Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j Independent Jsittilj ftemsjiaptr: Jfor t|t promotion of tbe political, Social, Iwjrifltltaral anil Commercial Interests of tjte Sontb. |TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, IS ADVANCE. VOL. 38. YORKYILLE, S. C.. THURSDAY. NOVEMBER 3, 1883. NO. 44. flit ?ton} feller. HAUNTED BY A~HORSE. It seems an odd thing to say?and very likely you will not believe it?but there was a time : in my life when I was haunted by a horse, just as truly and irresistibly as ever a wretched , sinner was haunted by remorse ; and that, to ! my mind, means a good deal more than if I said haunted by a ghost; for I don't believe in ghosts, and I do believe in remorse, for I have felt it and been haunted by it myself, and that not for any great : ins either. My father was a merchant in 0110 of our great western cities, a good, honorable man,! but withal, stern and harsh to his children in , his endeavors to guide them aright. The result of this unwise rule was such as I might have been anticipated ; one of my broth- j ere ran off to sea and was drowned on his first j voyage ; another enlisted in the army, and I, j after a violent quarrel with my father, turned my back on my home, as I believed, forever. I was the youngest son, and, after our mother's death had met with more indulgence than i my brothers; but there were times when the 1 flint of my father's disposition and the steel in mine came into violent contact. And so it came that I?a hot headed youth of twenty, just home from college, the proud winner of hard won prizes?went out into the world to seek my fortune. I chanced to have fifty dollars in my pocket, | and this sum sufficed to carry me the greater j part of the way to the point I had fixed upon as the scene of the first act in the drama of my future fortunes. There were no railroads in those days across the great western prairies; they had to be crossed on horseback or in wagons, and to do either required money?more money than I jwssessed, by far. And so my march came to a sudden halt on the verge of the great plains, and I was forced j to look on, while caravan after caravan of eager seekers after gold rolled out of the little town, where my hist dollar had stranded me. Gold-seekers, for the California fever was at its height, and hundreds and thousands of men, reckless and desperate as I was myself, were rushing to the gold fields with all possible haste. Weary and heartsick, with aching head and dragging limbs, I wandered out beyond the town. It was a cloudy day, with a cold blustering wind that told of snowflakes near at hand ; but I paid no heed to the weather?the inner storm eclipsed the outer. "Hollo I" I thought, "here comes some one 1 in a tearing hurry. Clear the road, my boy ; { or look out for a knock-down argument!" I stepi>ed to one side, as a horse at full speed ! came dashing by. I had only time for a brief glance at the rider and steed, but that one j glance was enough. Such a horse and such a rider ! Coal black, with shining coat, arched neck, | sleek, flowing mane and rail, and slender limbs, ] with a long gentle spring that could scarcely I have stirred a child in the saddle. I had always been fond of horses and had prided myself on owning fine animals, but never before had I seen a horse that so took my heart by storm. And its rider, too !?a beautiful girl of not; more than eighteen summers, with flowing ringlets, rosy cheeks, and bright eyes, that seemed to read me through and through, as : she turned them on me, in passing. Involuntarily I removed my hat and stood I gazing after the well matched pair as toe \ horse made a sudden turn and halted with his j rider at the door of a house close by. The latter leaped to the ground and entered J the dwelling while the noise waiKeu quieM? | to a neat stable, opening on the road. I stood motionless till both had disappeared, ! then drew a long breath like one awakening ; from a dream and returned to town where a few quiet inquiries furnished me with the information that the animal I so much admired belonged to the chief magistrate Of the little town, its rider being his only child. All through the rest of the day the figure of ; that beautiful horse haunted me. I could not j throw it off. I lay down to sleep and 1 dream-' ed that I was mounted on its back, speeding across the wide plains, no longer spread as an impassible barrier, between me and every hope of fortune. I awoke and the same idea clung to me. All day long a demon whispered in my ear how easy it would be, in the dead of night, to j enter thestable I had seen, lead out the covet- j ed horse, mount him and away, away ! Urged by an irresistible impulse, I left the town at once, and inspected the magistrate's j premises, entering the stable, on pretext of! inquiring my way of a boy who was at work 1 within. The horse, the glorious black, was there, and ' my heart beat high as a closer inspection con- j firmed my first opinion of his quality. IIow long I might have lingered, feasting my eyes on that noble piecf of horse-tlesh who can say? j I was infatuated, and could, I verily believe, I have gazed on it for hours, had not the sudden i . mnaritinn of Mav Morris, the magistrate's j daughter, impelled me to a hasty flight. And then?not till then?as I glanced at the j proud face that had so interested me the day : before, did I realize in all its blackness the true import of the thought that had taken ! possession of me. A horse thief ! I to become a horse thief ! I pressed my hand to my head, bewildered. Had j I indeed fallen so low as this, that 1 should J seriously contemplate the stealing of another man's horse, and even take pleiisure in the I idea ? My brain reeled with horror at the dark pit, ' yawning beneath my feet, and yet still 1 felt the temptation stroug upon ine to follow to j the end the plan I had almost unconsciously ' mapped out for seizing the coveted animal. And so I went back to the town, at one moment shrinking from the thought of the depth | to which I had fallen, at another tilled with delight at the ease with which I could seize upon him, and speed on his back across the j plains. I lay down to sleep, and sleep AH from me. j The beautiful girl and the beautiful horse she | rode ; the horse and the girl, the gill and the horse?these two ideas, and the all paramount one that sprang from them, kept surging to ? j? *? i?; ?.:i i,w,f r ,,,, | aim no hi my uiaiu uum at ia.^ ? s|<i?nA ..r, , resolved to go out into the stormy night (for ; it was snowing hard,) and cool my feverish ; blood. T seemed to myself to be two persons?nay, three?in one body. One was wicked, and urged the theft of the horse; another was honorable and recoiled at the very idea ; and these two held hot argument together, while I the third looked quietly on, saying : "Look ; here, what's all this nonsense about ? You | are getting brain fever, my boy, that's what i it means,- neither more nor less. Better go ; home to your father while you can. that's my :tdvice." Every one in the little tavern had settled j down for the night, but I found 110 difficulty j in letting myself out, and then I set forth to l walk as rapidly as the deep snow would per-1 mit?whither ? As I live, my sole object and intention was to walk in the cool air until I felt tired enough to go back to my bed and gain the sleep I so much needed ; yet, without my own volition, | my steps led me direct to the stable where my coveted beauty was tethered; not only to the stable but into it, for the door was insecurely fastend and access easy. The result ? Ah, you have already divined it. I felt around in the darkness, found a bridle and saddle, and in a moment more led the black out. into the road ; and there I paused, my head whirling with exultation, regardless of the fact that a dog was barking furiously at hand, and that a light was rapidlyapproaching from the neighboring dwelling. I waited quietly until the beams of the lantern almost dashed into my eyes, and then, with one loud "Hurrah !" I leaped into the saddle, and plunged down the road at a wonderful speed, considering that the ground was already deeply covered with the fast falling snow, which, here and there, had drifted into huge heaps, almost blockading the way. It was not long before I heard sounds behind me that proved I was being followed, yet the knowledge troubled me not, but only lent additional zpst to the adventure on which I jtad embarked. The noble steed I rode needed neither whip nor spur to urge him on ; the bracing air and blinding snow seemed to have hied his blood, and 1 laughed aloud at the idea of any other animal being able to overtake him, the sp^ed lie made through the soft snow being perfectly wonderful. On and on we went; once or twice I drew rein and listened, only to be assured that I was still followed and that, too, very closely. Again I laughed and shook my fist at my invisible foe; and then, suddenly surrounding me on every side, I beheld a multitude of demons, each mounted on a horse the counter-; part of the one I rode, and in their midst, appealing to me for help, was the lovely girl whose favorite steed I had appropriated. Frenzied at the sight, I brought down the ; switch I carried heavily on the horse's Hank. ! He indignantly responded with a fierce side leap that landed him in the midst of a deep snow drift and pitched me headforemost into another. But I was up again in a moment, and wad- [ ed out into the level track, my blood on fire with the determination to rescue the beautiful maiden seen from the legion of demons who were carrying her into bondage. But lo ! they had vanished, one and all?no demons were to be seen, no horses no maiden ! ; Nothing was stirring on the great white plain ! except myself and the proud beauty from whose back I had so suddenly dismounted, and he was some distance off, having evident-! ly concluded that it was time to return to more comfortable quarters in his stable, to- \ ward which he was quickly making his way. j Sn I st.nnd still in the midst of the fast deep-! ening snow, lmlf blinded by the driving flakes, 1 half frozen by the cold that I now began to j feel for the first time, and wholly bewildered | by the disappearance of the maiden all for- j lorn, whose rescue I had resolved to effect, or die in the attempt. How my troubled brain solved the problem : of the sudden vanishing of my foes 1 cannot | say, for my recollection halts abrubtly sit this ! point, and recommences in a widely different j scene. A large, handsomely furnished apartment, ! myself lying in its midst on a luxurious couch, ! my father bending over me, his face haggard and careworn, and, standing at his side, a I lovely young girl, whom I had no sooner look-! ed upon than she vanished?these are my J next recollections?something of a leap you see from the lonely snow-covered plains. By and by, as I came back slowly to health and strength the gap in my memory was filled up. "Don't worry about it, my lad," said the man whom I had sought to rob of the horse. "It was not you who stole my horse ; it was brain fever, and we all know he is an eccentric fellow, not responsible for his misdeeds. ; No one blames you in the least?in fact, no ; one knows anything about it but your father, May and you and I. Naturally I supposed I was pursuing a regular horse thief, until,.after meeting my horse returning riderless. I rode on and found you senseless in the road. The first glance at you puzzled me. You n'uro Iin nnrnninn />rimiivil tllilt WflS PPl'tllin ' both face and dress denied it. So I lifted you on my horse and held on to you somehow until I reached home. I told them there that I had found you in- j sensible in the snow, and after getting you to bed and sending for the doctor I set about examining your pockets, to tind your identity, if possible. Your letters furnished me with your father's name and address, and when the physician pronounced yours a case of brain , fever, I sent a messenger to him. He came | at once, and for the last three weeks has helpto nurse you back to life. It was curious how that horse kept haunting you. through all your delirium?"the glorious black and the lovely girl" were all you j could talk about. You were always riding at I her side and fighting for her." "That lovely girl, haunts me still," said I;! "and I hope I may ride at her side and fight for her through life." "Who knows ?" laughed her father. "Stran-1 er things than that have happened. Perhaps you may." And so I did. A NARROW ESCAPE. As I surveyed myself in the glass, I felt a conscious blush rising to my face. I wanted to look my best to-night, and I knew that my I white dress and pearls became me well. "There, that'll do now, Miss (Jertie, dear, i vrm lrwtlr iii?t. lnvplv " J " * ? ?VV4? J \?WV V " | Poor old nurse ! according to her I was always lovely. Whether arrayed in silks or cottons, ball dress or morning gown, her verdict: remained the same. "Give me a kiss, nursie," I cried, "and then go and get ready while I show myself to papa. How do I do, papa V" I demanded, bursting upon him in all the splendor of my attire. "Eh, my little girl," he said, looking up from the book he was reading ; "are you ready , to start so soon V" "Yes, I promised to l>e the first arrival, you know; and please, I want your candid opin-j ion. Xurse thinks I look lovely." "1 arn afraid nurse is a partial critic," he j returned, with a fond smile. "You look very i nice, indeed, my darling. You are growing; wonderfully like your mother." 1 knew that this was the highest praise he could give me, and forgetful alike of my dignity and my extensive train, 1 ran to him and clasped my arms around his neck. "You dearold papa! You're sure you don't mind my leaving you?and you won't feel lonely without me, will you ?" "Xo, uoychild?no." As I drove along with nurse in her prim black bonnet, seated opposite to me, my heart beat high with nervous anticipation. 1 was going to my first party; for though I was eighteen, papa and I had lived such retired lives that, till lately, I had known nothing of the gayeties usual to girls of my age. Six months previously, the Mortons, some old friends of my father's, had settled in the neighborhood, and at their house I had begun to appear in society. Already, on the strength of a few musical evenings and a garden party or two, I felt myself quite a dissipated person. When we reached Holme Lodge, the large, comfortable old country mansion was all ablaze with light, and from the open door streamed an inviting Hood of warmth and brilliance. In the hall I w;is seized upon by Louie and Lottie Morton, the twin sisters. "Come upstairs to our room," cried Lottie ; "we shall have time for a nice chat before the people arrive." The sitting room, specially appropriated to the girls for their use, was a pretty, cosy apartment. A wood lire was burning on the tiled hearth, and nearby a table was set forth with a dainty repast of coffee and delicious cakes. After we had examined and commented on each other's costumes, Louie began filling our cups just as a young lady entered. She was a friend staying on a visit?Isabella Saloni by name?and by birth, half Italian and half English. She looked remarkably well, in a dress of heavy, saffron-tinted brocade, and necklace, ear rings and bracelets of dull gold, and as I gazed at her 1 comprehended how lovely she was. 1 was engaged to Rupert Morton for the first WHll/. ; Ulll> MC ll<iu vunj uunru <v vi'ii|'iv ui j turns when he whispered? I "Do you not particularly wish to finish this dance ? If not, will you come into the conj servatory V It is cool and pleasant there." I was about to make some laughing rejoinder. but a look in his gray eyes stopped me, | and 1 bowed an assent. "Gertrude," he said softly, as we stood by a marble basin wherein a tiny fountain sent up I a sparkling cascade of silvery drops, "do you : guess why I asked you to come here ?*' I glanced up at him saucily, i "Certainly; because it is cool and pleasant," I replied. "Ah, that was only the pretext, the excuse. You must guess my real reason, darling. Yon know I love you, do you not ?" 1 strove to cover my burning cheeks with my fingers ; but he gently removed them and ! held them in his own as lie bent his head to 1 the level of inv downcast eyes. "Have you not a word to say to me ? Can I you not give me one word of hope V" I could not at first speak, but he read his answer in my silence. ' "Rupert " I murmured presently, raising my head from its resting-place on his shoulder, "Rupert, do you know I?I thought?I was afraid that you liked Miss Saloni.1' "You were indeed mistaken. Xo man could help admiring Miss Saloni : but believe me, my darling Gertrude, beyond admiration I have never given her a thought." The rest of the evening sped swiftly by. If I had been happy before, I was ten times happier now. I danced every dance, and at supper Rupert contrived to secure a secluded corner, where he detained me so long that I offended one partner that sought me in vain. I was to remain at Holme Lodge that night, and go home the next day, nurse having brought everything requisite for my stay, and placed ready before she retired. Having exchanged my ball dress for a comfortable dressing gown, and my satin sboes for fur lined slippers, I sat by the tire in my bed room, dreaming bright dreams, and weaving fairy fancies. I loved and was beloved. Was not that the height of human bliss ? Could any other joy compare with it ? Truly it is written "There's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream." It was long before I got into bed, but once there I fell into a deep slumber, and no dreams of the future disturbed it. Suddenly I awoke?awoke with a full, sure consciousness of the presence of some one or something terrible in the room. Who or what it was I could not tell, and I dared not attempt to find out. I lay with my face turned to the wall, every limb stiff and still, and the chill blood in my veins curdling with fear. At last an icy finger touched me; and as though under some mesmeric inlluence I slowly moved my head. The fire had died out, but a night lamp was dimly burning, and by its light I saw a loosely robed figure, with a cloud of raven hair falling almost to its knees; luridly glowing eyes, set in a deathly pallid face; and in one upraised hand a gleaming stiletto, with jeweled handle and finely pointed. I could utter no cry ; I could make no movement. I remained spellbound and dumb, my eyeballs staring and my lips blanching, knowing I was at the mercy of a mad woman, and recognizing in her Isabella Saloni. Again she touched me ; and though I shuddered, I could not draw away. "You sleep soundly," she said, "but you have awaked at last. The sleep of death is the soundest of all sleeps, for there is no awakening from it! And so lie told you he loved you?you, not me! Oh, what do you know of love ? What does he know of love ? It is I who love, I?I?I!" and her voice rose shrill and high. Then she continued, after a moment's pause, "I am going to kill you tonight. He cannot love you then, lie will forget you, and it will be my turn." But the spell was broken. With a piercing, echoing cry for help, I Hung aside the bedclothing and sprang out on to the fioor. There caine one sharp, fierce blow, an agonizing pain?and then darkness and oblivion. It was twilight when I came to my senses. The curtains were, drawn, and a bright fire crackeled cheerfully in the grate. Vaguely wondering as to what had happened. I attemoted to sit un. but the onlv effect of the exertion was a low moan of anguish; A gentle voice addressed me soothinly, and Mrs. Morton leaned over me, and slipping her arm under the pillow, lifted me up, and gave me some cooling beverage to drink. I fell asleep directly, and when I awoke again gray day's light was creeping in at the window, and nurse was sitting by my side. "Thank Heaven !" she ejaculated, fervently, as I feebly raised my hand. "Ah ! but you're better, now, my lamb." "Have I been ill ?" I whispered. "A little, dearie," she answered, tenderly stroking my hair. "But?what was it ? Why am I not at home ?" "Hush! my pretty. You musn'ttalk any more now. Lie still, and another time you shall hear all about it." Ah, me! What weary days, what weary weeks, those were that I had to lie still. Waking and sleeping, 1 was haunted by halfdelirious visions of that dreadful night. I could not bear to be left alone for even a few minutes. A flittering shadow in the corner, a fold of drapery woidd nearly send me into jiysiri lcs. At last when the birds were blithely carrolling a welcome to the spring, and trees and hedgerows were bursting into leaf, I was carried from my bed to a sofa in the adjoining room, and from that time recovery was more rapid. Harvest was just over when Rupert and I were quietly married at a village church. The winter following we spent abroad. Papa joining us at Nice in October, and accompanying us on the remainder of our travels. Isabella Saloni is in a private asylum near London. Insanity, it appeared on inquiry was hereditary in her family, though the fact had always been kept as secret as possible. Poor, poor girl! I only think of her now with intense pity and compassion. wmmKmaBamtBMmmaamaMmtM VESUS-?FACTS AND SPECULATIONS. The transit of Venus in December next is naturally directing attention to the brilliant planet which then as a small round black spot passes across the sun's surface. Mr. Richard A. Proctor gives in Knowledge some interesting facts concerning the condition of Venus and some speculations as to whether the planet is inhabited. Venus, he says, has been measured, and we find that she is a globe nearly as large as the earth. Like the earth, she travels round and round the sun continually, but not in the same time as the earth. The earth goes round the sun once in twelve months, while Venus goes round once in about seven and a half months; so that her year, the time in which the seasons run through their changes, is four and a half months less than ours. If Venus has four seasons like ours,?spring, summer, autumn and winter,? eacn or mese seasons jast eigne weens. > enus also like our earth, turns 011 her axis, and so has night and day as we have. Her day is not quite so long as ours, but the differenceabout twenty-five minutes?is not very important. But when we consider some other points, we see that Venus, beautiful though she looks, would not be a comfortable home for us. Venus is much nearer the sun?the great fire of the solar system?than our earth is. She receives then, much more heat from him. In fact, it is easily calculated that if our earth were set traveling on the path of Venus, we should receive almost exactly twice as much heat from the sun as we do at present. This would be unbearable, except, perhaps, in the Polar regions; and even there the summer, with that tremendous sun above the horizon all through the twenty-four hours, would be hardly bearable. Besides, what a contrast between the hot Polar summer and the cold Polar winter, when for weeks together the sun would not be seen at all. But Venus .has her axis much more slanted than the errth's, so that her seasons must be very marked indeed. Thus the heat of her summer weather must be even more terrible than if her globe were 1 inclined like the earth's. 4 Again, the air of Venus is denser than ours. And it seems also to be a moist air, which is just the kind of air that keeps the heat in most. Tlw? -lir nf Vpiine is in t'nct. sr> rlnnsn smrl moist that the planet would he uncomfortable, quite apart from the intense heat, for crea1 tures like ourselves. There cannot he moisture in the air of a planet unless there are seas and oceans in the planet's surface. No doubt, then, Venus has her continents and oceans, her islands and promontories, and inland seas and lakes very much as our earth has. Then there must be rivers on the land and currents on the ocean; there must be clouds and rain, wind and storm and perhaps . snow and hail. "Whether the planet is inhabited or not, it would be difficult to say. Perhaps it is a world getting ready for use as i a home for living creatures. Most physicians believe that the sun is gradually parting with his heat. If, millions of years hence, the sun should only give out half as much heat as he | does, Venus would be as comfortable a place ! to live in as our earth is now. Hut at present | it may safely be said that if Venus is inlmb! ited, it must be by creatures very different I from those inhabiting the earth.?Netc York Trihuw. | HJisfcllMcous fReadhu). A CHAPTER ON BEARDS. Men wear their beards as they may please. The question, "Shall I shave V" is important only to the man that asks it, yet it was all the difference at one time between ostracism and being in the style, and at another of coming within the bounds of Mother Church and being a schismatic. No Mohammedan dares shave to-day unless he belongs to a certain sect, for it is a sufficient mark of contempt to call a man a "no beard," and an insult not to be borne to threaten to tear it, while you can ; wish the Moslem no better fortune than that his beanl may grow. "When Selim I. in the sixteenth century dared to shave off his beard i he shocked the Faithful more than if he had cut off the whole population of a conquered town. It was a bold act for him to smile at ; the Mufti's remonstrance. | It is a sign of the complexity of the differeni tiation of modern civilization. Herbert SpenI cer might say that every man wears his hair ! as he pleases or none at all if he so choose. That the full beard is a mark of savagery was i the opinion of almost all ancient eivilized peoI pies. Consequentlythe young Roman shaved j when he assumed the Virile toga, and denomi; nated all savages by a term from which we i derive the word "barlmrian," meaning beard; ed. The Romans who played that scurvy t trick on the Sabine women were probably i hairy fellows, but their refined descendants ! shaved off the hair of all the body except of | the scalp. When the first barber landed in i Itome from Sicily about three centuries be fore Christ, the new practice of shaving was no doubt vigorously denounced by the old gray beards, stauuch conservatives always, but, like all imported luxuries, it grew into favor. Those who shave closely have at least illustrious examples to point to. I They would hardly go so far that even the j hair of the head was not spared. This cleanly 1.. .1 I pt'ftpitl itUIlUl I fll lldll, 1/lliUin, 1IIUUI.I1 11(111 Kim they wore wigs constantly and artificial beards at times. When their artists depict a man ; with a beard of several days' growth they i mean "this fellow was a sloven or of low degree." It was a mark of distinction on the ' part of the warrior returning from the campaign, for it meant that he had had no chance to cut it off. Though they wore no beards and despised the long-haired and bearded Greeks, yet they had respect for this natural excrescence as a mark of manhood, and they wore at times an artificial heard tied to the head. A smooth-faced, bald-headed man can claim the Egyptian sculptures as his fashionplate. i lie who sings to his beard may comb it daily ! with assiduous care, and even encircle it with a ring if proud of its length of filament, but lie would hardly follow the Assyrian fashion and plait it in many rdlls and bind it with ribbons, nor would he put it in a case as the ancient dwellers by the Nile did with their false beards. The Israelites who gathered at Jeru, salem would be his examples, for they were proud of their unadorned beards, and retained them even in captivity among the clean-pat ed pyramid builders. Joseph shaved himself before answering the summons of Pharaoh, that he might not be offensive to the mighty ruler, which is only an early instance of that capacity of accommodating themselves to circumstances which makes the Jew so powerful to-day. j The beardless face is the fashion of the glaI diator and the prize fighter, for the same rea1 son that Alexander's valiant soldiers shaved their chins by royal command, in order that . they might not carry about with them a handle whereby the enemy could seize them. The ! reason was good, for there might have been | hostile inquiries for the youthful conqueror on : tuc |'(ii i ui ma unu.nwji j But men who grow beards are as proud of ! tliem as of their children. Are they not their own product and full of individual idiosyn: crasy V Every crinkle means something, if it ! represents nothing more than a dime saved i from the barber. Beter the Great knew hu! man nature, and used his knowledge to extort money from his subjects. He laid a tax on the ; beards, and at first raised more commotion | than money. But the government barbers began shaving oft the beards of delinquents, I when the tax was paid with expedition, j The mustache has been an object much so: licited. The man upon whose upper lip a constant shadow hangs, is the one who finds it most necessary to stroke it; it must be nursed and coaxed. Manhood has advanced its sign, ! and the hoy's thoughts are always on it. With how much envy he looks on the next young man whose upper lip's crop has a year's growth? It's tiny filaments he endeavors to twist to a point. He waxes it to make it lie down. The young man has done this in every age and clime where hair was not despised. To return to the ancient dwellers by old Nile?the young Egyptian was spared one of the most anxious periods of life, for his father had shaved him constantly since lie was five years old, leaving onlv a counle of locks to hold him l)V. should lie prove to be a renegade. Yet the mustache i lias been as much preached at as any sin a man : can commit. Englishmen of a century or so ago, looked on it?that is the mustache solus? as a French frivolity. The courtly Frenchman of the time of the Louises trained this appendage of his face to an unnatural length. Until recently the English prejudice still showed itself in regulations which prevented its display in the army and among the clergy. Just now, and among Americans, the mustache is the favorite form of hair upon the face. In its place it sets off the face, and doctors declare that it is of great use in straining the air which goes into the lungs. Neither dust nor ordinary smoke will go through with it. When cultivated to excess, it is valuable as a coffee strainer. The man who, when he takes a spoonful of sou]), lifts his mustache with his left hand, and carefully depositing the side of the spoon on the edge of the cavern displayed beneath, tilts it over until the contents are spilt, is not a graceful object at dinner. In the name of all that is cleanly, the inveterate tobacco chewer should eschew either the long mustache or the favorite quid. Englishmen and Irishmen to some extent i affect side whiskers. Anglomaniac Americans do the same. Josh Billings, a close observer of human nature, says that nine-tenths of all the men who Vear side whiskers are members of some church. Let the reader look around him this morning and judge if Josh is not about right. Side whiskers become some faces, but even Oscar Wilde would not defend a red face framed in pale gold whiskers, as an object of beauty. There are two varieties of this species. One is the rather elegant affair which is long and slightly scanty of hair. The other variety is shorter, bushy, and has a curl forward. This is worn by cads. The imperial was first cultivated in France. ! When it is full and has an elegant curl, it may bo graceful, and is always rather becoming. i-i 1 IIP gOUTPP?popuiany suppuseu LU imt Iiaiucu for the odoriferousanimal which wears it?has a smack of humor in it. .It gives one the impression that its owner is a jester, or, at least, a man full of quaint conceits. On a full face, otherwise shaven, it sometimes has a comical | air. IIow severe is the man who has his whiskers and beard clipped off square. He is square also in all his dealings, and measures other folks' morals by rule and plumb. He would reduce life to geometrical figures and lay out the road to Heaven by a species of theological trigonometry. His is the "beard of formal cuts," which the melancholy Jacques describes man as wearing in the sixth or magisterial age. The pointed beard isan affectation of the past, and was the mark of a gallant. Not so the double pointed beard, which is the sign of a cleft chin hidden under it. The hair does not part gracefully without this. The beard is a mark of sanctity. Wisdom - is thought to accompany it when long and whitened by the snow of age. Its cold color is proof that* the fires of nature are declining and the ashes are appearing 011 the surface. The Hindoo sages, who, in the literature of that people, spend long years in contemplation, are represented as wearing long beards which flow into their laps. Jupiter is always I represented with a full and flowing beard as the accompaniment of wisdom and strength. ! Yet there are few of the great men of the world who were remarkable for their beards. 1 The (.redan sages wore them, but a hasty glance through a portrait gallery of the great men of literature and science shows few full beards. Shaksi>eare wore a mustache alone. So did Sir Thomas Brown, a man of contemplation. Women and children love a full beard. They delight to run their lingers through its curving massess, and women know how easily a man is soothed by that sort of caress. When Vivian pursued Merlin, intent upon stealing from him the charm of the woven paces in the depths of the forest, she wooed him to notice her by casting herself down at his feet as he sat with his eyes uplifted, under an oak, and combed his beard with her fingers and made a veil of it, in which she hid her lithe form. So she lulled the old man until he forgot his wisdom and told her the secret. And then the vixen wove the charm of his destruction. Women sometimes have_ beards, but they are not proud of them. The appearance 01 one 011 an old woman's face marks a departure from full womanhood. Witches were supposed to wear them. Man has always had a horror of a bearded woman, but the slight mustache on the lip of the brunette beauty is thought becoming. The inhabitants of England never could l>e brought to eschew the natural adornment of their faces, notwithstanding the regulations of the Church of Rome for the government of the clergy ; and in the 'steady adherence of English priests to their beards and their wives lay the seeds of the Reformation. On such threads does history hang. On the other hand, there are races who cannot grow the beard, and consequently dislike or neglect it. Negroes and Mongolians seldom have anything approaching it. The Indian brave kept his face clean of hair, which only grew stragglingly, and the first step when a white man was adopted into any tribe was the removal of the hair on his face. This the squaws effected by scraping with an oyster shell. Rough, teardrawing shaving ! It brought out roots and all, and extirpated the hair. Barbers are a product of civilization. Their importance has declined. They are no longer the surgeon and dentist of the village, hut still maintain their character as news cireulaDnidiovD /Hif liuvfov li/vnvo in (Irirm t tl 1 IUin. i^nucin i.ui <* n^un, *u viiMnui literature and that of Southern Europe than they do in theotales and poems of hardier climates. It seems strange that the barber should be an important member of society among a people who do not shave as a rule, but the barbers of Mohammedan countries are given to the comb rather than the razor. It is Moslem luxury to sit in a cool stall while an active barber laves, combs vnd perfumes the beard, accompanying his work with recitals of stories of genii and afrits and beautiful women, or selections from the poets. Fashions have changed from time to time in beards. Now it was the pointed, now the T beard, and again it might be the mustache. Hut fashions have ceased to say anything about it, and every variety is worn. A count made at a place frequented by men in this city one day gave the following results : Twenty-five men wore the mustache alone, five the full beard, and nine the beard clipped ; ten wore full mustache and clipped beards, live the mustache and imperial, and two the goatee ; two wore side whiskers alone, an unusually small number ; one the imperial, and two smooth chins, while four wore no hair. Thus it seems the mustache is the favorite in Cincinnati, the beard in some form ranking next. In winter a large proportion of beards would l?e found. These figures indicate the favorite styles here. They would not do as averages for all American cities.?Cincinnati Entjnirer. IRISH HISTORY^NOT DRAMATIC. There is one difficulty in writing a readable history of Ireland, which no amount of new information can remove, and which almost forbids us to hoi>e that such a work can be made popular with the general public. History is attractive in so far as it can be made dramatic?so far as each crisis in the nation's fate is summed up in some one decisive struggle, or can be told in the form of a biography of the chief actor. The popularity of Creek history rests upon the mode in which it can be thrown into acts, each terminating with some orillllliH stage enects, auer which me t;iut<un falls, to rise and disclose anew plot and a fresh cast of characters. If we carefully examine the popular conception of English history from the fall of Harold to the arrival of William III, we perceive that it may, without difficulty, be divided into a series of dramas, each with a marked and effective termination. A history can be written biographically when the force which manifestly produces marked results is the surpassing genius and energy of a conspicuous individual; the struggle, for instance, of Scotland against England in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries lives only in the deeds of Wallace and Jlruce, and is popularly believed to have terminated with the battle of llannockburn. The history of Ireland cannot lie written dramatically or biographically. The changes which took place were all produced by unobsprvfd forces actincr over lonir periods. The transformation of the Northern feudal lords into quasi Celtic chiefs, resulted from many | and not obvious causes, and took two centuries to effect. The only complete drama in Irish history is the reign of James II. The history of Ireland is also almost?if we may use the term?heroless. Of the Celtic population, the only man who has left an enduring name in history is the King Brian ; of all the Normans who fought and died during three centuries, there remains only an indefinite memory of the (Jeraldines as a family. Cromwell is remembered not because he personally achieved very much in Ireland, but because lie manifestly did something; and for Cromwell to (Jattan and O'Connell not one man has left a memory. It is strange but true that although there was incessant war in Ireland for five centuries, no one out of Ireland, who has not specially studied Irish history, could name a battle, except that of Boyne, or a siege except that of Londonderry; and the reason of this is that during the entire period the lighting never-resulted in any decisive success which determined, once for all, the course of subsequent events. "IIistouy of this Associate Reformed Synod of tiie South."?It has been known i for years that Dr. K. Lathan, of Yorkville, j was engaged in the preparation of a History | of the Associate Reformed Church, Hnuth. As the fruit of this labor we have a volume 01 4ls pages. A denomination one hundred years old, may be expected to have made some valuable contributions to the large stock of church history. This volume of Dr. Latlian will show that this expectation is well founded. The Associate Reformed Church, made I I up as it is of the two churches, the Associate I ! and the Reformed, embraces the history of j i both these tried defenders of Presbyterian ism. j That part of the work relating to these two bodies is specially full, showing a great deal of careful research. A general view of the religious condition of Kngland and Scotland during the stormy reigns of Charles II and j James 11 is presented. This was necessary to anything like an intelligent comprehen-1 j sion of the subject. Many of the facts given j j are familiar to those who have studied the , ! history of the Reformation, but they can ; i never become stale to those who cherish the i j great and precious principles which that rev- i I olution brought so prominently forward. The special interest of the work, however, j I is found in those details which belong to a j J period subsequent to the union of the As so | ciate ami Reformed Churches, in 178-2. Dr. Lathan gives a short chapter to the United Presbyterian Church, whose history j runs in lines which intersect our own at so ; many points. lie also refers to the divisions } among the Psalm-singing churches. The part taken by the Associate Reformed j j church in South Carolina in securing the j | removal of Dr. Cooper from the presidency of | I the South Carolina College, is somewhat con-! I spicuous, and is certainly creditable to its zeal | in behalf of the best interest of the State. This History should be in the hands of all our i>eople. Dr. Lathan has rendered the : church an invaluable service in its prepara- | tion and publication. We hope he may re-1 ceive such encouragement in its sale as that j he will feel justified in following it with that' other volume to which he refers in his Preface, j a volume of sketches of the congregations and j ministers of the church.?Axwvttc Reformed ( Pri'shi/tei'idi). INCONSIDERATE FRIENDS. Inconsiderate friends are, indeed, little better than outright enemies. One can have no peace of either body or mind while in their presence, owing to their intolerably clumsy way of trying to please and show their great regard for us and ours. They believe that none but their own ideas of what is right and proi>er?disjointed and unstable as these may } seem to us?are worthy to be accepted as ex- j eraplary rules by their circles of associates. Though they have grasped but a disconnected , point in our affairs, they are ever handling i them in their own indelicate way. There is i no end to the ridiculous, unwarranted, and j wide-of-the-mark conclusions they are capa- [ tile of jumping at, and their self-respect is too feeble to prevent their public expression of the j same as undeniable truths?the outcome of putting two and two together in the queer way they have of doing so. And then, too, they think we should feel llattered and raise our estimation of them a peg or two for their "shrewd guessing." They are unkind and cause much mischief, but they don't mean it. They are too stupid and thoughtless to realize the amount of unpleasantness they cause by meddling in private affairs of which 1 they know nothing whatever. If we visit these friends, after an urgent: request, in which all our conjured-up excuses failed of their purposes, then they make every j exertion to kill us with kindness; their ex-' pressions of welcome are so profuse as to make us timid; we cannot feel free; every ; move we make is supposed to have some sen-; timental meaning; we feel that we are taking part in a tableau unsuited and unpleasant to t us; our every remark must be studied with unusual care before being made through fear j of some misunderstanding airising from it, j and we become utterly miserable where we are supposed to enjoy ourselves immensely. The charm of our friendship is lost in their , insincerity, and the constrained and false we are forced to take. Our hostess wants to convert us to her par-! ticular whims. She doesn't realize that, an- j tagonistic though they are, we may be equal-! ly attached to ours. We must wear our hair i as she wears hers; it will look much nicer that way. We roust not wear a plain collar if she ' is partial to ruffles and ruchings. Our draper- j ies would be much more becoming if cut and made up with the furbelows of her fashion, I though her build may be the reverse of ours;! and thus she makes us believe that everything : about us is awry, and that we are hideous at! best. We always look pale; she fears we are quite ill. We must write in our diary at a ; particular hour; it does not matter that the iiisnirsit inn nf the Pntrv we wish to make conies <it its own will, and doesn't remain j with us to suit our pleasure. She is invaria-1 lily catering to our taste by getting up some [ extra disli which we detest with all our in- ] ward might. We must eat her "delicious" j stewed chicken?we don't know, of course, ; how delicious it is until we have tasted it? j which she has prepared to tickle our palate, ! even though she knows that we have been ! vegetarians for many years, and that no hu-! man apatite in the community can compare I with ours for relish and consumption of our preferred simple diet. She is ever fussing to no purpose, and laboring for our benefit in a ' manner we can neither appreciate rior accept | joyfully. She doesn't know that the chicken j she has piled upon our plate is offensive to i our senses. If she could only make us taste ! the bite that she is holding on a fork under > our nose we'd be sure to like it, she i>ersists I in repeating, and we, boiling over, almost, ! with impatience, wish she were no nearer us ! than the man in the moon. Upon departing, our merciless hostess doesn't I let go of us until she has exacted a promise ' that we will write to her immediately upon j arriving home. Even if our journey is but j of two or three hours' duration, she can not j sleep easy until she knows we got through ! the ordeal safe. Her solicitude for our com- i fort is so enlarged upon, and its expression | so tiresome, that we are glad to escape fur-1 ther association with her, and in the silence \ of our own simple apartments with joy to be j free from her attentions, and at liberty once | more to be our natural self in word and deed, j We may assert our right to do so when we are in our own home, be it ever so humble; j and it is torture beyond description to be some { people's very welcome guests. We write to her and tell her of "our great | fortune to be alive," after the ordeal of our i journey ; but this expression has with us one I meaning and for her another. Of course, j then, there is hypocrisy 011 our part; but how j can we help it i We are in duty bound to write after being forced to promise an imme-1 diate report of our safety, and something must i be said which is true but not offensive. We may wait a year for an acknowledgment of i our asssuring missive, and if it ever does come, we will learn that she was so glad every-. thing went right with us; but our questions, i which were of some importance to us, but not of personal matters, or of a nature to j make any one hesitate to answer them, have j been entirely ignored. There is no mention of them whatever. The sheets of paper are : merely tilled with a conglomeration of nonsensical trash in which we try very hard to be in- i terested; but our effort is vain. Light of the Sky.?Captain Abney lately ; read a paper before the British Association on i the light of the sky at high altitudes, based j upon observations made in the Alps on the | Riffel. at a height of 8,500 feet. His investi-; gations proved that in high altitudes the light | of the sky diminishes very much so as to make ' photography difficult, and that is only a tenth ! or a twentieth of that which is found on the j surface of the earth. There was a remarkable ; absence of the rain band spectrum. On the | 0:^-1 i.? n.?f ,i,,_ 1 ItlJiri IIU imiy OrtW it uiivrj auu mat nao uu- i ring <i shower. The solar spectrum was the ! same on the ltiffel as in London. lie did not j believe that aqueous vapor was present in the j upper regions; at all events in the form in . which it exists below. In the red part of the ' spectrum he found that the benzine an alcohol i which had been found to exist in the atmos- i phere actually increased in strength in the ' higher regions, and he could only suppose that i benzine and alcohol are not of terrestrial for mation but come to us from space. l)r. Dlaislier said he had never failed up to live miles ! in getting a tlejHwition v?t}K?f, tmd tlivre } was no part of the earth's atmosphere proba- j bly in which there was no aqueous vapor. At, a height of seven miles in a balloon he had ! seen cirrus clouds still higher, and there was i a great difference between the state of the at-1 mosphere in a free balloon and on a mountain ' side. -Professor S. P. Dangley, of Allegheny, J Pennsylvania, in a paper on "the distribution I of energy in the solar spectrum, stated that he j had investigated the infra-red spectrum at a height of l.'J.OOO feet in a very dry region, and ' found that it extends very much further than i had been mapped heretofore. The wave lengths of the visible parts of the red end of the spec-j trnm are only one-fourth of those in the infra-spectrum, so that three fourths of the ' ? I lie /\Kcnrrat inns umvwl tfliei'HJ1 WCIC V131U1C. mo . the existence of great gaps in the spectrum, j and lie was inclined to support Abney's conclusion on the existence of benzine and alcohol : in space. Thk Mystehy of Chime.? A gentleman ! who had just returned from the Yellowstone, j states the Helena Independent, casually re-; marked, while talking hist evening with some other men at the Cosmopolitan, that he came near being drowned in that river while on his , recent trip. A reporter who was present asked if the Yellowstone was really so dangerous ; a stream as it is reported to be by the newspapers. 11 Yes, decidedly,'* was the reply ; "and the newspapers don't tell half the truth, eith- j er. I'd be willing to bet that there have been i fully a hundred men drowned this year, not to . say anything of those who are murdered, and then thrown into the river to cover up the j crime. You see, the current is very rapid and , violent, and the river is full of loose boulders, j and logs, snags, and rubbish of various kinds, and nine times out of ten the bodies of drown-' ed or murdered men, after getting into the current, are never seen again. The water | dashes them about on the rocks and snags and literally tears them to pieces. When a body i is found it is generally so bruised and mutila-! ted that identification is almost impossible, ! and there is no way of telling whether the dead man was simply drowned or had fallen a victim to some of the murderous devils with which that whole country is infested. The fact is the remark, "another man drowned in the Yellowstone" is becoming so common down there that the people have got used to it awl take but little interest in such accidents. There is not much sympathy expressed for drowned j)eople, either, and when a floater is found the common remark is, "he's out of luck," or 'died of too much water 011 the stomach.' " ? ? SLEEPLESSNESS. The causes that produce this serious trouble are various. Not infrequently the tendency to it is inherited with a delicate nervous organization, and overwork will increase it. It is difficult for the sufferer to know how much work, mental and physical, may bo accomplished without producing the unpleasant result. For one so constituted a most watchful care becomes important, and the most interesting employment must be turned away from at the first sense of weariness. An earnest conversation witli a friend oxciting your sympathy, the demand upon your strength made by an invalid, reading an article that stimulates the mind with intense thinking, may, any of them, cause you to spend many wakeful hours and lead to severe exhaustion 011 the morrow. By Watchfulness you may learn to spare yourself the over-fatigue, as a duty which others may not understand the reason for. You may avoid the conversation and the book at evening, seeking them at an earlier hour when the choice lies with you. But with every care you are liable to suffer from causes you may neither foresee nor prevent. Sometimes indigestion will awaken you at the small hours, and take revenge for some very slight departure from the careful diet you uniformly adopt. Recently it has been discovered that many persons lose hours of sleep because they are in need of nourishment. That the fast is too long that continues from supper time at 6 o'clock until six or eight the next morning. Physicians who used to prescribe bromide of soda or pottasium for sleeplessness now urge their patients to take beef tea instead. The writer, after trying various prescriptions with little benefit, was at length so fortunate as to receive such advice. At first beef tea was used with some light bread or biscuit broken in it, sipped from a spoon as warm as it could be taken. Afterwards, milk just scalded, not boiled, was substituted, and to make it a little more easy of digestion a tablespoonful of lime water was added to a half tumbler of milk. To facilitate matters a pocket-stove with an alcohol lamp or an arrangement for the gas fixture should be at hand. If neither beef tea nor milk can be easily procured, hot water with an infusion of hops or mint may be substituted, or even hot water alone will quiet restlessness and induce sleep. A darkened room that the moon teams cannot enter, o litHo fvocli tiii* fmm tin mum firpiihipp nr window, are valuable assistants in making the sleep continuous. When once the habit of wakefulness is broken up, the lieef tea or milk may be taken cold, but not iced. If you are always a poor sleeper it will be well to continue this late supper as a permanent thing in your daily life. Provide for it in the case of aged and delicate persons who may be under your roof ; and as the troubles of life appear most weighty when scanned in the midnight hours, you may be able to lighten the load for the rest of their journey.?.b'. <S. T'., in Christian Union. I)a&k Rooms.?While absolute darkness drstroys the eyes, as in the case of the eyeless fish of the Mammoth Cave?dark and dismal rooms must impair the sight. Ilence, those occupying such rooms, and have special occasions to use the eyes much, soon find the light to fail. This results in part from the fact that light stimulates the sight?its absence failing to develop the power?and partly from the additional effort to see, of course taxing and weakening sight. The sunlight in the room, indeed, may fade the carpet and affect some other trifling results, but all of them are more easily remedied than deficient sight or the utter loss of it, so likely to follow this foolish fashion of excluding God's glorious sunlight. And while we remember that this same light is one of the best purifiers, absolutely necessary to health?animal as well as vegetable?to attempt to exclude it from the room most occupied or to shun its healing influences, is unwise in the extreme. The absence of it is too well known in its results on vegetable life to demand even a reference, and yet animal life if possible, is still more unfavorably affected. This light is as free as the air, while as a remedial agent it is of the utmost importance. Tiie Insect Population.?In 1K40 Alexander von Humboldt estimated the number of species of insects preserved in collections at 1- -i- 1 KA / iAA I 1 -A iWV\ . 1?., Ivrt UtJLWKtJIl .OlU.vnjw itliu , J^iiiupr mmn; iiring represented by more than three times as many species of insects as of phanerogamous plants. Ten years ago l)r. Gerstacker estimated the number of species of insects to be 225,000 five-times as many as the known sjiecies of all other classes of animals together. If we assume that there exist in the whole world only three times as many insects as there are phanerogamous plants?the latest estimate of which approaches 225,000?we arrive at the startling sum of about 750,000. Bewildering as this estimate appears, it is probably too low. The oak alone gives shelter and support to 450 sjiecies of insects, and the pine to more than 200, and one moth alone has 35 different sjiecies of parasites ! Without going further in our calculations we may safely assert that if the number of sjiecies of all other classes of animals should be doubled by new discoveries (which is rather imjirobable for some classes, and impossible for the vertebrates;, the number of sjiecies of of insects would lie more than " live times that of all other animals taken together. What Womex Eaiix ix tiie Famu.y.? Consider the matter. We are constantly tohl that the life work of a wife is as arduous and as absorbing as that of her husband. We are told that if she does her whole duty to her family she can have no time to study metaphysics or to pnr.il siij> or pa per "mm ii naiiox box. I think it was the conservative Dr. Ed ward II. Clarke who declared that the duties of a mother of a family required as much toil of brain and body as those of the captain of a ship. Grant it all ; grant that she works as hard as her husband does. If so, the inference is irresistible that she earns her share of the family income. The fact that he receives the money and pays the hills makes him the treasurer of the family, that is all. When he pays out money to her, it is not as a gift, but as earnings.? Ifomen's Journal. .Joke on* the Doctor.?There was an eager and excited, as well as anxious, throng of heirs gathered in the mansion of an old French lady recently deceased. She had left to her physician, "whose enlightened care and wise prescriptions had made her live so long,'' the contents of the old oaken chest. The heirs were naturally indignant; the doctor much elated at the thought of the treas 4-1.^ 1 nl.l ures COIll ill lieu ill uic <|umiiii^ ?. ?u icu vm chest. They gathered about it, waiting for the lawyer to come with the key. At last he arrived and handed the key to the doctor, lie unlocked the chest and opened it. The sunlight fell upon its glistening contents, consisting of the unopened bottles of medicine which he had prescribed for her the previous twenty years. Don't Talk Locdly.?Nothing marks a true lady or gentleman more surely than a low voice; and a man can have it as well as a woman. A loud voice arises either from extreme carlessness or low breeding. No one likes to walk beside a person in the street who talks in a loud voice. The same rule applies to girls and boys. Play is one thing and conversation another, though the former need not be boisterous. Children may have good lungs and use them in cheering at the right time ; but when they talk, a low, distinct voice marks one who has been accustomed to good society and possessed of innate refinement.