Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 09, 1882, Image 1
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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | ^it |nbrjirntal Jamila Betospapcr: jfor tjtc ^rtjinotiorn of tju political, Social, Agricultural anO domntercial Interests of t|t Sontb. |TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, is ADVANCE.
VOL. 28. YORKYILLE. S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1882. ISTO. 45.
lite Ston) Idler.
A STRANGE RELEASE?
In 1880 Charles Page was in old Mexico, en
gaged in herding cattle. Not from the love o:
wild life, but because he could earn hard dol
Jars, and later on, because his heart had gone
out to Zareta Hernandez, the daughter of olt
Hernandez on the Mexos.
That he loved the girl was no wonder, foi
she was a noted beauty, even among the roanj
beautiful Spanish women who lived in thai
section, but that he, poor Charlie Page, the
American, should have won Zareta's love it
return, when a score of the richest rancheros.
both Mexican and Spanish, were literally al
her feet, might have been thought strange.
Such, however, was the condition of affairs,
and despite the objections of her family, and
the positive interference of some other lovers;
the girl had become solemnly engaged to Charlie,
and promised to marry him in the fall.
And those who knew her best were satisfied
that at this point opposition must cease, for ii
Page lived Zareta would be his bride at the
time agreed, or in her grave.
The mat?h was consequently considered in
the best light possible by Zareta's family, and
Charlie allowed the freedom of a future sonin-law.
As the old man put it:
"Ze "boy is no ze Spaniard, and not as I
choose; but, Santa Maria! ze girl is ze Spaniard,
and she choose!"
That told the whole story. Zareta was a
Spanish maid, and would do as she would do,
let those oppose who might dare.
The Rubicon once passed, matters moved on
more smoothly, and nothing seemed to fret the
course of true love except?there is always an
except?the implacability and ugliness of one
of the girl's discarded lovers, who would not
consent to be cast aside after the manner of
men, but raged and threatened, daily growing
worse.
This man was Dion Combra, a half-breed,
but a man of wealth?a i>erson of a ruinou9
and ungovernable temper, who swore the match
should not go on.
Page occasionally met this scowler, but no
words had passed between them, until one evening
late in August, when he surprised his persistent
rival delivering a passionate lecture to
the mother of Zareta, a quiet little woman,
who could only tremble before the profane rage
of the half-breed.
Instantly conceiving the cause of the scene,
Charlie sprang forward, and thrusting himself
before the other, cried:
"Draw back, you hound ! Why do you
frighten a woman ? I am here to answer for
Zareta Hernandez, and her mother is my
mother. Another insulting word and I'll fling
you into the river yonder!"
For an instant the half-crazed Combra stood
sjjeechless; then shrieking out an oath he tore
a knife from his bosom, and tluughimself upon
the American, only to l>e met with a sudden
blow, that hurled him senseless to the ground,
* " 1 A I\!Q C llViQt _
wniie i'age tooKine unit; ujuuici ui mo om pvheart
quickly from the scene.
Impressing Madam Hernandez with the necessity
of secrecy with regard to this unpleasant
transaction, the young lover himself forgot
it for the next three hours, within the
sweet shelter of two warm arms, ar d gazing
into liquid eyes that were filled with yielding
love ; but the matter was suddenly brought to
mind again as he rode homeward through the
misty moonlight, by the whiz of a knife hurled
from a chaparral by the roadside, and the sight
of a dim figure leaping down the river bank
toward a waiting boat.
With a sudden touch of the spur the young
man followed, but too late. The light skiff
fled from the shore like a shadow.
"That coward!" muttered Charlie, as he
Hi-pw rein at the water's edtre. "he would have
killed me again in good old Spanish style?a
knife in the dark. I must look out for this
bravo. That cursed blade came close!"
From that time on the American found it
necessary to guard himself constantly, for the
jealousy and hatred of the half-breed, now
thoroughly aroused, was terrible ; and his attempts
on the life of the other were so frequent
that Page became at last convinced
that the world was not wide enough for his
enemy and himself, and he determined to go
armed at all moments, and to preserve his
own safety, even at the expense of the life of
Combra.
A bond to keep the peace would have been
as waste paper to the infuriated ranchero, and
Page knew it. His only safety lay in eternal
vigilance.
The days were drawing toward fall, and the
coming of her wedding festivities now tilled
the heart of Zareta; but in the midst of it all
she saw and felt the some tithe of the danger
that threatened her lover, and it made her
warm blood run cold.
Once she spoke to the young American of
it, but he scoffed, and as much as slfe loved
him the girl could not endure that, so she determined
to say nothing, but to watch.
Even though Charlie denied the danger, she
felt assured of it. The fierce rush of passion
in her own heart taught it better than could
her lover what Combra must feel.
"Ife'll kill my darling, if he can!" Zareta
whispered to herself. 'T must guard him !"
Unknown to Page, the girl planned and contrived
to protect him. At times trusted servants
of her own followed him to and fro and
frightened away any roadside lurkers ; at other
times, by various excuses, the maid met her
lover in unexpected paths, and prevented his
appearance near her own home ; and yet again
bv outside business, she managed to draw
the blood-thirsty Combni away from the Mexos
valley for days at a time.
Still the danger continued, and both the
American and his sweetheart knew it. The
disappearance of the half-breed put off the day
of flnal reckoning, and Page never rode without
his pistols.
Notwithstanding all these fears and troubles,
the lovers were much together, and the
wedding day drew on apace. And even as it
approached the dread of the murderous Combra
increased.
Overcome by love and fear, Zareta had begged
her promised husband not to ride aftei
dark, and he had given his word. For tliis
reason his visits to the house of old Hernan
dez were now made in the afternoon, and as
the sun touched the crowns of the far-a-waj
mountains he each day bade hisSpnaish sweet
heart good-bye, and rode three miles across
the country to his own home, where he re
\ mained out of sight until morning.
A Man-like the young American chafed at
A being thus separated from the queen of his
? heart, and locked within adobe walls froir
sundown to sun-rise ; but with clinging caress
es and tearful eyes poor Zareta begged that it
should be so.
"Only until our marriage, my beloved
When we are one, irrevocably, then this woli
will leave us. Then once more you will b<
free."
"Pehaps," replied Page. "But suppose tin
prosecution continues V"
"Then," said the girl, with the dark bloot
llaming in her cheek?"then, when I am youi
wife, you may kill him !"
"It's agreed," said Charlie. "I will say n<
more of this Combra until after our wedding
Vint if hd then nnntinues to trouble VOU ail(
threaten me, let him have a care.''
It was at last Sunday, and the ceremon;
was to be on Tuesday. Twice during the las;
week, even in the daytime, Page had beer
followed by Indians through the timber, red
skins hired by this implacable enemy, anc
on this very morning, an old friend of th<
American's sent him word at his ranche no
to venture forth that day at all, or if he di(
to remain at the home of his lady-love unti
the wedding ceremony.
The brow of the young man grew dark a;
this message was communicated to him.
"Hide from that dog ! Never! By heaven
I'll ride as I will and where I will, and let air
man. beware bow he seeks to detain me 1
am my own master!"
The vow was perhaps a rash one, but Pag
buckeled a pair of heavy pistols at his belt
threw his repeating rifle across his saddle
bow and put spurs to his horse with all tin
determination of a soldier.
He was thoroughly aroused, and had hi
rival appeared a duel to the death would mos
certainly have ensued.
j But the journey to Hernandez's ranche was i
| without incident, and all day with his love |
; seemed to cool the anger of the man, so that'
: when, an hour before sundown, he bade Za-1
i reta good-bye and turned his horse homeward,
; he had almost forgotten the danger of which
.! he had that morning been warned,
f The road or trail ran westward, and after
traversing the highland for a couple of miles,
? descended to the bottoms of the Mexos.
[ The young lover had riden as far as tliis
j point, dreaming, and it was not until the i
r; hoarse bellow of the cattle all arouud him j
r' attracted his attention that he aroused him-:
. self from his reverie. Then, however, he |
\ looked sharply around him and stuck spurs to ;
t his horse.
I uBy heavens! A strange herd ! I wonder
! | how they came here ? ft will be well to move
' J on. Some of those steers have ugly eyes and
j horns."
And indeed they had. The cattle were
I strays, a half hundred or more, and were
[ .frightened. When in that state they are often
dangerous, and sometimes attack even mountI
ed men.
j Page knew this, and rode both rapidly and
, carefully across the bottom land toward the
ford, ready at any moment to make a run for i
it should the cattle choose to attack him.
He was almost to the river's edge ; a bit of I
; chapparel alone separated him from the How- j,
ing water, when suddenly with a hoarse cry, ]
he reined his horse sharply back u|>on his
I haunches, and clutched wildly at his pistol i
holster, then as suddenly was dragged from his j
saddle to the ground, half strangled by a tight- |
ening lariat about his throat, and the same i
instant his bloodthirsty enemy, Don Combra, <
knelt above him, knife in hand ! ;
With swift and nervous strength he bound I
the half-stunned American, and then drag- ]
ged liim towar the liver's brink.
"Carramba !" hissed the furious half-breed, 1
! glaring into the eyes of his victim, "ze end has 1
, come! You would not mind ze warn, ze deb- (
bil gets you now ! See! I will cut ze t'roat, <
an' tie stones to heels an' dround !" ?
The man's words rang dully in the ears of 1
his captive, but the gleam of his eyes and 1
knife, and the gurgle of the river close at 1
hand, told Page his fate. 1
To cry out was worse than useless. If he i
he must die let it be like a man. I
The madman drew closer to him, unwinding ]
from his waist the scarlet scarf which he wore, i
I uRed on ze heels, red at ze t'roat eh V" he 1
said, grinning horribly. "Ze lady love will 1
not marry so soon!" i
He had tied poor Charlie's feet, and was I
now engaged in wrapping a large stone in his ]
red scarf; his knife was between his teeth. ;
"Pray, dog," he snarled. "Ze end 1ms i
come!"
He waved one end of his scarf belt above 1
his head. <
There was a sudden angry roar, a deep i
bellow, a rush?and as Page turned he saw 1
the place where his would-be murderer had 1
UUCII} Viupij.
A wild steer had transfixed him and swept <
headlong with him into the river. The Amercan
was saved ! ]
The wedding took place on time, but the
fate of Don Combra is known to but one man
in the Mexos country.
THE DOCTOR'S STORY.
It was Christmas Eve, and a dreary night it
was, dismal enough, with drifting sleet and
snow to drive away all thoughts of pleasure,
except to those who were comfortably gathered
around their own firesides. I was just
closing my ottice-shutters, and preparing to
leave for home, when there came a loud ringing
at the bell, and a man rushed in, who stated,
in almost unintelligible language, from the
breathless state that he was in, that a man
had nearly murdered himself at the Chester
House, and that I was wanted immediately.
Taking my case of instruments in my hand, I
buttoned my coat tight around me and hurried
out into the storm, inwardly wishing that
some other physician had been called, so I
could have spent my bachelor Christmas Eve
in j>eace.
The remembrance that the poor man was
probably lying at the point of death soon drove
all such thoughts from my head, and I hurried '
on and soon reached the hotel. I was shown 1
immediately to the room of the wounded man |
and found him lying on the bed just breathing,
and such a sight as would make a man's blood 1
run cold. The landlord said he was a stranger,
who had been stopping at the house but a
short time, and the night before he had come J
in intoxicated, and gone to his room. In the
morning when the girl came to the room she '
had found the door locked on the inside, and ]
no one answered to her knock. In the after- '
noon his door was tried again, with no better 1
success, and when evening came, and there 1
j were no signs of any one moving in his room,
j they burst open the door, and found the occuJ
pant lying on the floor in such a state as made j
j them start back with horror. He had tried to
I eut his throat, but his hand was so unsteady '
| that he had only succeeded in horribly mutila- j
! ting himself.
j lie had fallen on the floor, his head was in ;
I such a position that the blood from the wound
j in his neck had flowed over his face, making a [
j ghastly spectacle. Finding that he still lived, '
I they placed him on the bed, and sent for me 1
and when I arrived he was just breathing. 1
Had it not been forthe congealing of the blood '
on the wound, the man could never have lived !
I half the time lie did, and it was very evident !
, from the faint and irregular beating of his i
! pulse that lie could not possibly last longer i
j than a few hours. 1 sewed up and bandaged
the wound, and gave him a strong stimulant, (
I and in a short time he began to show signs of (
i returning consciousness. As soon as his sen- {
, j ses returned he called me to his bedside, and
, j in a feeble voice asked me if I thought lie
i i would live. I told him that there was no :
. i knowing, but he might, though in all human |
I probability, he could not possibly survive till :
, i morning.
, j Contrary to my expectation, for I feared I
11 had done wrong in speaking so plainly, he
' | seemed pleased and told me to sit down by his .
i bedside, as he had a long story to tell me, and
I if he could but live and have strength to finish |
| { it, it would relieve his mind of a burden that '
, i had borne down upon him for many a weary
' year, and he could be happy. Sending all from
the room, I sat down beside him to listen to
; the story of his life, for such it proved to be,
and I will now repeat it, only in my own lan"
guage, and supplying one or two facts with
J regard to the personal appearance and social
standing that came out after It was known
. who he was.
j His name he said was Boyden?John Boy,
den?and he was born in Boston. Ilis father
_ j was a wealthy ship-builder, also owning sever[.
! al ships, trading between this port and several j
j cities in Europe, daily adding to his large for- i
t j tune, to which John was the only heir. At!
j { eighteen he entered college, and his handsome
,! face, line form, and plenty of money always
' j at command, made him a pet of the class. At
,; twenty-two he started with a party of wealthy :
" j young men for Europe. Everything that I
i ; money could buy was theirs ; they traveled in j
rj the most expensive manner, and had the best j
! of everything. At Baden they visited, as all:
, i do, the gambling rooms, and here it was that j
' | Boyden acquired that taste for play that ruined j
} him.
Every day and night found him at the ta- j
i bles, and always fortunate. But the princely j
t j way in which he lived, fairly throwing away j
i | money, did not leave him much on hand, when j
.) one of his friends induced him to leave Baden, j
1 [ and both of them continued their travels, j
?j They remained in Europe two years, and, re- i
t I turning to America, Boyden was taken into j
j j partnership with his father, and settled down !
1 i as a business man. The highest society was j
j open to him, and no entertainment, however |
s j elegant and fashionable, was complete without!
. the presence of the rich and handsome John j
? | Boyden.
jr | A year passed in this way, when the old !
I j fever of travel and excitement came over him, j
and as one of their ships was then about to :
q ! sail for Cuba, he resolved to go in her. The j
business acquaintance of the firm with some '
I of the largest houses of Cuba gave him sulli- j
e cient introduction to its best society. It was J
| at a grand fete at the house of one of the best
s ! families that Boyden met a young Cuban lady,
II with whom he became desperately in love.
I The attachment was mutual, and though he
intended to stay in Cuba but a short time, he
lingered along until four months had passed
away, and found him still loth to return to
home and business. Having obtained the consent
of her father, it was decided that he
should return home first, to prepare for her
reception and the wedding, and she and her
father were to follow on the next steamer.
Everything passed off as intended, the familywere
delighted at their son's cho:ce, and gave
both her and her father a hearty welcome.
The wedding took place a short time after
their arrival, and the bride's father again returned
to Cuba, though not until Mr. and
Mrs. Boyden, senior, had promised to visit
him at his home. An elegant mansion had
been prepared near the homestead for the reception
of the newly married couple, who now
took possession of it.
For a long time the attractions of his new
home kept Boyden away from his former associates
and pleasures; but at last the old
love of gambling came over him, and he was
less frequently at home evenings and more at
his club. One night, about a year after they
had been married he went as usual to the
gambling rooms of the club, and commenced
playing with a young man, a member, who
had been admitted on account of his wealth.
They played heavily, John winning steadily
from the first, until his opponent, maddened
at his ill luck, and the loss of a large sum of
money, accused Hoyden of cheating.
The words had scarcely passetWiis lips when
a pistol ball closed them forever. Everyone
rushed forward to the wounded man, thus
giving lloyden a good chance to escape unnoticed,
which he did, and rushing to the
iepot saw a train just leaving, and juni]>ed
iboard, bound he knew not whither. Hid ing,
till the train reached its destination, he found
liiiuself in a city some ninety miles from home.
lie suiyfu uiere umiiijj me ua), oiiaviu^ ?uo
beard and moustache, and otherwise disguising
himself, and the next day took steamer for
California. Here he engaged in every kind
?f low dissipation, trying in vain to drive
iway the remembrance of his former life, and
to forget the act that caused him to fly from
home. He did not dare to read the palters,
Tearing he should read something regarding
himself. A common gambler, and with his
usual good luck, there was 110 lack of money
to carry on his life of debauchery. Drink,
play and dissipate as he might, he could not
still his conscience, and at hist, resolved to
travel, hoping in vain to leave his sin behind
liim. lie went to England and France, visiting
those scenes he remembered to have seen
first when full of life and hope. No gambling
place, however low, but knew his face,
md he soon became the terror of all professionals,
and the wonder of unlucky amateurs.
One day in Paris, some ten years after he
had left home, he was eating his dinner at a
safe, when he noticed a" merican paper lying
near, and thought he saw his old name (he
had assumed one while away), in print, and
taking it up he read :
"Died?In this city, Majy, the wife of Francis
Boyden."
The paper dropped from his hands, and the
man who had left home ten years ago, in the
prime of life, now bent down and grown prematurely
old by dissipation, bent his head upon
his hands, and wept as he had not done since a
little child. Resolved that he would end his
Jays in' the land of his birth, he sailed for
America, and arriving, went straight to his
native city. Here, by adroit questionings, he
managed to obtain, unsuspected, the history of
his family since he had left them.
His father had been so shocked when the
news was brought to him of the act his son
had committed that his mind was unsettled
from that day. Ilis business, for want of his
eld tact and judgment, became involved, and
he finally failed so badly that, after settling
with his creditors, there was scarcely enough
left for the family to live upon. This final
blow made him totally insane, so that, from
the time of his failure until his death, which
occurred about two years after he had been an
inmate of a insane asylum, his mother had
lived upon what had been saved from the
wreck of her husband's fortune, a brokenhearted
woman, whose only hope was in the
hereafter, and she had died a short time before,
is he had seen in the paper. Ilis wife had
returned to her former home, and after waiting
five years for his return, or any news of his
whereabouts, had given him up for dead, and
married a wealthy Cuban, with whom she was
then living in the happy possession of a kind
husband and one lovely child. Kach new particular
of the dreadful story only added to the
weight of remorse that bore down upon the
mnscienee-st.ricken man. After first hearing
the truth lie had wandered about the streets,
tlwavs intoxicated, in his endeavor to silence
the still small voice that was continually repeating
:
''You did it! You did it!"
Crazed at last by the terrible visions of the
past, that were continually haunting him, he
had resolved upon taking his own life, but
>?'?inl tnfAvJnoffl/1 ltn lio/l cn/inoorlo/1
ISCIII?; (1.1 U.IUrtl IIHUAILCHCU, IJC JlrtAl OlIVV/UUVU
siily to the extent mentioned. The poor wretch
had hardly strength enough to linish the sad
story ere iie breathed his last. The next day,
when his death appeared in the newspapers,
And it became known who lie was, hundreds
who had known him in his pride, came and
begged to see his face, hut humanity demanded
that he should not thus he made a show of,
ind he was buried by the side of his father
And mother, the stone bearing the simple inscription,
".John Hoyden."
HMBHMNHM
WOMAN'S INFLUENCE.
The intluence of woman has been often discussed
and variously estimated. Often and
often the moralist, having nothing better to
do, descants learnedly upon this theme.
Nearly always is woman consigned to the
hearthstone to make home pleasant for her
lord and master. Heyoml this she is not allowed
to go. All her loving, gentle, pure virtues
go for nothing?all is taken for granted.
Men are, at best, faulty as compared with women.
The women who counsel men to do
wrong are too few to merit serious consideration.
Even the fallen woman will advise man
for good. There are exceptions, it is true, but
so rare are they that, as said before, calm consideration
is not due, nor ought to be given
them. It is nearly always the fault of the
man if he persists in wrong-doing. A woman
with half a heart was never known to deliberly
advise a man to do wrong.
lint, to cease moralizing, let us change the
scene. Look in upon a happy home. What
do you see ? A chaste, loving wife, children,
innocent and happy in the love of a rough
man they know as and call father. The father
is enraptured by the honest love of wife and
babies, for with all his ruggedncss, his children
are always babies to him. He comes in with
a troubled mien. Trials and disappointments
have been unexpectedly met with, and the
sorest wound of all, trusted and tried friends
were found wanting when most needed. There
is anguish in his heart. He anticipates the
joying welcome he knows full well he will receive,
and in the bitterness of his sorely tried
soul lie endeavors to steel himself against it.
At the door he is met, if not by the loving
wife, by a little cherub whose childish voice
articulates the magic word "papa," and two
arms are held out for an embrace, and a winsome
face is held up for a kiss. The strong
man relents. He clasps his darling to his
bosom with force enough to cruelly hurt it.
He makes believe he is talking to the child for
a moment or two, and really thinks he is.
But what is he doing V He is gaining time to
allow all the hardness and bitterness of the
day to leave him, and when lie meets the other
members of bis happy family all cares have
been forgotten for the time. lie tries hard,
and generally succeeds in hiding his troubles
from bis wife, and through the intluence of
meeting at the door, be softens and is so kind
and gentle that the little woman becomes ru
disuit with pleasure and soon the soothing inHuence
of her loving smile accomplishes sill,
unknown to her, whsit could not be done otherwise.
The wrinkles on the brow of the
hard-worked, tired man relax ; he looks happy,
and is happy. Oh, womsm ! blessed is thy
influence.
What a learned physician of New Albsmy,
Ind., pronounced to be a cancer in a boy's
throat, wsis discovered by the mother to be a
beard of wheat three inches long and containing
eight grains of the cereal.
misKfllatteous
POCAHONTAS.
j From Iter first meeting with Smith she be- <
! came edvotedly attaciied to the English, and i
; rendered the settlers many services. She ofj
ten secured supplies for them, and indeed
seems to have haunted the fort, utterly naked
' as she was, after, the manner of little girls 1
! among her people, who wore no clothes and '
showed no modesty until they were twelve or 1
! thirteen years of age, at which time they put i
on a deerskin apron, and were very careful |
l not to be seen without it. The agile little <
| barbarian would persuade the English lads to I
: make wheels of themselves by turning upon 1
! their hands and feet, whereupon she would <
| follow them, wheeling as they did, all through 1
i the fort. j i
Her real name was Matoax ; but by order 11
of Powhatan, this was carefully concealed I
from the whites, lest by their supernatural en- chantments
they should work her some harm.
When Richard Wyffiu was sent from Jamestown
to apprise the ehdangered Captain Smith, '
environed by foesamong Powhatan's ]>eople, 1
of the death of hkil^ujjy., Mr. .Scrivener, and 1
his ten companions, fry drowning, Pocahontas ^
hid him, misdirected those who sought him, '
and, by extraordinary bribes and maneuvres '
brought him safely to Smith, after three days' (
travel in the midst of extreme peril. So, also, 1
when Ratclitle was cut off with thirty men, 1
who saved the lad Spilman, who was then liv- 1
ing with Powhatan, and sent him to the Po- (
tomacs. But the most touching story of all 1
precedes in order of time the other two. In *
the same difficult adventure among Powhat- 1
an's people, in which Captain Smith was en- '
gaged when Scrivener was drowned, the f
treacherous chief had arranged to surprise y
Smith at supper, and cut off the whole party,
when Pocahontas, the "dearest jewel and '
daughter"' of the aged chief, "in that dark s
night came through the irksome woods" to c
warn the captain of Powhatan's design. Cap- s
tain Smith offered to repay her kindness with *
such trinkets as the heart of an Indian maiden /
delights in ; "but, with the tears running down
her cheeks, she said she durst not be 1
seen to have any, for, if Powhatan should 1
know it, she were but dead : and so she ran c
away by herself as she came." 1
In 1(513 Pocahontas was among the Potomac 1
Indians. Captain Argall, a man of much 8
shrewdness and executive force, but infamous
for his dishonest practices, happened to be I
trading in the river at that time. lie quickly 1
saw the advantage the English would gain in ?
negotiations with Powhatan for the return of *
the white prisoners held by him, if he could se- \
cure so valuable a hostage as the chief's daugh- ;
ter. With a copper kettle he bribed Japazaws, I
the chief with whom she was staying, to entice 1
her on board the vessel, where he detained her, t
much to the sorrow of the daughter of the *
wilderness, whose life hitherto had been as j1
free as that of the wild creatures of the woods. '
To Jamestown, where she frolicked as a child, 1
and whither she had so often come as a friend *
with food, she was now carried as an enemy 1
and a prisoner. She had refused to enter the A
town since the departure of Captain Smith.
This transaction, not very creditable to the 1
gratitude of the English, accomplished its pur- 1
pose in causing Powhatan to return the white *
men held in slavery by him, with the least {
useful of the stolen arms. But lie still contrived
to evade some of the demands of the
English, who therefore retained his daughter
until the affair took a new turn. John Itolfe, ?
who seems to have been a widower, became j
amored of Pocahontas, now growing to wo- .
manhood, and wrote a formal letter to Sir .
Thomas Dale, proposing to convert her to
Christianity and marry her, which pleased the *
governor, as tending to promote peace with '
the Indians, and was likewise acceptable to j
Powhatan. The chief sent an old uncle of Pocahontas
and two of her brothers to witness 1
the marriage. J
This marriage brought about peace during .
the life of Powhatan, who, on one occasion at {
least, sent a present of buckskins to his daugh- j
ter and her husband. A free intermingling of c
the two races took place, and Englishmen were (
accustomed to hire Indians to live in their (
houses and hunt for them. This amity lasted
eight years. i.
In 1016, more than two years after their f
marriage, Rolfe and Pocahontas went to Eng- r
land with Sir Thomas. Dale. Powhatan sent s
some inumns witn ms aaugnier, one 01 wiiom
was commissioned to count the number of the .
English. Tlie arrival of lady Rebecca, as Pocahontas
was called after her baptism, produced
a great sensation. She was received by
the king and many distinguished i>eople, went
to see a play, and. by help of her natural quick
wit, bore herself very well. But it became
necessary to desist from calling her the wife
of John Rolfe, for the king was very jealous,
and it was seriously debated in the privy council
whether, bv marrying the daughter of a
foreign potentate without the king's consent, I
Rolfe had not committed treason. I
The climate of London, and, perhaps, also ;
the uncongenial habits of civilization, affected
Pocahontas very unfavorably, and she was
taken to Brentford, where Smith, then busy
with his preparations to sail for New England,
visited her. In the successful efforts of
Rolfe and others to win her to the Christian
faith and to marriage, they had not scrupled
to deceive her by telling her that Captain j
Smith was dead, probably because they knew i
she would not marry another white man while j
she believed that great warrior to be alive, i
When, therefore, she saw the "brave" who !
had been the object of her maidenly admiration,
she turned her face away and refused to
speak for the space of two or three hours.
When she did, it was to claim the privilege of
calling him father, which Smith granted only
after importunity, afraid, perhaps, of incurring
the king's displeasure. Pocahontas went
to Gravesend to take ship for her return to
America, much against her will, for she had
become weaned from her savage life and great
ly attached to the English. At Gravesend ''
I she died of smallpox three years after her marI
riage, leaving one son, from whom some of f
I the most promising Virginia families trace
j their descent.?Century. j ^
THE FAMILY. J
The family is the oldest and niost important t
of all institutions, designed for the perpetua- 11
tion, regulation, government, and happiness t
of the human race. It is the oldest in regard 1
to time, and the most important as to benefits j 1
and influences. All other institutions are, j r
more or less, dependent on it for their exist- j
ence, perpetuity, success, and happiness.
It is founded in the constitution of human ! p
nature, and was instituted in Paradise, by the ! 1
All-wise Creator of heaven and earth. All t
! the blessings and safeguards necessary for its c
maintenance and perpetuity have been thrown c
around it, by the Creator himself. Without c
this institution, man could not be in a normal c
condition. For "it is not good for man to be ; 7
alone." j i
The family is a distinct and peculiar institu- j J
tion, standing by itself, as it were?a distant j e
organic community, complete within itself, j P
It lias its rights, privileges and laws, as well j 1
as its own peculiar interests and duties. It is I I
blessed, perhaps, above all other institutions, c
as Divine Revelation shows, especially in a (
temporal point of view. r
The family is really the foundation of So- l
ciety, the Church, and the State. Upon it t
J tliey are dependent lor tneir existence, peipe- i -i
tuity ami success. The Church and State as r
j well as Society, are composed rather of faini-! c1
| lies than of individuals. It is the source and i 1
I nursery of all our literary institutions, as well j \
j as of our ecclesiastical and civil. Where and j i
j when the family is properly and judiciously j t
j reared, cultivated, managed and governed, all f*
; other institutions will prove successful and s
harmonious. It is in the family, that the
foundation of morality, religion, sobriety, virtue,
and energy should be laid. This would t
prevent the necessity for little reform societies, \
to which people resort so much now-a-days, t
and which, at best, are little more than chaff. <
The family is really a little Society, a Church \
and a State. It possesses all the powers, |
rights and authority of Society, the Church, i
and State. Its powers are inherent, while f
those of Society and the State are delegated, t
The latter derive their powers chiefly fjom the {
former. "Wherever the family and its relations I
are not properly respected and protected, Society,
the Church, and the State, will be impaired
and degraded. Hence, the necessity
for maintaining it in its purity andsacredness.
In view of these facts, indicating the sphere
of the family, its duties are high and responsible.
These may be divided into two classes,
the parental and the filial, and should be faithfully
observed and performed. All necessary,
reasonable provision for physical want must
be made, good discipline and order, be maintained
; proper culture attended to, both as to
the physical and mental natures. There should
always be a view to neatness, cleanliness,
gracefulness, health and vigor. The judicious
cultivation of the mind, the morals, and religious
element, should receive prayerful and
timely attention. Principles of industry, honesty,
integrity, fidelity, and energy, should be
faithfully inculcated. Obedience, docility,
reverence and respect should be enforced,
whilst the development of filial affection and
gratitude is kept full in view.?Our Church
Paper.
A Good Many Years Aoo.?A cashier
;ook a little lad from jvneighboringpoorhouse.
uid when the boy had become a youth he was
jiven a responsible position in the bank of
which his patron was practically the head.
Later the cashier stole more than ?10,000 from
;lie bank. Exposure was threatened every
lay, and the guilty officer,-in a period of degression
confessed to the youth that he pro>osed
to kill himself. Young Ray, the proege,
was smitten with horror as he thought
)f the terrible turn in affairs, but having
veighed the matter the next day lie threw himself
into the breach. He suggested, and the
:ashier eagerly accepted the suggestion, that
le should fasten the guilt upon himself and
ibscond, thus leaving his patron honest in the
.vorld's eyes, though blackened in his own.
iVhat the public heard of the Westport 10b>ery
was that a bank clerk named Ray had
itolen $15,000. Detectives found several
dues, but not until years afterwards was the
lecret disclosed. One of the detectives who
lad been employed in the case came up with
lay under still more romantic circumstances,
flie detective, according to his reminiscenses
mblished last week in a San Francisco paper,
vas called recently to a Western city to ferret
>ut the person who had robbed a private house
>f two hundred gold eagles. The only man
mder arrest was one Henry Martin. As soon
is the detective saw Martin the former said :
'You are Dallas Ray, who robbed the West>ortbank."
Ray then told the true story of
he robbery, and the story has been verified
lince. Ray claimed that he was innocent of
lie gold eagle burglary and asked the detective
to take a note to his sweetheart, a Miss
dorse. When the latter heard of her lover's
iredicament she threw her whole soul into chaining
proof of his innocence. She went to
lie house where the robbery had been conunited.
Having asked if the burglar had left
mything in his flight, she was given a handcerchief
that had been dropped by the intruler.
She put the handkerchief to her nose
ind exclaimed : "Find the thief who uses this
lerfume (naming the peculiar brand) and you
vill find your eagles." It was found that ony
one drug store in the city sold that kind of
lerfumery and that one bottle only had been
lought within the preceding month. Need it
ie added that the purchaser was traced, the
sagles regained, the lovers married ?
A New Mexico Plantation'.?This great
istate is like the patriarchal plantations that
sxisted before the war. Here is the mansion
>f the owner resembling an old Virginia
lomestead, a spacious two-story adobe over
DO feet long and some 25 feet wide, with
iroad verandas on each story. Each room is
tntered by a door from without or from the
idjoining room. There is only one hallway,
hat running across the main wing of the
louse from the chief door of entrance. The
ooms of remarkable size, indeed my bed-room,
vhich I entered from the first floor veranda,
nust be some forty feet long by 25 wide, and
>robablv 15 feet in heicrht. As in all adobe
louses, the massive walls, two or three feet
n thickness, render the interior delicious]}*
:ool in summer and warm in winter. The
>dd rounded adobe fireplaces are found sulli:ient
for purposes of heating in cold weather.
In the rear of the house is a carfully irrigaed
garden of about an acre in size, surrotindid
by a high adobe wall, and filled with luxuiant
beds of vegetable, peach and pear trees
md small fruits. Opposite this mansion,
vhich stands just at the head of the valley, is
i church, built by Don Vincente, Don. Itaael's
father, whose tomb is within its walls.
Vcross the road from the garden is a store for
upplying Don Rafael's colony with goods,
ielow in his large flouring mill, furnished
vith water by a mill race from the Mora
iver. The corral near by is surrounded by
mildings, which include a barn over one litinIred
feet long, storage and warehouses, granaries,
a butcher shop and slaughter-house, a j
loultry house, a blacksmith shop, and a tool {
tnd repair shops. These, as well as the teuenents
of Don Rafael's eighty employes, who |
vith their families make up a population of'
marly three hundred, are all of adobe.
Gen. Bittlkr on Fort Fisher.?In a re:ent
speech in Boston Gen. Butler explained
lis campaign against Fort Fisher as follows:
'Oivlaviul 1 r\ Waft- Pialiav nml fn nmlfp ill) lit.
Vim iCU VV/ 1 "l l1 1 IUIIV1 UIIV? I.v aek
upon it after a bombardment of tlie |
enemy, I landed a portion of my troops, recon-1
loitered, and first came to the conclusion that j
t could be captured, but thought it would be j
it the expense of <>,000 or 7.(KK> of my soldiers.
: reflected that the only advantage of the
'ort to the enemy was the protection of a few
ilpckade-runners, and I also reflected that
General Sherman was then marching to the j
;ea, about to go there, and when he got to
savannah, as he did shortly afterwards, the
ort would be of no use to the enemy, and
vould have to be evacuated. Under these circumstances
I came to the conclusion to save
he lives of my men and withdrew from the
issault. I took them home with me. Other
counsels prevailed. It was thought to be necessary
for the glory of the American army
bat the assault should be made. The fort
vas captured and 7,OIK) killed, maimed and
vounded men were the result. The dead are
n their graves. The maimed and wounded
ire calling for their pensions and the bounty
>f the government. I thank God, and that
ilways, that in the retrospect of my life for
lie last twenty years, whatever may have been
ny demerits as a general, I have no large
mtcher's bill on my mind to settle between
ny conscience and my God."
Manilla.?Manilla, the scene of the recent
rreat typhoon disaster, by which the business
inrfimi of t liri /?i t v mm <1 |i?f rnVPfl llllll nilK'll llf
v"" -"'V ...... -he
shipping in harbor, contains a population
>f nearly three hundred thousand. It is the
apital of the Phillipine Islands and residence
if the Spanish viceroy, or governor of the Arihipelago,
and is situated in the Island of Lu;on,
on the bay of Manilla. It is divided by
ts river into Manilla proper and Binando.
danilla proper, or the city, consisting of seventeen
spacious streets, crossing at right angles,
contains the cathedral; the palace was
milt in l(>bO ; the Archiepiscopal Palace, the
lull of Audience, eleven churches and three
onvents, besides public offices, barracks, and
ther military establishments. Beyond the
amparts of the east side is the Calzada or
uiblic promenade. The trade is chielly with
he United States, Great Britain, China and j
Australia. Manilla is, by law, the only empo-1
iuin of foreign trade in the Spanish East In- j
lies. Its principal exports are sugar, Manilla j
lemp, cigars, leaf tobacco, coffee, rice and fine ,
voods. Earthquakes, typhoons and other nat-!
iral convulsions are of frequent occurrence i
here, but it never has any election troubles? !
State, city or national?which fully compen- j
ates for all other annoyances.
The polygamous Mormons seem to he do- j
ermiued to provoke I'ncle Sam into what;
vill be a very unhealthy frame of miiul for j
hem. About half of the officials in lTtah are |
lisqualified under the Edmunds Bill, and yet I
vhen the Governor of the Territory appoints !
jersons to till their places they refuse to give
ip their otlices to them. Therefore there is a
air prospect of the penitentiary, and perhaps
he gallows for many of the Saints after the
jatience of the government is entirely exuiusted.
CAPTAIN MAINE REID. j <
The announcement that a pension of $15 a ' j
month has been granted to Cupt. Mayne Reid, J i
the Irish novelist, now residing in England,
for services rendered and wounds received in
the Mexican war, has called out a number j!
of interesting notices of Reid's life, as well as j
some romantic incidents connected with his j
career as a soldier in the American army in
Mexico. No one will regret that the name of
a Mexican veteran has been placed on the pen- j
sion rolls. The names of hundreds of other
Mexican veterans ought to be there. They j
are old now, and the diseases they contracted
in Mexico render them unable to earn a livelihood.
They served their country well, and
they deserve this reward from their country.
There is one incident in Reid's Mexican (
soldier life that has never appeared in print, 1
and as it is remembered by many of Reid's '
comrades 111 uie .Mexican war it nut uc
uninteresting to recall it. Reid was a lieu- [
tenant in a New York regiment of volunteers, 5
which was commanded by Col. Ward Burnett. I
This regiment formed a part of Shield's bri- \
gade of Quitman's division. Scott's army
occupied Puebla from the 14th of May, 1847,
until about the middle of August of the same ]
year, and then moved from the mountains ,
into the valley of Mexico. A few days before j
the army began this forward movement, Reid (
being officer of the guard at the barracks of ,
his regiment, and having among the prisoners j
one who was very unruly and insurbordinate, ,
in a moment of passion, and for some great ,
and unusual provocation, struck the prisoner J
with his sword. The blow was more severe ]
than he propably intended that it should be. j
The wound inflicted was so serious that the j
man died in a very few minutes. Reid was
full of conceit and very vain. He was fond .
of dress and gloried in his uniform, which |
was always a little beyond the regulations in (
the matter of gold lace and buttons. His ,
general good nature, lively Irish wit and the (
exuberance of his animal spirits were so great, j
however, that he was a boon companion and j
a favorite with all who knew him.
The killinir of the prisoner could not be {
justified, of course, but Reid was so generally
liked that there was a great deal of sympathy
felt for him. The forward movement
of the army began about this time, and but
for this fact, probably, a general court-martial
would have been convened, and Reid, perhaps,
would have been dismissed from the
army. Soon after Scott's army reached the
Valley of Mexico the battles of Contreras and
Cherubusco were fought, in both of which
Reid's regiment took part. Then followed
an armistice on the expiration of which the
battles of Molina del Roy, and subsequently
Chapultepec occurred.
Among the officers of the regular army who
knew Reid, was Lieut. Wilcox, junior aid-tiecamp
to Major Gen. Quitman. Wilcox was
fresh from West Point and found considerable
pleasure in lteid's society. A day or two
before the attack upon Chepultepc, Wilcox,
learning that it would be assaulted with two
columns, each led by a storming party made
up of volunteers, rode over to the camp of the
New York regiment, called upon Lieut. Reid,
informed him of the probable disposition of
troops for the attack upon Chepuitepec, and
suggested that he should volunteer for the
storming party, because if he should volunteer
and survive that service, the unfortunate
incident at Puebla would in all probability l>e
overlooked and forgotten. Ried seized Wilcox's
hand and thanked him warmly for being
so mindful of him. lie said he would certainly
volunteer for the storming party and would
regard it as a great misfortune if his services
were not accented.
The following night Wilcox heard at head- I
quarters that there would be no volunteer t
troops in the storming parties, but the men 1
composing them would be taken from the i
regulars of the divisions of Worth and Twiggs, i
The next morning Wilcox visited Reid and i
notified him of the change of programme. 1
Reid was greatly depressed at the news, because
he had set his heart on wiping the Puebfa
stain off his name at Chepultepec. Wilcocx, ]
who sympathized with him, told him that i
there was still a chance for him. "There 1
will be a guard," said Wilcox, "detailed to be i
near the heavy battery which will open fire on 1
Chepultepec early in the morning. A part of ?
these guards will come from Quitman's di- i
vision and I will try to have your company de- (
tailed for that duty." At this time Reid was (
in command of his company. Wilcox then ,
gave Reid the following advice: "When the {
infantry advance to the assault, our artillery j
will be forced to suspend its lire. Your com- (
pany will no longer be required as a guard t
in the rear. You must rush forward at a t
run, take the shortest route and make every i
possible effort to reach the very front of the r
charging troops and l)e among the first to' j
enter Chepultepec."
This plan revived Reid's spirits. Ilis face 1
flushed with excitement. With glistening and t
grateful eyes lie seized uotu 01 wiicoxs nanus i
and thanked him for his advice and his effort 1
to serve him. Keid's company was detailed t
as a guard to one of the heavy batteries and i t
when the attack was made, the artillery ceased
to lire, Reid ran like a deer down across
the sloping hills of Molina del Iiey and reach- i
ed the advance column as it was ascending c
the heights of Chepultepee. lie was conspic- ?i
uous for his daring and was among the fore- s
most when shot in the thigh. His wound i s
compelled him to use a crutch for a month j (
or more. ' ! c
As Wilcox predicted, the Puebla offence i
was passed over in silence. Reid enjoyed to }
the fullest extent the notoriety and i>opularity r
which his conduct at Chepultepee gave him. 1
He suffered considerahle pain from his wound f
for awhile, but he could afford to bear the c
pain with equanimity in view of the fact that \
he had escaped being court-martialed. After l
the war he went to England, where he won 1
quite a name as a writer of fiction. Lieut, i
Wilcox remained in the army, and in the
civil war cast his fortunes with the South.
By his courage and ability he rose to the rank I
of Major General. After the war he was for c
several years in business in New Orleans. c
. ^ c
ABOUT NEWSPAPERS. [
The following is from an article by A. II. J
Deakins, in the Metuchen, New .Jersey En- c
quiver: 1
The country newspaper holds a very differ- 1
ent positron to that of its more pretentious t
rival, the city sheet. One is to be found in s
the mart, the counting house, and at the busy r
mercliat's elbow for ready reference. The 1
other circulates amongst the quieter rural ?
districts, and supplies the reading matter for j I
the farmer and artisan when the day's work ;
is done.
A country newspapers has its peculiar; I
sphere ; a sphere which the city press can not, | t
and cares not to evade. The little local items i s
gathered by the reporter, from the different 11
news retailers as he journeys along, interests j
only the people of particular localities. These i t
locals unless they were sensational or of great j a
importance, would never be published by a j \
city editor. f
No man understands this fact better than <s
the country editor, and he scours the neigh-1 J
borhood far and near for current events. He 11
knows that it is to his advantage to publish j t
what may be termed a news letter. The j s
planting: of crops, harvesting and otherlabo-|
rious work takes up so much time that people
in suburban districts want all the rest 8
they can get to refresh and strengthen their !l
weary bodies. 8
As a consequence having but little oppor- ,s
tunity for writing they depend upon their paper J
for a convenient and easy method of conveying
the news of the neighborhood to far away ^
friends and relatives. Thus the country news- c
pai>er performs a misson which no other jour- s
mil does or can. ]
A city editor having a picked staff of well i
trained salaried journalists at his command, ; f
does not, as a rule, care to introduce the efforts
of occasional contributors; being too busy to
return rejected manuscripts, many a happy I
little effort is consigned to the tiarues by him. (
With his country editorial brother the case is o
quite the reverse : having but immediate help- v
ers, he gladly welcomes the effusions of out- v
siders. h
To this fact we are indebted for the publica- a
tion of many a literary gem, which lirst a
sparkled forth its brilliance in some little out- c
jf-the-way country sheet. The author of the
jem has been introduced to the reading world,
rind perhaps, as in many instances, another has
been starred along the rough high road which
leads to honor and wealth. Kvery day the
country is learning that poets, writers, do not
live in the same city, Grub street.
Thus country newspapers offer a wide field
for the cultivation of home talent. Suggestions
are received from subscribers in a kindly
spirit by the editor, and he becomes through
tliat custodian of many a precious secret. As
? Im li.it; tn 1 u. ? Irinrl nf annum*.
:i? uiatici ul lawi nv^ n?o wu v\> ? ??t?v? w? wrv..0.^
taking a great deal in and requiring a very
fiard squeeze to bring anything out.
The power which a good country newspaper
wields has never been estimated. It is a recognized
educator of the country masses, and
in times of civil commotion its utterances are
carefully weighed. That power will never depart
from it as long as it keeps a high stanlard
of morality, so that its pages can be
scanned without fear of moral taint by all who
read them. Long may its power continue unbroken,
and its honor unsullied by contact
with rings or other corporate forces.
The IIaiiit of Saving.?Children who
liave a little money ought to practice saving
something. Many boys and girls (if to-day
hardly know a higher use for any money that
comes into their hands than sending it for
some foolish things as quickly as possible. To
ntch a lesson in self-denial and economy is
very important. As goes tiie boy's pennies
ind dimes, so, very likely will go the man's
lollars and hundreds by and by. Without
laving the spirit of a miser, the person accustomed
to save has more pleasure in laying up
than a spendthrift ever knows.
The way to keep money is to earn it fairly
md honestly. Money so obtained is pretty
certain to abide with its possessor. But money
that is inherited, or that in any way comes
without a fair and just equivalent, is almost
certain to go as it caine. The young man who
jegins by saving a few dollars a month and
thriftily increases his store?every coin being
i representative of good, solid work, honestly
ind manfully done?stands a better chance to
ipend the last half of his life in affluence and
comfort, than he who, in his haste to become
*ich, obtains money by dashing speculations,
>r the devious means which abound in the
!oggy region lying between fair dealing and
ictual fraud. Among the wisest and most
ihrifty men of wealth, the current proverb is,
noiiey goes as it conies. ijvt uic ^uung man
i note of tliis, and see that their money comes
'airlv, that it may long abide with them.? Kx'hanye.
IIow WeaponsFirstCame to be Used.?
The idea of employing weapons for assault or
lefenee was a logical result of the first con;est
that took place between man and man.
11 these contests the strongest man, with his
uitive weapon?his fists?was unconsciously
lie father of all arms and all armed strength,
or his weaker antagonist would early seek
o restore the balance of power lietween them
iv use of some sort of weapon. The shorter
irmed man lengthened his striking power by
he use of a stick, and found, after a time, the
lelp its leverage and weight afforded him.
Hie first case in which the chance-selected,
leavy-ended staff or club showed that weight
>r hardness had it value, was a first step tovard
furnishing it with a strong head. Hence,
lie blow of the fist was the forerunner of the
:rusliing weapon. In the same way the point'd
stick became the lance or dagger; and the
hrown shaft, helped, as knowledge increased,
>y the bow or "throwing stick," was the
irecusor of the dart and arrow. The charac;erof
the first weapons was lagely determined
>y the nature of the material from which
hey were derived, and their shape partly from
;his and partly by copying the forms of the
veajions possessed by the animals the primeval
nen slew. Hence arises the general similarity
11 character and shape of the earliest tools
:rom all parts of the world.
The Last or the Irish Kings.?1''This
oom" said Hon. A. II. Stephens, whirling
nto a bedroom adjoining the library of his
louse at Liberty Ilall, "was occupied the
light it was finished by Smith O'Brien, the
ast of the line of Irish kings of Minister. lie
(pent a week with me and was the grandest
nan in some respects I ever knew. His book
in representative government is the profoundfst
work I ever read, except Mr. Calhoun's,
md is much more elaborate. He was the
'oremost of tne Irish patriots in dignity and
lower. I had Toombs here to meet him frepieiitly,
and it was interesting to see them
ogether. Mr. Toombs was then very ex
aeme?it was in 185!), and I had resigned
n view of the coming storm?and was fond
if painting to O'Brien what a magnificent reitiblic
we could make out of the South if we
vere only cut off from the body of death, as
le called the North. In his quiet but posiive
way O'Brien would insist that the jierletuity
of the American union was the only
lojie for true representative government on
;arth. I never entertained a greater man
rluin this brave and saddened Irishman.
The Violin.?Of all the musical instrunents
the violin is the most enduring. Plants
wear out; wind instruments get battered
md old-fashioued; the pipes of organs become
cattered, and the original construction is lost
ight of. All kinds of novelties are introluced
into flutes, but the sturdy violin stands
>11 its own merits. Age and use only improve
t, and instead of new ones commanding the
lighest prices, as in the case with other instrunents,
it is the violins of the few Italian maters
of the hist three centuries that command
abulous prices. It is impossible to handle an
Id violin without a feeling of veneration,
vlien one reflects on the number of people who
lave probably played on it, tbe weary hours it
uis beguiled, the source of enjoyment it lias
>een. and how well it has been loved.
. ^ .
(j&T Two recent paragraphs which have np>earedin
the press furnish striking illustrations
if the uncertainty of riches. One is the case
if Joseph Woodworth of California, one of the
iwners of the Ophir mine, who was the first
nillionaire on the Pacific coast, and who died
ecently in destitute ciacumstances, caused by
nining speculations ; and the other was the
:ase of a French countess under the old Einiire,
whose husband, after tbe fall of Napoeon.
lost his fortune of $(100,000 in speculaion,
and died of a broken heart, whereupon
the took up teaching music, French and Oernati
for a living, failed at it, went to the poor
louse at the age of 04, remained there 30 years
ind was recently buried at the age of '.?4 in the
mtter's field.
Sunshine.?Many a child goes astray, not
jecause there is a want of prayer or virtue in
he house, hut simply because home lacks suniliine.
A child needs smiles as much as flowirs
need sunbeams. Children look little be'ond
the present moment. If a thing pleases
hey are apt to seek it; if it displeases they
ire prone to avoid it. If home is the place
- Iind UTiii*/1i2 harsl) tind
YJierc litUW ?lic DUHi IIIIU "WIUM ,
ault-finding is ever in the ascendant, they will
pend as many hours as possible elsewhere.
..ct every father and mother, then, try to be
iappy. Let them look happy. Let them talk
o their children, especially the little ones, in
ueh a way as to make them happy.
Dull Boys.?Do not be discouraged. -.Slow
;rowth is often sure growth. Some minds
,re like Norwegian pines?they are slow in
;rowth, but they are striking their roots deep,
lome of the greatest men have been dull boys.
)ryder. and Swift were dull as boys. So was
iibbon. So was Goldsmith. So was Walter
icott. Napoleon at school had so much ditliulty
in learning his Latin that the master
aid it would need a gimlet to get a word into
lis head. Douglas .lerrold was so backward
n his boyhood that at nine he was hardly able
o read.
63$*The biggest blast ever undertaken on the
'acific coast was exploded on the Oregon and
California railway track. Nearly 0,000 pounds
f blasting powder were used, and the shock
ras so tremendous that an adjacent stream
..oo r.c it? hpd fnr ;i distance of
van tiuwu 11 I/MV iv? ?vx. ?
uvll' a mile ; the highway was badly damaged
,nd effectually blocked for the same distance,
nd damage was indicted in the workmen's
amp tHHt yards away.