Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, January 11, 1883, Image 1
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VOL. 39. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 11, 1883. jSTO. 3. I
^elected fuctrg. !
SUNSHINE. j
Broad and bright the sunshine
On the terrace lay, * i
Touching with an equal ray,
In equal gladness to illume
Violet-bed and yew-tree gloom. 1
Yet within the silent room ]
Dimly rose the day.
Merrily the sunshine j
Caught ihe upper pane,
But as yet it strove in vain, *
With its glitter to surprise i
The yearning in the lady's eyes,
Who, lonely, 'neath the* sweet Spring skies, ?
Fought life's long fret and strain. ,
Lower crept the sunshine
Down the lattice tall,
Till it saw its radiance fall N
All along the silent floor,
Past the noavy close-shut door,
Through the room that knew no more
Light step or cheery oall.
The triumphant sunshine,
Flooding all it saw,
Laughed at hist her gaze to draw,
From where the phantoms of the past
An eternal sluidow cast;
And her glances fell at last,
As in breathless awe.
Where the glorious sunshine,
Danoed, and shone, and glowed,
Where the treasured picture showed
The tall cross that stood above
All her best of life and love,
And 'mid her bitter sorrow strove
To point the higher road.
"And," said the happy sunshine,
"Oh! heavy eyes that mourn,
Oh! heart/from its chief moorings torn,
Look at the joy with which ho dowers
The wakening earth and budding flowers;
Trust to the God of sunny hours,
Nor dare in griefs keen scorn
"To turn away from sunshine;
Nor in the sense of loss,
With reckless hand aside to toss,
The comforting through nature given,
The trials of our way to heaven.
See how the brightest gleam from heaven
Clings longest round the cross."
ALL The Year Round.
HER OX? C1IAXC E; AXD HIS.
A CHARMING ROMANCE.
' There she is," said Dot, as a tall, slight
figure with a trailing black dress and a scarlet
shawl came around the corner by the
lime trees, and walked slowly toward thera.
"That.'a Miss Maverick?and ok. Reginald !
she's lovely."
"Is she ?" said Reginald, a little dubiously.
"I shouldn't?" but the near approach of
the strauger kept back the remainder of his
sentence, and with his lowest bow he expressed
himself "delighted" at meeting Miss Maverick
when Dora introduced him.
"My cousin, Mr. Lanster, Katherine."
Miss Maverick bowed in answer, took a
calmly critical survey of the young geutleman,
and after saying a few words to him and his
companion, walked toward the house.
"So that is Reginald Lanster," she said to
herself. "Dot's fate !?lucky little goose !"
"You think she is 'lovely,' do you V" debated
Reginald, when the tall figure had passed
by. "Not very good taste on your part, I
think, Miss Dora ;" but, oddly enough, he
? turned his handsome head and looked after
her, for all that.
"What did you say she was, Dot ? A music
mistress V"
"Yes," answered Dot ; "our music teacher
at school. When papa was calling the other
day to see me sne was in me iuum giving uic ?
my lesson. He heard her name and spoke to
her, and it came out that he and her father
were great friends in early life, and he invited
her to come home with me for these holidays.
Mr. Maverick was a Colonial merchant, or
something of that sort, and his affairs got bad
with him and he died."
"And so the daughter has to teach music V"
"Yes ; such a pity ! Such toil it is ! And
she is so nice I" ran on Dot. "I am sorry
you do not like her."
"I did not say I disliked her," contended
Reginald, who liked to have everything his
own way, conversation included. "IIow can
I like or dislike her, Dot, when I never before
set my eyes upon her ? She is a grand young
woman ; I concede that, and perhaps she will
improve upon acquaintance." .
"There ! Improve 1"
Reginald laughed ; he was fond of teasing
little Dot. She was but eighteen this month,
and had come home for good ; he was twentyone.
Both of them were wealthy, and according
to family plans and projects, in two years
more they were to become man and wife.
"Never mind," said Reginald, loftily. "I
say she may improve on acquaintance ; meanwhile,
let us talk of something else," But
still when a turn in the path brought the
graceful figure, with its scarlet and black draperies
into view again, he turned his head and
looked at her once more. "She walks well," 1
said he, "like a Spaniard, and they are the 1
most graceful race of women I know." l
"How was it you only got here this morning,
Reginald ??and are you come to make a s
long stay ?" 1
"That's as may be," answered Reginald,
passing the first query over. "Depends perhaps,
nj>on how you treat me."
# "Oh !" exclaimed Dora. "Why we always
treat you well. Papa and mamma are always
glad to see you."
"What a dear, simple child it is !" thought
the young man, superior in his three years elder
wisdom.
He made better acquaintance with Miss j
Maverick in the evening. Her dark, oval face J
looked well by gaslight ; her eyes were large
and lustrous ; her heavy black hair, braided
in a coronet and destitute of ribbon or orna-1
ment of any kind, w.is a wonder in itself ;und ,
although her dress was so plain that, on an- j
other woman, it might have seemed almost!
"dowdy,"?her tall, graceful figure made it j
seem a garb fit for a princess.
Her manner pleased Reginald. She was la-1
dy-like, quiet and dignified ; brilliant, too, he ;
found in conversation when he heard her talk-!
ing with his uncle. Mr. Lanster, a pleasant;
well-informed man, seemed much struck with j
her.
"A fine woman," commented Reginald to '
himself. "I rather admire her." But the :
"one woman." anuarentlv itmorant of his
kindly feelings, was unapproachable an4 distant
all the evening.
The next day it was the same, and the next, ;
and so on, until at last Reginald Lanster?
handsome, petted, conceited fellow that he !
was?became fairly piqued by the singularly |
chilly manner of the "poor teacher," toward
whom he would have been unusually suave
and amiable.
Katherine Maverick, never thinking to of- j
fend or slight him, looked upon him as a boy.
Little more than a boy was he.yet?only twenty-one,
a handsome, idle, good-natured good
for nothing boy. He had left college before
his time, had come to his property, and felt
very much disposed to have a "regular good
time" of it. He was vain ; he had been made
much of all his life, and he had been falling in
aud out of love continuously since the remote
period when he had first donned a pair of
boots.
He had been deeply in love with no less
than three young ladies since coming down
from college, but when he started on this visit
to his uncle's he made up his mind to devote
himself to Dot only during his stay. Rut he
found Dot rather much of a baby, or a schoolgirl,
yet. And several days went on.
"Dot is a darling" he said meditatively,
as he strolled down to the beach alone one
afternoon, Dot having been borne off to make
some "stately calls," in which Regy flatly refused
to participate. "Such a dear, little,
kittenish thing, so different from that Miss
Maverick. Still she's hardly?Halloa!" for a
sudden turn, around a jutting rock, caused
trim almost to fall over a (lark-robed lady, who
iat there gazing out to sea.
"Iam sure I beg your pardon," he said
lifting his hat. "I didn't know you were
tere."
The soft dark eyes were turned slowly upon
tiim. "Ah, it is you," she said, with a smile,
tvhich made Regy wonder how he had ever
thought her plain. "I often come here?I
ike to watch the sea."
The slender hand drew her dress away slighty
from the other end of the rock on which
ihe sat, and Reginald, emboldened by the
smile, gallantly asked permission to seat himself
beside her.
It was astonishing how quickly they became
icquainted, Miss Maverick, on the sands
done, and all to himself, was very different
Tom Miss Maverick in company; and Reginald
soon found himself talking and laughing
vith her freely, as though they were quite old
:'riends.
Not until the slanting beams of the sun
.varned them of the flight of time did they
hink of returning homeward, and then, as
diss Maverick, drawing her shawl around
ser, rose to go, he said, with boyish directless,*
"1 like you a great deal better than I
thought I did. * I hope I shall have a chance
;o talk with you again."
"Thanks for the wish," she answered,
aughing softly, and then they separated, she
joing slowly toward the house and he waiting
lehind on tiie beach to indulge in a cigar, and,
V>r n wnmlwr t.hinkinnr
"By Jove, she's a splendid girl ! That
ittle stupid Dot's nothing beside her. I must
mltivate my friendship with Miss Maverick.
What a shame that she should be a teacher
n Dot's school. She's a true lady, if ever
.here was one."
After that they met often; by accident, as
t seemed to Katherine. Sometimes on the
)each, or in the shady garden, or .in one or
)ther of the quiet rooms of the pretty little
louse?for this was only Mr. Lanster's seaside
residence.
"Regy seems to be very studious all on a
sudden," observed Mr. Lanster one day. "lie
loesn't care to go out with us at all; he is
ilways strolling out in solitude with a book."
Alas for Regy's "solitary studies!" The
look which accompanied him was generally
ised as a hasssock for Miss Maverick's trimy
booted feet, and Regy himself was studyng
quite another volume. Mrs. Lanster di'*
lot often invite the teacher to accompany
serself and her daughter on these visits ; the
ittle open carriage held but two besides the
soachman, and Regy was sure to find her on the
>each or among the rocks. Then perhaps they
....1 .. TIt-fl,. oftliofnf ?nmA ?P<1 llf*
utu a nine otuuj vnuv v* wv^v
iive book of poetry.
This was all very nice and pleasant; still
t w;is dangerous. Regy knew it; perhaps
Miss Maverick knew it. Regy knew perfectly
veil that if the real state of affairs was dis:overed
he would be sent home to his mother
n disgrace, and that there would be, as he
expressed it, "a devil of a row all round,"
md Miss Maverick suspected that her stay
vitli Mrs. Lanster might be of extremey
short duration, should the full extent of
ler intimacy with the young heir become
mown.
Both knew this, and yet perhaps this knowedge
was partly that which made the situa,ion
so pleasant?a spice of danger is always
fascinating; and so, as the days passed, liegy
ound himself doing precisely the thing which
le ought not to have done?falling tremulousy
in love with this tine girl, fathoms deeper
,han he had ever gone before.
And Katherine Maverick! She laughed
it him, petted him, scolded him, .and called
lim a "foolish boy," unconscious that she
laily made the net stronger. She was not a
ichemiug woman, not a hard-hearted woman,
)ut she was poor and siok to death of hard
ife, and perhaps this rendered her less scrupu-'
ous than she would have been. Besides,
vhy did they think her not good enough to
>ay visits with them i that stung her; why
lid they leave her alone to liegy's society V
[f Reginald Lanster some fine day asked her
,o marry him?ah ! what a prospect it would
)e! She should say "Yes!" It seemed to be
ler one chance of lifting herself out of her
indesirable life. One consideration would be
i drawback to it, and that was Dot.
The child was so honestly fond of her, she
lonfided all the secrets of her innocent heart to
ler, and the chiefest of these was about her
:ousin Regy. Katherinefelt a little conscience
stricken as the girl talked to her on this subect.
"I love him so dearly," Dot said one
lay ; '*1 wouldn't tell anyone else in the world
nit you, you seem like a sister now, and I
enow you can be trusted." And thus with
ler curly head on her friend's shoulder, she
you Id talk of Regy and herself and of the
'some day" which was coming in the near
'uture.
One Saturday afternoon, when Mr. Lanster
eturned from town, he brought with him a
friend, Mr. Sarmiento. Dora observed that
(he supposed it must be a Greek name, as Mr.
sarmiento was a Greek merchant; very rich
md and powerful. lie lived in a beautiful
louse near town, and had one little girl, but
10 wife, for she was dead. A tall fine man
>f some six and thirty years, sensible, well
nforined, with a pleasant voice and manner.
lie sat next to Katherine at dinner, and
seemed greatly pleased with her, and was with
ler afterwards during a good part of the evening.
"That's a very nice young woman you have
ivitli you, Lanster," he remarked to his host
ivlien they went out together with their cigars
for a short stroll, the last thing.
"Ay; so I think," warmly replied Mr. Lander.
"You remember Maverick, who was in |
the Colonial trade seven or eight years ago." j
- J G
"And made that fiasco in it ueiore ne uieu r
Ves."
"Not his fault, though. John Maverick
was as honest as the day."
"His misfortune, then, I dare say it was so.
Well, what of him ?"
"This is his daughter "
"No!" exclaimed Mr. Sarmiento, in surprise.
"His daughter?and teaching in a
school!"
"What would you?" quietly returned the
host; "Maverick's means died with him?and
his wife died of grief soon afterward. The
poor child had nothing left to live ujH)n, so she
remained in the school where she was being
educated as a music mistress, and I fancy?as
general drudge."
"Poor girl, indeed V She seems to me to
deserve a happier fate," concluded Mr. Sarmiento.
It was Thursday, the sixth day of Mr. Sarmiento's
stay. Other visitors also had been
coming and going. Most of the leisure time
of that gentleman seemed to be devoted to
Miss Maverick, when he was obliged by courtesy
to devote it to others. He certainly enjoyed
talking with her, their conversation
often turning on her late father and the years
gone by. If she went on the oeacn, ne wcnuu
join her there ; if she sat by the shady nooks
of the garden, he would be sure to find her.
At night she sang the songs he liked and
asked for, and she sang very sweetly. Reginald
Lanster felt that he should like to drown
Mr. Sariniento.
Reginald had fallen deeply in love with Miss
Katherine, but never he thought as much in
earnest as now. He wandered about in a
torment of mind inconceivable ; partly caused
by jealousy, partly by indecision?for he could
not quite decide whether to brave his mother
and all the Lanster family and offer Katherine
his hand ; or whether to let his love die away
by and by, as it had died out for all his former
flames.
On this day, Thursday, watching Katherine,
his aunt, and one or two more ladies, attended
by Mr. Sarmiento, start off to walk to some
ruins in the neighborhood, the young man
felt especially bitter. "Why don't, you come
also, Reginald V" called out Mr. Sarmiento,
as he ran*past him at the door to catch up
with the ladies ; not, however waiting for any
answer.
"Hang him !" muttered Reginald, considering
himself unreasonably ill used. It was not
altogether about Katherine, his grievance;
j it was on the score of neglect as well. Formerly
he was all in all in the household ; now
nothing was cared for but this old Sarmiento.
In a frightful temper he vent olf to the
i beach. Dora followed, slipping her hand,
j cousinly fashion, within his arm ; all unconscious,
poor child, that he no longer saw in her
"the sweetest little girl in the world," but an
emissary of unkind fortune, whom he could
not help showing temper to.
It was hard upon her, altogether hard. Regy
put it more strongly, and called it, in selfreproach,
"devilish mean." But there seemed
to be no help for it, and would not be until
that wretch was gone.
"How long does that fellow intend to stay,
Dot ?" he cried.
""What fellow ?" asked Dot.
"That Sarmiento."
"Till Tuesday next, I think. I fancy he
and papa are going up together. Don't you
like him, Regy ? "We all do."
"I should like to shoot him!" ferociously
avowed Reginald.
"fVV* 1 lmw onn wAit V Whv Via ic varv niPA I
v/ii ? iiun i/c*u juu 4 i* ii j , iiv iu ? ?.?j ?w looking.
His hair is as bright as gold."
"Hang his hair!" growled the young man,
as he shook off Dot's gentle hand and strode
away from her.
Poor Dot, not understanding matters, in
the smallest degree, sat down on the sands and
cried a little. What was it that she did, that
she had been doing for days past, to offend
Reginald and make him so cross and captious?
Evening came. Reginald was its much out
of sorts as a fairly well-behaved gentleman
cThTlcrbe. What, with one impediment or an- 1
other, two whole days had passed since he had
spoke to Miss Maverick?save in the ordinary
commonplaces of the family circle?and he ;
was feeling decidedly savage. To add to his
annoyance, Miss Maverick seemed in no wise j
to sympathize with his discomfort, or even to
notice his state of mind.
He sat moodily in a corner, watching her
with jealous admiration, for she was looking
her very best. The soft white dress that she
wore was perfection, with the scarlet fuchias
drooping at her throat and in her back braids, ;
sinH iinr iwlpfapfl wasmade even more brilliant
and striking l?y contrast with the fair red and
white dames around her?and Reginald was
driven almost to desperation by a well meant 1
word from his aunt.
"Miss Maverick looks wonderfully well to- !
night," said that smiling matron. "I should <
not be surprised if Mr. Sarmiento were grow- i
ing really interested in her. What afortu- 1
nate thing it would be !?and he is a good 1
man."
"I wish you'd not talk nonsense, aunt!" 1
was the peevish retort.
"Well, it may be nonsense; I dare say it t
won't turn out to be anything else," laughed i
Mrs. Lanster ; "but the best of us are match- i
makers, you know. Have you a headache tonight,
Regy ??you seem out of sorts."
"Yes," he nodded, "an awful headache." 1
Headache and heartache also, he might have <
added, had he dared. Mrs. Lanster moved
away, leaving him in a fever of impatience. 1
There, at the opposite end of the room, stood i
Katherine, in her stately beauty, and Mr. Sarmiento
at her side talking with her. 1
"How is it that you shun me ?" abruptly
demanded the young fellow, accosting her,
when he got an opportunity.
"But I do not shun you," she answered, ]
smiling. ]
' "You do.' You art ever with?with somebody
or other," retorted Reginald. "Why it's
days and days since we had one of our pleas- i
ant walks by the sea." ]
"Is it?" i
"Don't you mean ever to go for a walk with
me again r" '
"Indeed, yes?if you wish me to go. I will 1
go for a walk to-morrow morning if you like,
the first thing after breakfast." I
His brow cleared a little ; his tones, grew i
smoother.
"That is a bargain, mind you, Miss Mav- i
erick ; a promise." . 1
"To be sure it is. I will keep it, weather !
4-AnnK{n/? f Kof ??Aiin ct 1
iiULllil^* 1/Ul ? lUULllllJ^ niau jwuiijj **
dv's aj-un-a^gho was approaching Katherine
with a utessage from her mother?"will go "
with us." # 1
This was not exactly what Mr. Reginald
wanted ; but he coidd not decently object to i
Dot's company. Katherine was called upon
to sing and no more was said.
In the morning they took the walk, the 1
three of them, the weather being all sunshine ;
and sweetness. Rather a long walk they made
of it strolling hither and thither, and did not :
get home until close upon one o'clock. There 1
news awaited them ; Mr. Sarmiento was gone. 1
"Gone !" exclaimed Dot. "Why, what's
he gone for ? lie said nothing about going at
breakfast."
"No," saj^Mrs. Lanster, "I do not think <
he decided Until later. lie had some business 1
letters this morning, and was uncertain whether
to go or write. He made his mind up all at :
once ; and he left his best adieux to you all." i
"Much obliged to him," returned Regy, in
a semi-sarcastic, semi-jesting tone. "Is he <
gone for good ?" i
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Lanster. "Quite for I
good." !
At which assurance Mr. Reginald went into
the seventh heaven. !
"Miss Maverick," began Dot, that same
day when the two girls were alone together, <
"do you know that mamma is disappointed ?" i
"At what ?" innocently asked Katherine. ]
"At Mr. Sarmiento's going off in this ab- i
rubt way, without saying anything to you."
Katherine, who was leaning half out of the '
open window, thoughtfully twirling a carnation
about in her lingers?they were in her i
bedroom?turned to look at Dot.
"But, wliy V lie could not help it. wnat
should he have to say to me more than to you <
and Reginald ?" 1
Dot laughed. "Don't be angry, Katherine, 1
but mamma has been privately nourishing a !
little romance. Mr. Sarmiento was so greatly *
taken with you ; he seemed to like so much to :
be with you and to talk to you, that she 1
thought he might have some intention of?of I
proposing to you."
Katherine Maverick stared like one puzzled.
"Oh, Dot !"
"Have I offended you?" breathed Dot, for '
the tone was half an angry one. "I did not ;
mean to." :
"Xo, my dear, you have not offended me, I
was only surprised," spoke Katherine Maverick.
"Believe me, Dora?and I hope you will I
repeat this to your mother?that neither by |
word nor by look did Mr. Sarmiento ever hint;;
at such a thing. Such an idea would not have <
crossed ills brain for a moment, and I am sure
it never crussTd-mine. The whole world might
have heard every word he said to me. He used
to converse with me on general topics?and
; about my dead father?and sometimes he
would speak of his little girl?Emma."
"Well, it was a notion mamma took up.
But, Katherine, could you not see that he
I liked you ?"
"The word 'like,' has various bearings, Dot, j
my dear. Mr. Sarmiento liked me as an ac- j
j quaintance ; I feel sure of that ; and I saw
| that he did, rather, seek to converse with me.
j Once or twice a yery ambitious idea did creep j
i in, in regard to the why and the wherefore;!
I but not the outrageously ambitious idea that!
you hint at, child."
"And what is your ambitious idea, Kathe-;
j rine ?"
Katherine blushed. "I know I must be very |
j foolish, Dot, but I fancied it just possible that!
he miglit be thinking I should make a suitable 1
; governess to his child. And what a change it 1
; would have been for me from that scl
1 That is the only notion that ever entered my j
: mind upon the subject, Dora, upon my honor."
"Yes, that would have been nice for you,"
sighed Dot. "It is all at an end now."
"(^uiteat an end, and I was silly. Xo harm
is done, my dear."
Katherine Maverick spoke the truth. Mr. j
Sarmiento seemed as far above her, in regard
; to any closer connection, as the sky, and she {
: had never glancedat anything so preposterous. |
; A grave, sensible, good man, rich and grand
and great, and good looking withal, and she a
poor music mistress I
She hated the prosi)ect of returning to the j
school with its feaiful drudgery, from which
there was never any intermission from Monday
morning until Saturday night, no eleva!
ting companionship, no interchange of higher
1 thoughts. If she could but escape it ! Iler
heart felt faint at times, at the very hopelessness
of the wish.
i A few evenings after the departure of Mr. 1
i Sarmiento, when the stars were beginning to
j peep out in the heavens, through the deepening
twilight, Reginald betook himself to the j
terrace with his cigar, and sat down there out
of humor. The house was very silent. Dors
was spending the day with a young friend, anc1
Mrs. Lanster retired to her room when dinnei
was over, complaining of indisposition. Miss
Maverick disappeared also?and that was the
sore point with Reginald.
"She might have been civil enough to stay
with a fellow," he grumbled, tilting himsell
back in the light chair. "Did she fear I should
eat her ? There's the moon now!"
What harm the unoffending moon could do
him, rising above the trees in its beauty, he
best knew. But his meditations were none oi
the pleasantest, his mind was on the rack. Tc
be or not to be was the momentous question
he was always debating with himself.
The leaves rustled gently in the cool night
breeze ; beyond that no sound was audible.
The cigar finished, Reginald folded his arms
and fell into a waking dream. Light footsteps
aroused him from it. Miss Maverick
was coming up the garden, her scarlet shawl
folded round her shoulders over her white
dress.
"You out here!" exclaimed Reginald. Ilia
face, illuminated by the moonlight, showed his
delight more plainly than words could have
done. "I was thinking how awfully solitary
it was. Do sit. dsjjRrn a minute ; here's a
chair."
"I was so restless," she answered, smiling,
as she took the chair. "I think I must have
felt like Herodias' daughter?compelled to
wander; and so I wrapped myself in this
great shawl and went out."
' What was it aunt hinted at during dinner,
just a word or two, about your going away ?
What did it mean ?"
"I did not hear it. But I am going to-morrow."
"To-morrow 1" echoed Iiiginald. "Was it
purposely kept fi#m me."
"It has not been 'kept1 at all from you, that
I am aware of. I only knew it myself to-day."
"I thought you had another week to stay
here V"
"To-morrow is the day I am due. Mrs.
Lanster wrote to Miss Poole to beg for another
week for me, and I had her answer this
morning?no, I miist go back to my duties at
the time appointed. Your good aunt did not
tell me until just after dinner."
"It's shameful!" cried Regy, much dis
curbed.
"It was worse for me than for anybody else,"
said poor Katherine. "After all these pleasmt
days here, to have to return to Purgatory."
"That's a strong word," said Reginald.
She smiled faintly. "It is what the girls
have christened the school. Shall you think
Df me sometimes when I am gone V"
"Think of you!" repeated he, with feeling,
[lis young face painfully earnest.* "Katherine,
must you really go ?"
"Why, of course, I must," she answered,
her own face full of pain.
"You must not go."
"Rut I must go. What else can I do V"
"You can marry me," he replied, so suddenly
that he was almost startled at himself. "I
love you, Katherine, and you know it."
"No, no," she whispered, in agitation.
"Rut I say yes, yes. Katherine you cannot
think of leaving me to despair. What would
life be worth to me now, without you. Oh !
my love, be mine !"
She turned to him with an impulse of tenlerness,
took his hand and clasped it between
both of hers.
"You are very generous, Reginald, and I
thank you, I thank you truly. Rut it must
not be. Think of your family."
"Rother my family I" was the energetic response.
"I want you for my wife, not my
family's." Nevertheless, a qualm of conscience
took him as he spoke, in spite of his
bravery and his defiant feelings.
She slightly shookJier head; she knew.
Reginald had released his own hand and imprisoned
hers. '
"Resides" rather hesitatingly?"our ages
ire incompatible. I am older than you."
"I am twenty-one, I am my own master."
"I am twenty-five," she quietly rejoined.
"You?forgive me, Reginald, for saying so?
you are but a boy."
"Iam not a boy," retorted Reginald. "I
im master, I tell you, of myself and of my
fortune. It is two thousand a year ; it will
be more, later."
Two thousand a year versus her life of toil!
What a visit it was!?what a temptation !
"At twenty-five a woman seems quite old,
compared with a boy of twenty-one. The
world knows it to be so, Reginald."
UT or,-, ol.l Annnrrl) trt 1-linil' TT1V flWTl minil
L (UII U1U ClIUU^II \j\f JW?VSW lam j w .. .. ....
ind heart, and I love you, Ivatherine. Oh!
my dear one, I cannot give you up 1"
She had risen ; one slender hand lay on the
dhow of the chair, with the other she held her
ihawl together at her throat ; and Reginald,
tiis handsome face full of entreaty, stood beside
her.
"Katherine, speak to me," he said. But
3he was silent.
It was her one chance, she told herself; the
mly chance she should probably ever have
In life. Here was Reginald Lanster willing,
pleading, to make _ him his wife in love; no
more dreary teaching, 110 more worrying care.
It was an overwhelming temptation ; but still
Katherine Maverick stood silent.
On the soft hand which rested on the chair
\ gold band with a sapphire stone gilstened ;
if rtrou <1 vitlnr TvlilV.ll hnrl orivPTl llfT Illlfl
it brought the loving, innocent little girl forcibly
to her remembrance. She thought how
the child had opened her heart to her in perfect
and entire trust when whispering of her
love for Ilegy. She thought how fragile and
delicate the girl was?how cruel would be the
shock to her when she learned the extent of
treachery enacted against her by the two
beings she esteemed most in all the world;
"and she loves him," added Katherine. "No,
I cannot do this."
The warm pressure of Itegy's hands fell on
hers, hiding the ring from view. "Why do
you hesitate, Katherine ?" he breathed. But
she stood yet in silence. .
It had not quite passed, tho temptation.
IIow strong it yet was she never afterward
liked to recall.
"Treachery, and worse than treachery,"
she thought; "treachery in more ways than
one, and to others beside Dot. Shall I thus
requite Mr. and Mrs. Lanster?who have been
kindness itself to me ??worse than all, shall
I store up for myself before Heaven a remorseful
conscience that never would be at rest:
No, no, no. Painful days and weary nights
to my life's end rather than that."
"Katherine!" he murmured softly?and
then his face came nearer, bent closer, and
for a single moment he drew her head down
011 his shoulder, and pressed his lips to hers.
"Don't, Reginald," she faintly cried, drawinn
-nviiv nnrl ufui-iriinfr prppt. hpfnrp him. "It
was a great temptation, but my better angel
was with me and I have conquered. What
you ask can never be?do you not see what
treachery we would botli be guilty of?1 especially:'
I have been very pleasant here,
pleasanter, I dare say, than any time for me
will ever be again, but to-night ends it."
"Can you be so cruel," he burst forth, lib
eyes tilling.
"You may think me cruel now, but yoi
will know better in time, and then you may
thank me. Perhaps in the days to come
when you and Dot are a happy husband am:
wife, you will invite me to stay a week witl
you. But I shall never come here before that
We will say good-bye now?and I thank yoi
for all, Reginald.
Some feeling in his own heart told hiu
she was right. lie clasped her to him witl
a great sob and took another kiss from hei
lips.
And so, the next day, Katherine Mavericl
went away, back to "the dreary school, witl
the good wishes of Dot and all her friends
but with a lonesome weary ache in her heart
"I shall never forget you," breathed Regi
nald as he saw her into the carriage; "yoi
might have made my life's sunshine, Katlie
rinc."
She smiled faintly as she waved her ham
to him in the distance. "It was my om
chance," she thought again ; "but I am thank
ful my resolution held out not to take it. Am
now for Purgatory I"
She had been back in Purgatory only a weel
or two, when one morning a servant came t
the class-room with a message: A gentlemai
h?ul called to see Miss Meverick,
i Very much surprised, Katherine, pencil in
I hand, and black stuff apron on?as all the
: teachers were required to wear?to the par5
lor and saw Mr. Sarmiento. He had come
5 to ask her to be governess to his little
daughter.
"O, I should like it ; I know I should like
' it," she said, her face beaming with pleasure.
I But I'm afraid?"
"Afraid of what V" asked Mr. Sarmiento,
i smiling.
> -"I do not think Miss Poole will release
: me."
> "Supposing Miss Poole does release you?is
it what will suit you ??what you seem yourself
fitted for?the charge of one little girl V"
; "I truly think so,"answered Katherine.
"She is rather a rebellious child and requires
i firm management. My good old aunt, who
lives with me and has much indulged her, con:
fesses that Emma is getting beyond her con[
trol. But dear Aunt Rachel is just as mild as
s mild, and Emma knows that quite well."
"I do not fear being able to train her,"
i spoke Miss Maverick with a beaming face,
i "I shall begin by making her love me."
! "Just so ; make her love you," returned
Mr. Sarmiento in a pleasant tone. "I need
, not say, Miss Maverick, that you will be entirely
as one of ourselves in my home ; regarded
as a visitor, not as a governess. And with
, regard to remuneration, Rachel thought a
, I hundred a year?if you would consider that
t suHicient."
"A hundred a-year! cried Katherine, breathlessly.
"For me ! Why, I only get twelve
* pounds here. That is why I have to dress so
plainly."
"Then we will say it is settled," returned
Mr. Sarmiento.
"Oh, if it might be !" sighed Katherine,
her ardor damped. "But there's Miss l'oole."
"Kindly leave Miss l'oole to me."
"I should not like to seem ungrateful?and
she has just raised ray salary," debated Katherine.
"Two pounds more. Until this term
1 have had but ten."
"I will settle matters with Miss l'oole," he
, answered, laugiuug.
Two years later. Reginald Lanster and his
young wife are on a visit to Mr. and Mrs.
Sarmiento.
"What geese we were in those old days,
Katherine !" exclaimed Reginald, in a moment
of confidence; for he was just as outspoken
as ever. "So silly and foolish."
"Speak for yourself, if you please, sir," said
Mrs. Sarmiento. "I think the contrary. Ah,
Reginald, fate and fortune judged better for
us than we were inclined then to judge for
ourselves. Had I been the goose implied, you
might be a less happy man now than you are.
We should never have suited another you and
I."
"Well, no, I dare say not," candidly acknowledged
Reginald. "You would have been
too clever for me ; too sensible. Hot is the
dearest little wife in the world, but she has not
a bit of cleverness in her ; she : she gives in to
me in all respects."
"Just so," said Katherine. "And I should
have lectured you and kept you in order?
which you'd not have liked. What ever is, is
right, you know. There is a far wider truth
in that assertion, Reginald, than the world
generally realize."
"Yes, I thought of Katherine as my possible
wife when I was staying those few days
with your father and mother." answered Mr.
Sarmiento to Dot, when they were conversing
together of old times. "I was very much taken
with her. I came home and talked it over
with Rachel ; she was always telling me I
ought to marry again ; and we agreed to invite
Miss Maverick here as the child's governess,
that I might have the opportunity of seeing
more of her and deciding for it or against
it."
"And you decided for it," nodded Dot, approvingly.
"I did : and shortly, too. Dear Katherine !
I often think it was heaven itself that threw
the chance in my way."
WIIY THE CoxFKI)RATE SOLDIER FAILED.
The following interesting and truthful sketch
of the difficulties and dangers with which the
Confederate soldier had to contend, and the
cause of his final failure, is taken from McCarthy's
"Soldier Life in the Army of Northern
Virginia."
"The Confederate soldier opposed immense
odds. In the 'Seven Days' Battles' around
Richmond, SO,000 drove to the James River
145,000 of the enemy. At Fredericksburg, in
1802, 78,000 of them routed 110,000 Federal
troops. At Chaucellorsville, in 1863, 57,00q
under Lee and Jaekson whipped, and but for
the death of Jackson, would have annihilated
1 an army of 132,000 men?more than double
their own number. At Gettysburg, 02,000 of
them assailed the heights manned by 112,000.
At the "Wilderness, in 1804, 63,000 met and
successfully resisted 141,000 of the. enemy.
At Appomattox, in 1865,8,000 of them surrendered
to the host commanded by Grant. The
United States Government .at the end of the
war, mustered out of service 1,000,000 of men,
and had in the field, from first to last, 2,000,000.
If the Confederate soldier had then had
only this disparity of numbers to contend
"'Dli L? wnnld h:ive driven everv invader
from the soil of Virginia.
"But the Confederate soldier fought, in addition
to these odds, the facilities for the
transportation and concentration of troops
and supplies afforded by the network of railI
ways in the country north of him, all of which
I was subject to the control of the Government,
I and backed by a treasury which was turning
| out money by the ton, one dollar of which was
i equal to sixty Confederate dollars.
! "It should be remembered also that, while
1 the South was restricted to its own territory
i for supplies, and its own people for men, the
I North drew on the world for material, and
I every nation of the earth for men.
I "The arms and ammunition of the Federal
1! soldiers were abundant and good?so abun-1
dant and so good that they supplied both armies,
and were greatly preferred by ConfederI
ate oflicers. The equipment of the Federal
i armies was well nigh perfect. The facilities
| for manufacture were simply unlimited, and 1
1 j the nation thought no expenditure of treasure I
| too great, if only the country, and the Union !
i! pnniii hp saved. The factory and the foundry I
i chimneys made iv pillar of smoke by clay, and
I of lire by night. The latest improvements
were hurried to the front, and adopted by
' i both armies almost simultaneously, for hardly
i! had the Federals bought, when the Confederj
ates captured and used the very latest.
1 "Commissary stores were piled up all over
Virginia, for the use of the invading armies.
1 They had more than they coukl protect, and
i their loss was given to the hungry defenders !
' j of the soil.
' | "The Confederate soldier fought a host of ills >
' occasioned by the deprivation of chloroform !
; j and morphia, which were excluded from the |
' Confederacy by the blockade, as contraband of j
' war. The man who has submitted to ampu-'
i tation without chloroform, or tossed on a j
? couch of agony for a night and a day, without)
sleep, for the want of a dose of morphia, may ,
5 possibly be able to estimate the advantages
I which resulted from the possession of the Fed-1
i: eral surgeons, of an unlimited supply of these. 1
I "The Confederate soldier fought bounties
, 1 and regular monthly pay ; the "Stars and |
I Stripes,' the 'Sta; Spangled Banner,' 'Hail
i Columbia,' 'Tramp, Tramp, Tramp,' 'John ;
. | Brown's Body,' 'Bally Round the Flag,' and
i' all the fury aud fanaticism which skilled minds
j could create?opposing this grand array with
i! the modest and homely refrain of "Dixie, 'supi
j ported by a mild solution of 'Maryland, my ,
r: Maryland.' lie fought good wagons, fat
I horses, and tons of quarter-master's stores ;
t pontoon trains, of splendid material and coni
struction, by the mile ; gunboats, wooden and
i j iron, and men-of-war ; illustrated papers to
: cheer the 'Boys in Blue,' with sketches of the
- j glorious deeds they did not do ; Bibles by the |
i car load, and tracts by the million?the first,
- to prepare them for death ; and the second, to
j urge upon them the duty of dying.
1 i "The Confederate soldier fought the 'Sanie
tary Commission,' whose members, armed i
- j with every facility and convenience, quickly j
i ! carried the sick and wounded of the Federal!
! army to comfortable quarters, removed the i
k ' bloody garments, laid the sufferer on a clean
o and dry couch, clothed him in clean things,
ii and fed him on the best the world could afford
1 and money buy."
Ipswnatteflusi finding.
HOW TO GROW CARP.
Hon. D. Wyatt Aiken in News anil Courier.
Chicago, December 14.?I was latterly called
from duties to the Northwest, and returning
through this beehive this morning I concluded
to spend a day in attendance upon the
National Agricultural Association, which I
knew was in session here. The day has been
one of much interest to me, and the most interesting
portion of it was spent in listening
to an hour's talk on the subject of fish culture
by one Captain Pearce, of Pennsylvania, and
while waiting to-night for my train, with his
speech fresh in my memory, I thought the
time might be well spent in dotting down for
publication those ideas most essential to your
readers who are attempting to grow fish, many
of whom I know live in the third district.
The speaker, Capt. Pearce, seemed to intimate
that he was master of his subject, and
what he did not know about fishes was not
worth knowing.
He said, let those who have the time and
spare money attempt to grow nuut ?uu uma
fishes, but the masses must grow only the
carp. This was the fish for the people, and
about which the people knew but little, and
were attempting to practice the culture of
without knowledge, and consequently going
directly in the face of what was correct.
The carp is a native of Asia, where it has been
cultivated grown and fattened, even in w.ish
tubs, for centuries. Six hundred years ago it
was introduced by Jesuits into Austria, thence
into (iermany, Prussia and Italy, in which
countries to-day hundreds of thousands of
acres of ponds were devoted to their culture,
and upon which almost millions of people
subsisted.
The carp is a timid fish and should never be
in a pond with other fishes. Big carp never
destroy little carp. They hybronate at the
first cold weather in the fall and come out
when the sun grows warm in the spring, exactly
the same size they were in the fall, having
lived through the winter with their whole
body buried in the mud head downward.
They grow only when the water is warm.
They should never be fed but "pastured"
upon the natural vegetation of the pond.
They do not spawn in sand beds as other
fishes, but the female spawnsjipon growing
vegetables and the males lash these growing
plants with their tails throwing the milt over
them. There are usually three males to one
female. They grow more the second than
* - J . X x!11
the first year, and siioiua not De eaten tin
they are three years old. when they will vary
in length from a foot to eighteen inches, and
in weight from six to nine pounds. They can
be grown as cheap food for the million, while
it will cost nearly a dollar to grow seventyfive
cents worth of any other fish.
There should be three ponds, immaterial
whether they are together or not. They may
be miles apart. One for the spawn and yearlings,
one for the two year olds, and one for
the eating fish. The pond should be as shallow
as possible, never more than five feet deep
in the South, and as much shallower as possible.
An average of two feet is the best depth.
The bottom should be mud if possible, and if
the pond is in a ravine with precipitous sides
it should -be filled up to prevent deep water.
The dam should be so constructed as to enable
the owner to draw off the water from the
bottom, and all water escaping from the pond
should go through a grate at the bottom of
the dam, so as to let off the cold water, there
being at least twenty degrees of heat difference
between the first and the fifth foot of
water in a pond five feet deep. There should
be no shade trees near the pond, and every
encouragement given to the growth of all
kinds of mud or water grasses. There should
be a planked vat about two feet deep and ten
feet square just inside the dam in the deepest
portion of the pond, so that when the water
was drawn off to catch the fish they would all
seek that vat, and could be dipped from it in
a basket or net.
ARE TOADS POISONOUS I
In answer to this query, propounded by
Mr. Herbert Brown in a recent number of
Knov:led<je, a decided affirmative may be returned.
The toad is venomous, though not
in the way that is implied by the general acceptation
of that term, as is commonly believed.
Nothing can be more harmless than
the bite of a common toad?if it can he said
to bite, for it has no teeth. But the glands
contained in the papilla; and rogosities of the
skin covering the back, in the form of two
bead-like eminences just behind the head,
secrete a milky, highly acrid fluid, which is
exuded profusely on irritation. Indeed, if it
were not for this poisonous secretion the poor
toad would fall an easy victim to many enemies,
having the agility of the frog or lifczard
to enable him to escape, nor the teeth nor
claws of other reptiles wherewith to defend
itself. Cats, which are eager hunters of frogs
for food, spit and foam at the mouth when
they pick up the wrong batchian by mistake,
and are often affected in a similar manner to
Mr. Brown's St. Bernard. Frog-eating snakes,
too, detect the difference and will not eat
toads, as a rule. When a snake, greatly pressed
by hunger swallows one, it usually rejects
it again immediately afterwards, and not
unfrequently dies. Those frogs which prey j
? ----- /no mnuf fi'nnfu /ln^ I
upon LIIL'II U\VJ1 ftlim iiiuoi/ uxjfjv uuf v>vu
pite their ugly relative from an alimentary i
point of view, and, curiously enough, certain [
toads which devour frogs share the same an-1
tipathy to their race. Except with very small ;
animals, the poison appears to act rather as j
a local irritant than a toxiemic agent; it has j
no effect upon the sound skin, but will cause |
any abraded surface to inflame to extensive I
ulceration, while great pain results from its
application to the conjunctive or internal
mucuous membranes. Anyone who can over-'
come his repugnance to the creature sufficient-;
ly to put his lips or tongue against the skin of
an angry toad will experience an intensive
acrid taste ; he should shut his eyes in mak- j
ing such an experiment, as the post occipital
glands sometimes emit their secretion in a jet. !
Mr. Frank Auckland quotes a case which oc- j
curred in Oxfordshire, where a drunken brute I
bit a toad's head off. Happily, his teeth went:
right through these glands and immediately ;
became swollen and inflamed to such an ex- j
tent that his life was in jeopardy for some ;
hours. These characteristics are much more '
strongly marked in many of the tropical Bufon-1
id;c. My giant toads (bufa aqua) used to
swelter venom when they were taken in the ,
hand in such abundance that it would pour j
off their backs and drip from them, before :
they became tame; and 1 was thus enabled |
to collect a large amount. This species feeds j
on rats and it is possible that this copious exu- i
dation may serve to prevent their prey from j
biting them when seized by the leg, or other- j
wise awkwardly caught. 1 once put a ' cribo'' i
snake (dromieus fugitives) into a box with
three of these toads for a single night, for lack
of other accommodation ; it was a fine, active
specimen, five or six feet long, and its movemonf-a
iinriiHir t.ho nicrht so disturbed them in
the morning I found the llocr box all awash
with fluid. The snake was lying on its back j
apparantly dead: ?u.d, though it recovered ;
somewhat on b.'ing plunged into a bath, it j
survived only a few days.
A "Wondeuful Invention.?The Legge
patent sends as many words over a single wire !
in a minute as the most skillful Morse opera- j
tor can send in an hour, delivers at the receiv-!
ing station a fac simile of the copy furnished, .
and does it all without the help of a skillful!
operator. Anybody who can turn a crank can :
send a message, in his own handwriting, with
any private marks or other devices he pleases, |
simply by first writing his message on a chem- j
ically prepared piece of paper furnished by the :
company. Practical trials of this apparatus
i ...f O Vlft wnrrla ;i miimtfi j
lliive 3I1U?V II >1, ojiccu ui -,'JW itwauu .. ...... , |
but it can be enlarged so as to do even letter, i
A morse operator who can send or receive !
2,000 or 2,500 words an hour can command the j
highest salary, and even then there is nothing
to guarantee him against making a mistake?a
thing which by the Legge process is impossi-!
ble. Pictures can be transmitted in this way, i
and an enterprising reporter can send, not only
the words, but the music of the new opera
by wire; but the great advantage the company
claims for it is the transmission of correspon
donee. It is expected that tne energeuc uusi- m
ness man who has an important letter to send
to a distance will no longer drop it in the postoffice?unless,
indeed, an arrangement can be
effected by which the postoffices will be made
receiving and delivering stations for the postal j
telegraph?but will bring it to the company's
office, place it with his own hands in the machine,
and send it humming in a moment to
its destination.? Philadelphia Tims.
LIGHT AND THE EYES.
Professor Pickering, of Harvard observatory,
points out in Nature that the color of
gaslight has nothing to do with its painful
4-1.^ rt# r.i-n/lAMfo onH nflinra S
t'UL'UL upon Lilt; t*vc.-> ui aiuucuin miu wuwviu.
To test this question he had a tin lamp-shade
constructed consisting of a tube six inches in
length. One end was closed by a reflector,
and the other by a piece of light blue glass.
Two holes were made in the side, through
which passed the glass chimney of an Argand
gas-burner. By experimenting with a photometer.
a position was found where the light
received on a book was of the same intensity
and very similar color to that from a window
in day time at a distance of about six feet.
A few minutes1 reading, however, was sufficient
to convice him that the new light was
far more trying to the eyes than an ordinary
gas flame would be, the ill-effects being due
to the intense heat thrown down by the reflector.
And this he thinks, is the source of
the whole trouble in the ordinary gas burner.
The heat radiated by the flame, the heated
chimney and shade, reflected from the printed ,
page and all other white paper lying on the s
table dries the eyes, the lids, the forehead and |
temples. Temporary relief may be found by |
bathing the face and eyes in water, bnt it is m
only temporary. The hot, dry air from the ^ a
lamp is also harmful, and no doubt contributes
its share of its injury to the vision.
These evils may both in part be remedied
placing a pane of glass so as to intercept the
rays about the lamp before they strike on the ^9
book or the face. But it must be placed at ^1
such a distance from the lamp as not itself to j
become heated.
The hotter the flame the whiter it is, and
the more light is thrown off in proportion to J
the heat. Hence occulists are recommending j*
such lights as the students' and moderator I
lamps, which burn with a small, hot and very %
brilliant flame, as compared with that furnished
by the argand and fish-tail burners.
rjiausucs, saiu x'ruieaaui xriuitciiug, ouutt
how alarmingly prevalent near-sightedness has
become of late among students. Hence, anything
which will tend in the future to prevent
this wide-spread defect will be a boon to
mankind. He has great hopes of the electric
light in this respect. In it there was a maximum
of light with a minimum of heat. The
ever-varying intensity was an objection, but
he thought we might look forward to the success
of the light from the incandescent carbon
strip, in the near future, lis a remedy for "the
most widespread evil that afflicts the human
vision."
Tins Year's Cottox Crop.?The cotton
returns mailed to the Department of Agriculture
at Washington, December 1st, relate to
the product in comparison with the production
of last year. There will be one more at
the close of the season estimating the actual
number of bales and acres of the present crop.
Last month's return of the yield per acre indicated
0,036,1)00 bales of 400 net pounds of lint
each. The December report makes an aggregate
approximating 0,700,000 bales. It is not
presented as statistician's estimate of the crop,
but as the result of a careful revision of consolidation
of county estimates. The influence
of December on the views of the correspondents
may somewhat increase or may decrease
these figures. The estimated increase in Florida
is 8 per cent., or in round numbers 58,000
bales, Mississippi 8 per cent, or 061,000 bales,
North Carolina 10 per cent, or 421,000 bales,
Alabama 10 per cent, or 768,000 bales, Georgia
11 per cent, or 885,000 bales, Louisiana 20
per cent, or 571,000 bales, Tennessee 22 per
cent, or 329,000 bales, South Carolina 26 per
cent, or 625,000 bales, Texas 52 per cent or
1,322,000 bales, Arkansas 60 per cent, or 085,000
bales. In South Carolina, Texas and Arkansas
last year's product was greatly reduced,
which accounts for the large percentage
of increase. Virginia, Missouri, Indian
Territory and other districts may make 60,000
bales. Serious injury is justly apprehended
from the lateness of the crop, and vigor of
growth did not occur. Killing frosts were
everywhere later than usual, yet the loss of
immature bolls in some districts estimated at
10 per cent., resulted in parts of North Carolina,
Tennessee, Arkansas and Northern Texas,
and in a less degree in other States of the
cotton belt. In Northern Mississippi frost
was reported twenty to thirty days later than
in average years. The weather has been geufirnllv
favorable for nickintr and at many points
exceptionally good. The reverse has been
true in portions of Louisiana and Northern
Texas, in some counties of Arkansas- and
other parts of the Southwest from continued
wet weather. Losses from the boll worm continue
to be reported, mainly west of the Missippi.
This insect has probably caused as
much damage as the caterpillar this season.
Dangerous Companions.?When a young
man has made up his mind to walk on the
edge of a precipice for the sake of seeking prospects,
he always iinds plenty of company. There
are abundance of people with strong heads,
who, having walked these paths until they, are
quite certain of their foot hold, are ready to
go out with new beginners. If they accidentally
lose their heads and fall over, whose
fault is that? Not theirs, of course. They
never fall. They look where they step, and
their heads do not turn. It is not drunkards
and thieves who are dangerous companions to
the green boys just in from the country. Oh,
dear, no! It is your respectable young men
emit iv.tvo loomed to sin discreetly in all sorts
of forbidden fountains, and nibble here and
there carefully of the forbidden fruit. They
are held as a pattern. They drink, but are
never drunk. They have exactly the knack of
seeing and knowing all that is to be known, in
the ways of wickekness, and yet keeping every
step with the righteous. Some of them are
church members and Sabbath-school teachers;
some are regular shrewd business men. They
are never going to hurt themselves they tell
you, but they believe in a certain freedom.
They never could see the sense of temperance
pledges. For their part they don't need them,
and if there is anything they abominate, it is
your radical, straight-laced people, who keep
always in the dusty turnpike for fear of the
precipice.
. Tiie Influence of Gkeat Example.?
One communion Sunday an old Kentucky soldier
who fought under Gen. Jackson at New
Orleans, and knew well what manner of man
he had been in his lighting days, attended the
Hermitage Church and saw the aged warrior
kneel reverentially before the altar. He was
transfixed with astonishment. After the service
was over he was observed to be unusually
silent and thoughtful, and upon being questioned,
related what he had seen. lie concluded
his narrative thus:
"When I saw the man who had fought
armies, parties, cabinets and had never fought
without conquering, get down 011 his knees in
that church, I said to myself, 'Well, when
General Jackson kneels, I tell you, boys, I
think it about time for me to knock under.'"
Four weeks after, ne joined the church, and
lived and died a pious, exemplary member.
SrvsmxE and Sleep.?Sleepless people?
and there are many in America?should court
the sun. The worst soporific is laudanum,
and the very best sunshine. Therefore, it is
very plain that poor sleepers should pass as
many hours as possible in the sunshine, and as
few as possible in the shade. Many women
are martyrs, and yet they do not know it.
They shut the sunshine out of their houses
and their hearts, they wear veils, they carry
parasols, they do all possible to keep off the
subtlest and yet the most potent influence
which is intended to give them strength and
beauty and cheerfulness. Is it not time to
change this, and so get color and roses in our
pale cheeks, strength in our weak backs, and
courage in our timid souls V The women of
America are pale and delicate; they may be
blooming and strong, and the sunlight will be
a potent influence in this transformation.
i