men in almost every county will be found those who learned to love and revere him as their preceptor and guide. The Executive Committee of the Democratic party are to be congratulated and commended for so wise and so acceptable a nomination. Anderson Intelligencer. The Democratic State Executive Committee, at their meeting in Columbia, which met on the 13th instant, nominated Col. Asbury Coward for State Sui>erintendent of Education. Col. Coward is competent for the position, and withal a very popular and polished gentleman. Our people will of course render him, along with the whole ticket, an enthsiastic support, though we would misrepresent what we believe to be the feeling of our county, and of some of our neighboring counties, were we not to say that our jieople think the Committee has slighted this side of the State by assigning us to the duty of doing again a large share of the voting, while other portions of the State, which have heretofore done the office-holding, are again accorded the same privilege. il we were unauie tu ^icarm equally as competent men for position there would be some reason for this discrimination, but in a case like the nomination of a Superintendent of Education, where the name presented from this section was at least the equal of any in the State in point of qualification and character, and where a whole section of this Democratic portion of the State has never had a State official since the Democracy has been in power, we think the action in excluding us was unjust and unwise. The committee were no doubt actuated by their best j'udgment, and as our people are thorough Democrats, this disappointment will not make a particle of difference this time, especially as Col. Coward is personally very acceptable to this section as well as to the whole State. In the future we propose, for our part, to insist in as practical a manner as possible that this section of South Carolina shall no longe'r be treated as if it were only good for voting purposes.' Georgetown Enquirer. At a meeting of the State Democratic Executive Committee held on.the 13th inst., Col. Asbury Coward was nominated for Superintendent of Education. Thisselection will give satisfaction throughout the State and will impart new strength and lustre to the admirable ticket placed in the field by the Democracy. Col. Coward is well known as an educator, being the founder and principal of the King's Mountain Military School atYorkville, an institution which under his management has attained a high rank. Coi. Coward is in the prime of life, of fascinating address, liberal and comprehensive views and splendid administrative ability. His pure character and cultivated mind make him worthy to wear the mantle about to fall from the shoulders of Hugh S. Thompson. Sumter Watchman. At a meeting of the State Democratic Executive Committee and a number of County Chairmen who had been invited to confer with them, held last Wednesday night in the committee rooms, at Columbia, Col. Asburv Cow <tiu, rriimip<u ul Liir, i\iu^ o iiiuuiiidiu .'iiiivn ry School, was nominated as State Suiierintendent of Education. Col. Coward is a graduate of the Military Academy, and is, in every way qualified for the successful discharge of the duties of the responsible i>osition for which he has been nominated. lie, in connection with Gen. Jenkins, established the Military School at Yorkville in 1854, which has been in successful operation ever since, except during the war. His nomination will doubtless give general satisfaction, as no better selection could have been made. Lancaster Review. On last Wednesday the State Democratic Executive Committee met to nominate a candidate for State Su]>erintendant of Education in the place of Rev. Ellison Capers who resigned. After three ballots, Col? Asbury Coward of York, received a majority of the votes of the Committee and was declared the nominee. On motion his nomination was made unanimous. Col. Coward as a soldier, as a citizen and as a teacher has few peers and no superiors in "South Carolina and a better nomination.for the ofiice to which he has been called by the Democracy could not have l>een made. Saluda Argus. Col. Asbury Coward, of York, was nomina* - - --X ?1 ...X ix.. 41.A tfcti tor fcupennieiiueiii ui iMiuuiniuii u> mc State Executive Committee, which met in Columbia on the 13th instant. This is a strong nomination. Col. Coward is a man of great ability, has had long experience in teaching, and has had an untarnished record. The office of Superintendent of Education will be wisely administered by him. His nomination has given general satisfaction to the Democratic party. C ilumbia Register. Col. Coward is a graduate of the State Military Academy and one of the first educators of the State, and would probably have been the first choice of the Convention if he could have been induced at that time to consent to the nomination. The selection by the Committee will unquestionably meet the fullest endorsement of the entire party in the State, as the very best selection for the position which could have been made. Marion Star. Col. Asbury Coward, Principal of King's Mountain Military School, has been nominated for Superintendent of Education. lie probably would have been the choice at first if he could have been induced to accept the nomination. He is a good man and no doubt will receive a hearty support. Newberry News. Col. Asbury Coward, of York, has been chosen as the Superintendent of Education. No fault can be found with Col. Coward ; and, under the circumstances, we think the committee have acted prudently. The selection of this gentleman can not but give satisfact ion to all. Rock Hill Herald. The i>eople of York are highly pleased with the selection of our honored fellow-citizen for the important office for which he has been nominated. We regard the selection as the strongest that could have been made. Winnsboro News. Col. Asbury Coward has been nominated for Superintendent of Education?a splendid selection. d