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- ?= " = ^ ^ _ ^ = =====? =f= J lewis m. grist, Proprietor. J %n Knbqitnbtnf Itrfosjaper: Jor \\t promotion of ijje Social,. ^grinilimal anb Comtturrial Jnfrnsfs of ijjf jioiiljj. terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 29. , YOSKYILLE, S. C., THUBSDAY, MARCH 22, 1883. NO. 12. ?^? Elected fartrj). VANISHED HOURS. Where are thfe? gorife, those dear dead days, Those sweet past days of long ago, . Whose ghosts go floating to and fro When evening leads us through her maze? Where are they gone ? Ah! who can tell ? Who weave once more that long-passed spell? They did exist when we were young, We met our life with strength and trust, We deemed all things were pure and just, Nor It new life had a double tongue, We' lightly sang a happy song, . Nor dreamed our way could e'er be wrong. And then all dhanged ; as life went by, The friend deceived, or bitter death Smiled as he drank our dear one's breath, And would not let us also die, Day followed day ; as on they went Each took some gift that life*had sent. Yet it was ours, that perfect past! We did have days that knew no pain, We once had friends death had not taken, And flowers and songs that could not last Were ours in that most oiessea nine, When earth seemed Heaven's enchfcntfld clime. And so I think, when lights burn low And all the house is fast asleep, From out a silence vast and deep Those dear dead days we worshiped so, Breathe on us from their"hidden store Their long-lost peace, their faith once more. God keep those dear old times; and me Beyond our vision they may rest Till on some perfect day and blest Once more those dear dead days will be, For death, who took all, may restore The past we loved, to us once more. ihe j^torp feller. THE REAL HEIR. , CHAPTER I. PLOTTING. "My dear, Sir John, I am very sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I don't like the girl." "So you have told me before, my dear." "And you are as far from agreeing with me as ever." "Well, yes ; I confess I can see nothing so very objectionable in poor Julia." "Poor Julia! She will be rich Julia one of these days, or I am much mistaken !" Sir John broke ipto a good natured laugh. "Well, let us hope she may be." "Yes, I could say that, too; but when I consider that it is your money she looks to spending?" Sir John Temple's blue eyes opened. "Mine! My dear wife, you must be dreainiug." ** " 1 ? AVJ-, rtiiVxiA/il T fnol "Un tne contrary, uu una suujcv.i x i?i particularly wide awake?almost as much so as Julia, and her little ladyship put her hand laughingly through her husband's arm. "You have an heir, although"?and here sweet faced Ladv Temple signed?"no son. Have you really seen nothing? Do you really not know that Miss Slingsby proposes to share that heirship ?" Staid elderly Sir John actually whistled like a schoolboy?a whistle expressive of surprise and dismay. "Ah, you are not much more enamored with the idea than I." "I agree with you she is not the woman I should have chosen ; but what can we do ? It is he who chooses." "Nay, it is she. That is what I object to." "But my love, a man does not marry a girl unless he wants to." _ "Doesn't iie, my deaf?. If you were a woman yoir^voula know better. Is there really no such thing as flattering your sex vnii think vou want?eh, Sir John? It is like tickling trout, my dearvery pleasant, I daresay, but you are caught, and tnen?" "And then, if the woman isagood woman she will make a good wife." "Ah, but it isn't exactly the 'good woman' I am talking about. In plain English, Sir John, though she is your ward ana the daughter of your poor old friend, Julia Slingsby is not half good enough for our Morton! She is ambitious, unscrupulous, and as for heart, she has none?not a shred. In short, she does not love him, and she shall not have him." "Very good, but how do you propose preventing her ?" "Oh, I am not contemplating any very desperate measures. Julia shall have nothing to complain of. I shall merely try counter attractions. She and Morton will both be here at the end of the month. -I must get some of my pet girls down for the vacation, and if that does not succeed, and knowing?excuse me my dear?the stupidity of your sex, I am not very hopeful?" "Well, and what then ?" Lady Temple looked into her husband's face with a wicked smile. "Why, then -you must take to racing, gambling j announce yourself a ruined man, with nothing to leave behind you but mortgaged acres and an empty title. I think that would settle affairs very effectually." "A very pretty plot, upon my life. I think I prefer the nrst snggestion. Let us have down the counter charms, by all means. Who shall they be ? Better have down half a dozen or so, and make it safer." "I ha've arranged all that. I intend hav-' ing a household. Every one is leaving London now, and ready for fresh air and the country. We can find plenty of amusement?boating, tennis, picnics. All we want is fair weather. And now if you will be off?I see your horse outside?T will get to my writing." CHAPTER II. DOUBTFUL. Sir John and Lady Temple, of Temple's Court, were no longer young. But at sixty a man should be hale and hearty still, and lit for saddle or stubble for many a day to eome. And sturdy blue eyed John was all this. At fifty what should a woman be ? I cannot say. I only know that Lady Temple was active aud light heaxted as many a girl in her twenties. She was a little creature, barely reaching to big Sir John's broad shoulders, and ruled him with a fairy rod of love and witchery yet. Her soft brown hair was silvering fast, and gave a strange tender grace to a face that bore its look still of youthful espieglerie. Morton Temple, Sir John's heir and orphan nephew, was almost, though not all, that a son of their own could have been to the warm hearted baronet and his wife; so their anxiety in so important a matter as that under discussion is not to be wondered at, and my lady's little plots and plans in the young man's behalf may, I think, be excused. The Court, of course, was Morton Temple's home; but as he held an appointment under the Government supposed to entail a daily attendance in the neighborhood of Downing street, the greater part of his time was naturally spent in town. However, as a couple of hours' run by rail would take him to the Court, many a summer day's close found him there. Julia Slingsby had now been a ward ol Sir John's for nearly twelve months, but she formed no part of the Court household, She and her invalid mother occupied a small house in a semi-tashionable London square; and the fair Julia, when oppressed by heal or^nnui, was also often to be found flying Temple Courtward, in quest of fresh aii and?she would scarcely have troubled her self to conceal it, so why should I?Mortor Temple. The end of the month had arrived, anc Lady Temple had gathered her guest: around her. All bade fair for the carrying out of her little ladyship's programme. Tin weather even left nothing for a Briton t< grumble at. Days of unclouded sunshin* succeeded one another, and if showers fel they selected the hours of early morning t< do so, and the world woke cool and refresh r* ed as though new born. On the terraces and among the flower bed below, girlish forms in dainty summer cos tumes flitted, followed, at no great distance you may be sure, by light and loosely clad figures of the other sex. Lady Temple, in company with a matronly companion or two, looked on in smiling satisfaction. Her young people were having a "good time" of it, and her little ladyship was happy. There was the crumpled rose leaf, it is true, and it was a very crumpled one indeed, not a bit smoothed out as yet; but her ladyship was of a sunny hearted nature, and tried to be hopeful and content?tried, but it must be confessed, at times found it beyond her "Morton'sstupidity," she would confide to Sir John, "being something too incredible." No, affairs were not altogether promising. The counter charms were all there?dark, fair, quiet, dashing?but they might almost as well have been elsewhere. Almost, and there lay Lady Temple's one rav of hope, and she made the most of it. There was one exception?one fair and quiet presence there, whom, as her ladyship first discovered, Morton Temple, spite his "stupidity" could not quite ignore or forsake, even at the bidding of his Julia. Mary Holme was only the Rector's daughter, and 110 fitter mate, in a wordly point of view, for the heir of Temple Court than Julia Slingsby. Indeed, there Julia had rather the advantage, for whereas Mary was ?- * 1 zr penniless, sue was pussesseu ui <t muuu, u modest, income of her own. But had the hundreds been thousands, they would have influenced her ladyship not one whit. Mary Holme had always been a favorite at the Court. She and Morton Temple had played together as children, and together roamed the woods and fished the river later on. Fair and quiet, with all her heart long since given to her old companion, the Rector's pretty daughter was, in fact, a far more dangerous rival than the dark, dashing Julia would have condescended to believe, or her anxious ladyship have dared to permit herself to hope. But the days were slipping by. Tennis, boating, picnics, all had their turn, and still the success of my lady's scheme remained as doubtful as ever. Among the guests was one James Trenton, a heavy foolish looking young man, with certainly?as the phrase goes?more | money than brains. But the lad?for he was but little more?having but the other day come of age and into his some thousands per annum?was good hearted and generous minded enough to have made | himself many friends. Poor James had lost bis too susceptible heart the very first night of his arrival, anri fmm that moment. there was nothing to be clone with him. Need I say Miss Slingsby was the enslaver? She, on her part, did not certainly refuse his worship. Julia was a young woman too wise in her generation for anything so foolish, but she led him a sad life of it for all that. She smiled on and made i much of him when it suited her to do so. She ignored his very existence when that chanced to be more convenient. And all the time the poor foolish fellow was her slave?hers to make use of to fetch, to carry, to be smiled or frowned on as she saw fit. Of course Lady Temple saw all that was going on, as who could help doing? Indeed, the faithful James?as the girls had come to call him?would go to her ladyship with his troubles. Slid, was all kindness to him, and you may be sure, would have helped him if she could. "He is a world too good for her," Lady Temple confided to her husband; "but then he will never find it out, and that is everything." No doubt there were other little flirtations and even, it may be, courtships, going on, but there were other and lawful authorities at hand, if need be, so with these her ladyship did not trouble herself. It seemed to her, as the days went oil, and Morton Temple fluttered from Julia Slingsby to his old friend and companion, and James Trenton clung pertinaciously to his Chloe's skirts, that she had something too much of that sort to think of as it was. "Never again," Lady Temple told herself. "No, if this fails they may go their own way. Morton may make himself miserable for life if he will, and poor Mary must break her heart; 1 cannot help it." CHAPTER III. MR. HIXCKES' "POKK-MANKKIj." It was the last day but two for the Court guests. The gentlemen were all off to a cricket match some ten miles away. I daresay more thftn one of them would have as soon remained behind. But Sir John himself was to drive them over in the break, so they could not very well get out of it. The girls had got a little picnic of their own down by the river. Luncheon had been sent to' meet them at a chosen spot some mile and a half from the house, and they were to wait on themselves. This they had managed to do very satisfactorily. They had made a goodly onslaught on all the dainties provided, and were now resting in happy laziness after their labors. "Well, I think we have done very well without the gentlemen, and so I shall tell them," said little Kate l)olby, stretching herself in the sun like a luxurious kitten. "And of course they will believe you, my dear," said Julia Slingsby. "Forme, now, I shall tell their serene mightiness that it has been unbearable?the abomination of desolation, and that I all but drowned myself." "They will never believe that," laughed Kate. "Won't they, Miss Innocence ? That and more. Wait and see." "Well, I am sure both Morton Temple and James Trenton would rather have been here than at that stupid cricket," said Nelly Dolby, Kate's elder sister. "I think we can very well spare the 'faithful James,'" said ^ulia. "For Morton Temple. What do you say, Mary ?" "I sav," answered Mary, laughing, "that J 1-5? ? K 1 tUIVP TO spurt; mill su muui uo n is, mat, so far as 1 am personally concerned, perhaps he may as well be where he is." Julia laughed too. The admission was flattering to her vanity. Beside, little as it was in her nature to care for one of her own sex, Mary Holme had contrived to win from her a spark of something very near akin to affection. A pretty flush had come to Mary's cheek. "Why, Mary," Julia cried, "I do believe you care for him !" "Perhaps 1 do." "Why, she has known and loved him ever since she cut her first tooth. Haven't you, Mary?" And Kate Dolby, who was Mary's champion and adorer, and at whose feet she lay . stretched, gave her friend's toes an affection! ate squeeze. "I am really sure you don't care for him. Confess it, Julia," said Nellie. "Why can't you let him go and be satis; fled with your James?" growled Kate. [ "My James! I am sure you are all of you .! welcome to him." "But you don't care for Morton Temple [ either," cried half a dozen voices. "I aire very much for Temple Court." "Oh, I daresay James Trenton's place if i just as fine," said Nellie. urn., XZof/i G+arfin<* nn intf | At 5> J viiwu xvutv* otuA v<*j^ ?4^/ ? w t a sitting position. "He told me so. He r said iCs like a great barraek. without the company in it. Oh, do take it, Julia !. We'll all come and fill it?we will indeed.' i | Julia laughed good-naturedly. "I am sure it's very kind of of you, Kate 11 and if ever 1 inhabit the barraek I shall b< ^ glad to see you all?thankful, no doubt r j But you see, if I married James Trenton J 11 could never be Lady Temple. Besides? > j fear there is no doubt about it?the faithfu a ' James' grandpa sold cheese !" 1 i "But his grandfather is dead, and hi 3 cheese all eaten long enough ago," sai< . j Kate. "I can't help it. I should never see ! s ; mouse-trap even without thinking of him.' :- j "But if you couldn't be Lady Temple am ', mistress of the Court, you would overlool the cheese aud be reconciled to the mousetraps?eh !" inquired Kate. "Possibly. 1 might do worse. There's plenty of money, and, as for James, I could j twist him round my nngers." "But that is just the sort of husband I | shouldn't care for," said Mary. "Ah ! you would prefer being twisted ; I shouldn't." "Well, all I know is," said Kate Dolby, rising, "I wish you would take your James? and twist him." "And make Mary a present of Morton ! No, my dear, I am afraid I can't afford to be so generous." "He isn't yours yet!" cried Kate, flashing up. "Come," said Mary, "we are talking great nonsense, and if we want any tea it is time to be starting." Up at the house meanwhile Lady Temple and her more sober guests were indulging in their share of gossip over their cup of aternoon tea. Tf iroi! lii^t an "Yforv TTnlmp nnrl hpr (!om panions were nearing the house on their return fronrthe river side that a great peal came at the hall hell, followed after some moments' dela?hy-the reappearance of the gray-headed butler in the tea room with a card, which lie presented to her ladyship with a somewhat doubtful air. "Josiah P. Hinches." There was no doubt about the name. The characters were of such dimensions that short-sighted Lady Temple could read them as the card lay before her. "Must see Sir John," he says, "my lady. Pertieklar business, so 1 have had him showed to Sir John's orfice to wait." "A gentleman, Bowers?" "Well, I should say not exactually, my lady. A ot what we are accustomed to, that is, your ladyship." And Mr. Bowers, who was an old and confidential retainer, looked round with a gaze of such awful solemnity and importance that little Kate Dolby, who was just entering and upon whom it fell, cried : "Good gracious, Bowers, is any one dead ?" Bowers condescended to smile. Kate was an old favorite and might take liberties. "A gentleman?leastways, an individooal, Miss, to see Sir John." Kate seized the card. "Josiah P. Hinckes! Why. the individooal is a?must be a Yankee, Bowers. Hasn't he got an eagle or the star-spangled banner with him?eh, Bowers?" "He have got nothing but a very small porkmankel, Miss, and an 'ook nose through which he certainly do speak most remarkable) '' "Ah !" cried Kate delightedly. "I know the gentleman. Patent sausage-machine inventor?log of wood at one end, best pork sausages out at other; hatch-your-own-eggs machine, eggs in at one end, fowl ready trussed for dinner at the other. They are all in the small porkmankel. Do let me see him, Lady Temple." "Don't be so absurd, Kate," said her ladyship. "Bowers, there is Sir John." Bowers hurried from the room, and then the gentleman entering (minus their host) there ensued such a Babel of voices that I shall not attempt to transcribe anything that was said. When half an hour later, a message was brought by Bowers from Sir John, begging my lady to go to him in his office, her absence was for a time altogether unnoticed? that is, by the young people. CHAPTER IV. AFTER ALL. ' When Lady Temple answered Iter liasband's summons she found him pacing the small room set apart for his business transactions, with a perplexed look 011 his kindly face, and witli an excitement of manner strangely at variance with his usual quiet air of happy self possession. She turned from Sir Jon 11 to his companion, but there was nothing to alarm her ; only a cool looking dried up lath of a man, who greet ed her with a little nod like how, hut aid not open his lips. Perhaps there are few homes to which bad news can scarcely come, but Temple Court was one of these. There were no daughters to elope or make bad matches, no sons to bring disaster or dishonor, equally there were none for death to touch. So although there might be a tinge of anxiety, there was 110 real alarm in Lady Temple's tone as she inquired of her husband what had happened. Sir John stopped in his walk and passed his hand across his brow as if to clear away some trouble there. "Something very strange, my dear, so strange that 1 seem scarcely to know if I have really heard it or have only gone to sleep and dreamed it." "You are wide-awake, Sir John Temple. There ain't 110 dreaming about this. Perhaps her ladyship woulcl like to see thepapers? though they are only copies. The originals can ue seen ai my piwee ever m Ottawa, any day you like to come over and ask for 'em. Sir John, and that is what lie had better clo at once, ma'am." "What does he mean? What is it all about ? Tell me, Sir John." "Sit down, my love," and Sir John Temple drew up a chair for his wife, and took one close beside her so that he could put one of his big brown hands on her small white ones as he talked. "You see, my dear, we have always looked upon Morton as the one to come after me here when I am gone, and now from what this gentleman tells me?and I see 110 reason to doubt his statement?that can never be. It is a shock, my dear, for both of us, and for poor Morton. How shall I tell him ?" "Tell him what, my dear?" Nay, Mr. Hinckes will tell me?what is it that has happened Mr. Hinckes ?" "Well, you see, my lady, we have got what you call "the rightful heir" over yonder, my own nephew and Sir John's here." "It's just this, my love," put in Sir John, who had recovered his composure. "My poor brother Robert. our ' apegrace, you know,-whom we all belie v ed to have been lost 011 his way to America years ago, was not lost at all, it seems, but saved to live for many years. He has only died lately in fact." "April the 13th, at twenty minutes after nine P. M.," said Mr. Hinckes. "He had married Mr. Hinckes' sister, who died " "September the 4th, 1877," again interrupted Mr. Hinckes. "And leaves behind a son, my nephew, and consequently my heir ; Robert as you know, coming before Morton's father." Lady Temple's tears were nuiing iasi. "Poor Morton! it is hard?cruelly hard. He has so loved the place ! There is not a tree?nay, not a blade of grass that was not dear to him." "It is, it is; heaven knows I feel it. Well, well, we can only do our best for him under the changed circumstances, and try," said Sir John with a gulp, "to love my nephew? i my heir." Mr. ilinckes rose. ' "Waal now. Sir John, I'll leave you and your lady to talk it over. There's the hag with the documents, etc. You jest look 'em s over before I come agen to-morrow. I'm sorry for you, Sir John Temple. You, too, > my lady; also for the young man. 'Tain't ' pleasant to think a place like this is a-goin > to be yours, and then all of a sudden find it's a goin to be some one else's. It chaws ? JJ- 11-. T1 ?_A?1 U..+ a man up nuiunuiy. i m nnuim ?uxi^, uut right's right, as I know you feel yourself, , Sir John;" and Mr. Hinekes held out his i hand in farewell. "You will take some dinner, Mr. [ Hinekes?" 1 "No, I thank you, ma'am; the Temple 1 Arms, where I am at present located, is more in my way than Temple Court, so efl s yew'll excuse me I'll say acloo." I Long after Mr. Hinekes had taken hi.* departure, Sir John and Lady Temple sal a. hand-in-hand in the little room silent and ' sorrowful. 1 The dressing and dinner gongs sounded, ic hut they did not stir. A little note was senj into the drawing room to one of Lady j Temple's matror guests, who forthwith ordered dinner to b( ! served. In the dining ropm at first a strange silence reigned. All knew something had happened, but what? J Bowers assisted with the face of a sphinx, lie, of course, knew popping, but his whole air and bearing conveyed the belief that he knew all. After dinner, which bi^came a little brighter as it proceeded, Mortjpi Temple was summoned to Sir John's rpoin, and the other f uests saw 110 more of him for the evening, JaturaJly these others were all excitement, They scattered themselves on the terraces, they strolled down by the river?their talk, of course, the mystery of the evening. The "faithful James" was the only one who really did not care in the least what it was all about?what had happened, or what was going to happen. Ana yet if he had only known, there was no one whom it more concerned. He had got his Julia to himself, 1 l-~ ? - UI111 JltJ WiW uuiiivuu . His Julia was more than gracious. Her keen wit had divined something very near?she knew not how near?the truth. "Bir liodger was cchmrhome," she said to Marv Holme, "and Bir John must turn out." "Poor Sir John ! how can you even imagine anything so terrible ?" "You will see I am right, and, Mary." "Yes," said Mary. "Morton Temple, will be a poor nobody all his life." "What then?" said Mary fiercely. "Why then, my dear, in that ease I shall ignore the cheese and reconcile myself to the mouse-traps." That night before she slept. Mary Holme knew all. Ijady Temple came to her room and the two talked until daybreak. The next morning after Mr. Hinckes' Eromised visit the whole house knew who e was and what he wanted. Nothing could be considered final until Bir John's return from America, but as the dismayed Baronet told his guests, he saw no reason fo suspect the truth of Mr. Hinckes' statements. Morton Temple looked crushed and worn, and it seemed about the best thing that could happen to him that he should get leave from his office and accompany his uncle. Mary Holme was to remain with Lady Temple during their absence. Her poor little ladyship was heart-broken. Therewould be no more need to plot and plan. Poor rPntv>r\lA e urtfn ff/iTYl fWci Wilde f\f iTLUI IVIl IfJUj/IC ? CIO OCHVy UUlll vuv it *<vw v.. Julia Slingsby forever. The fair Julia, attended by the "faithfhl James," left for London before the day was over, and by the evening of the next day the great house was empty of its guests. But Morton Temple had a few last words with Sir John's ward before his somewhat hurried departure. He knew where she was likely to be found, and made his way to the hotrhouse and conservatories beyond the flower garden. As he entered the orchid-house, Julia, who having seen Ross, the head gardener, safely out of the way, was laying a devastating hand on all around, turned her head with a start. "Ah ! you thought it was the retributive Ross," said Morton, advancing. "I may have some?" said Julia, in a tone of innocent inquiry. "Oh ! they are none of mine, and never will be," Morton answered, a little bitterly. "But I need not tell you that. You know that I am ousted, a mere nobody?eh! Miss Slingsby?" "I know that you are possibly no longer heir to Temple Court," said Julia, still calmly snipping. "And have you nofhinjfto say to me, no word of sympathy or encouragement in my changed prospects ?" Poor Morton ! he felt that a word of kindness from this cold, calm beauty, would have reconciled him to it all. "Of course, I am sorry, if that is what you mean. 1 should be sorry enough if it was myself, I know." "You couldn't live then without wealth ancl position ?" "I wouldn't try to." "But if it was the man you loved who had lost it all ?" "Love is so intangible," laughed Julia. "I don't believe in it; do you?" "No," said Morton ; "for the future I intend only to believe in rank and riches?and heartlessness." "And very wise of you, too." Poor Morton! he could not cast out all faith in the woman who had enslaved him even now. He came nearer to where she stood and looked at the dark, handsome face with wistful eyes. "I shall not lie such a very poor man, Julia, and I cart work harder and save." "Look, there is Mary," said Julia, moving from his side. And Mary entered with kind, pitying eyes, for she had seen enough, and a message to Morton from my lady. Some six years have passed since that eventful afternoon when Mr. Hinckes and 1 il 1 ? '-"1" ? ?-l/\ n unoovonoc illS "pOrKIIJilllKUI" Iimuc UlCll aw^caiauvv. at Temple Court. The dried-up little man proved to be no adventurer. Sir John and Morton Temple returned with him tc America, and found all as he had stated, The old Baronet came home, sad but resigned, bringing his young nephew with him. But the lad's visit was only a shori one. He never took kindly to his new home or his new relatives. Sir John al once settled on him a generous allowance and continues it still. But the young man is following in his father's footsteps. He it a spendthrift and a scapegrace, added tc which he has his mother's disease?consumption?and, I believe, has no more chance of living to be owner of Temple Court than vou or I; nor, as he has, happily an invincible horror of matrimony, is lie likely to have an heir who can ever reigr there. Morton Temple and Mary Holme have been man and wife now for the last foui years. They have a charming little vilk on the banks of the Thames, but are oftenei at Temple Court, where a sturdy three year-ohf, known as Jack, and a little roly poly Molly, a year his junior, contrive tc keep the old place alive. Not but that Sii John and my lady have plenty of life ir them yet. and can indulge in a baby romj with the nest. Julia Slingsby has been Julia Trenton fo: longer still. Once having decided upon hei line of action, she did not leave the faithfu James to pine. They inhabit the big bar rack, and though they have no children contrive to keep it very full with guests and if wife and home are not quite all tha James Trenton looked for, he wisely keep it to himself. wmmmmmmmmmm?uamm Respect for Parents.?If childrei prmiil realize but a small portion of the anx iety their parents feel on their account, the; would pay better respect to the parenta wishes. A good child, and one in whon confidence can be placed, is the one wh does not allow himself to disobey his parent nor do anything when his parents are ab sent, that he lias reason to believe that the; would disapprove if they were present The good advice of parents is often so eu graven on the heart of a child, that aftei vears of care and toil do not efface it; am in the hour of temptation the thought of parent has been the salvation of a chihi though the parent may be sleeping in th grave, and the ocean may roll between ths sacred spot and the tempted child. A sma token of parental affection, borne about th person, especially a parent's likeness, woul frequently prove a talisman for good, j Polish prince was accustomed to carry a pi< i ture of his father always in his bosom, an i 011 any particular occasion he would loo ' upon it and say, "Let me do nothing unb< coming so excellent a father." Such respei > for a father or mother is one of the hesttrai' ; in the character of a son or daughter. "Hoi [ or thy father and thy mother, that it ma be well with thee, is the first commandmer , with promise," says the sacred hook, an happy is the child who acts accordingly. ; Uliscctlaucous ^eitdiug. I REMINISCENCES OF STEPHENS. During Mr. Stephens' Congressional ser. vice and pending the campaign of 1848, he ! returned from "Washington toGeorgia. He i was fresh from the great debates on the acquisition of California and New Mexico as United States territories, and for having taken, against the wishes of a majority of the Southern members, a most prominent , part in opposition to such acquisition, he , was met with much adverse criticism. , Judge Cone, who was at the time one of the , leading politicians of Georgia, was particularly severe in his comments upon Mr. Stei phens' action, and was reported as having i publicly denounced him as a traitor to the i South. Hardly had Mr. Stephens reached his I i 1 j.i 1 ?: I?_ i nome wnrn uiese anu munuu hjjjwiio conveyed to him. At first he did not credit them, but as one kind friend after anoth' er informed him that Cone had called him a traitor and advised, in the true Southern spirit, that he owed it to himself todemand i what is called "satisfaction," the fires of pugnacity in his nature, which are always smouldering, hissed up, and he declared that if Judge Cone would admit having called him a traitor to the South he would "slap his face." Not long after this he met the Judge at a numerously-attended Whig gathering, and going up to him quietly said: "Judge Cone, I have been told that you, for reasons of your own, have denounced me as a traitor to the South, and I take this i opportunity of asking you if such reports are true." "No, sir," was Cone's reply, "they are not true." "I am very glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Stephens, cordially ; and in the same ' friendly tone continued : "Of course, I do not desire to be in any way offensive to you, Judge Cone, but in order that we may have no further misunderstanding through the misrepresentation of others, I think it right to tell you that I have said I would slap your face if you admitted having used the language attributed to you." Upon this the Judge again disowned having sunken disresnectfullv of Mr. Stephens, and so for the time the affair ended. "It was the subject of discussion all over the State, however, and the general verdict was that Judge Cone, a very powerful man, by the way, had shown the white feather to "Little Aleck Stephens." In such a community no public man resting under such a charge could hope either for political preferment or popular respect. Cone, of course, knew this, and, very much heated and annoyed by the comments which were being made upon him, wrote to Mr. Stephens demanding an immediate and public retraction of the threat. In reply Mr. Stephens wrote that the threat of slapping the Judge's face had been made contingent upon the truth of reports regarding which he (Mr. Cone) had pronounced to be untrue, and that such being the case there could be no cause for offense or angry feeling on either side. Unfortunately this letter was never received by Judge Cone. Three or four days after it was written, however, he met Mr. Stephens on the piazza of a hotel in Atlanta, and, disregarding that gentleman's friendly greeting, said in a very offensive tone : "Mr. Stephens, I demand that you make an immediate retraction of your threats regarding me." Sick and weak though he was, Alexander H. Stephens could allow no one to speak IU I11M1 111 WIU 11U71I1U11 UCTtllUlU. UUUf^b Cone was a very giant in size and muscular development, yet the frail man whom he addressed, with aggravating politeness and without hesitating a moment, replied: "Pardon me, sir, I have already written you on that subject. I must decline to discuss it further." "Am I to take this for your answer?" asked Cone, excitedly. "It is the only answer I have to give you," was the calm reply. "Then I denounce you as a miserable little traitor," cried Cone, mad with excitement. The last words had hardly left his lips when a light cane, wielded by the quick hand of the man he had insulted, left its red scar across his cheek. Wild with pain and passion, without .uttering a word, he drew a keen pointed dirk knife and made one furious thrust at his weak little adversary's heart. Instantly as he did so, however, Stephens, seizing a stout umbrella which he had in his left hand, interposed it as a defence and was able for a moment to hold him at arm's length. The knife fell short of its mark. Once more.it was thrust at Stephens, cutting a deep gash in his arm, but reaching no vital point; eighteen times it cut deep into his breast, arms and body, but still he did not fall. Then he could hold out 110 longer. No ; courage, no spirit, however firm and unyielding, coula long withstand sucli an attack. Cone was determined to finish his work. lie threw allhisgreatweightagainst t the umbrella which held him away from ! the man he intended to kill. It broke. 1 Stephens, half fainting, fell upon his back. I The giant Cone was at his throat in' a mo mont; his head, by a grip of iron, was held against the cruel floor ; the keen and blood dripping Kniie was neia aion oeiore mm, ready for the last fatal thrust; but still the poor pale face of the little hero was set and defiant?his black eyes still flashed undauntedly. "Retract, or I'll cut your cursed throat!" hissed Cone. "Cut! I'll never retract!" gasped the almost lifeless Stephens. Like a flash the knife came down. With an almost superhuman effort the prostrate man caught it in in his right hand. Clean through the muscles, tendons and bones of the hand it cut, then stuck fast and reached no vital part. With desperate strength, Cone tried to wrench it free. With a grasp almost of death the horribly mangled and mutilated hand still held it fast. In the ; struggle Stephens was once more dragged to his feet. The blood was rushing in streams from his many wounds. His nold upon the knife which sought his brave heart began to relax. He was dying. But even when he believed the next moment would be his last, strong men came to his relief. The madman Cone was secured and held first. Then quickly the wounds which ' Mr. Stephens had received were examined. It was found that one of them had penetra1 ted to within a sixteenth of an inch of his heart. An intercostal artery had been cut. ' The doctors declared that he would surely > die. Happily their predictions were not 1 verified. His life was saved by the unre8 mitting eare of a surgeon, his devoted friend, who, as good fortune would have it, happened to be in Atlanta at the time. i When he recovered, with a magnanimity . of which few men are capable even of understanding, he refused to prosecute Cone, Y, and that person, instead of getting his des1 erts in the dark cell of a State prison, was I fined $1,000, and, with his "honor vindicao ted," was allowed to go free. To the day s of his death Mr. 'Stephens spoke of him in terms of consideration ana forgiveness. y Not long ago, referring to the terrible ;t struggle, T have attempted to describe and [1 showing me the great nole in his mangled .. hand, he said, with a quiet and far-away [j look in his deep, dark eyes: "Poor Cone! a I'm sure he'd be sorry if he knew what [ trouble I have to write with these stiff fingg ers of mine." Lt THE ROMANCE OF MR. STEPHENS' LIFE. II In one of the early years of the '40s Mr, e Stephens, then a young man, paid a visit to d the home of Mr. Harden, in Warren county. There he met a flaxen haired, blue eyed 1 i ^l_. > I girl of sixteen, oeautnui in race una iuveiv cl I in character, piquant, witty and gifted with k | a mind rarely cultivated. An attachment 3-! grew up, which for years did not pass the 3t: formal bounds of friendship, but which ww ts i sacredly cherished by both. The boy lovei l-1 was poor in this world's poods; fragile in y frame, and harassed by sickness, he did it' not dare to aspire to the hand of one whom d j he had learned to love and yet forebore tc 1 claim. With womanly devotion the young girl read the secret in the young man's eyes, and true to her heart'she could only? wait and love. One evening in 1849 a party was given at the residence of Mr. Little, in Crawfordville. There the two met once more; there they enjoyed that sweet communion born of perfect trust; and there Mr. Stephens found courage to speak the words which for years had fought for expression, until at last he could no longer contain them. "Are you sure there lives none other whom you prefer to me?" asked the maiden timidly, half shrinkingly yet only too happy to feel that she was favored in his eyes. "In the whole universe there exists not another," said he passionately. Thus their troth was plighted; the day was set for their marriage ; and all seemed auspicious for the lovers. But clouds lowered o'er their hopes; matters of a private nature which it is not within the demand of the public to know, intervened and deferred the fruition of tlieir hopes. The one became immersed in politics, and racked with physical ill hesitated to enter a state where he feared the happiness of the other might be marred. The lady found her duty by the side of an invalid mother, who long lingered with a confining disease. Thus the years flew by; but the plighted troth was kept. Mr. Stephens never addressed another, and ever kept the image of the fair young girl in his heart. The lady was the recipient of admiration from many, but to all sue turned a deaf ear. They have often met since and while the idea of marriage was abandoned, they felt a sweet pleasure in each other's society. But four weeks ago the lady was at the Mansion, and on taking leave of her old friend, one of the chairs tripped up, an unfavorable sign, as the Governor remarked at the time. The lady has for years been a citizen of Atlanta, and no one is held in more esteem for every quality which adorns womanhood than Miss Caroline Wilkinson. OUR NEIGHBOR, THE SUN. There is a little island, only ten miles in circumference, lying almost in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean, which will be in May next, the chief centre of scientific interest on the globe. This is because it is the only available spot of land whence a view of the total phase of the eclipse of the sun which occurs on May G, can be obtained. Astronomers from America. France and England will meet there and set up their instruments of observation. The. exact latitude and longitude of that insignificant little island will be calculated with a scrupulous care which has never been bestowed upon its larger sisters of the Pacific. A great deal of money will be spent upon Uiftun nvr?n/litirm? nnrl thp tnrwt ?;k'illflll fth servers will make the long journey into the southern hemisphere, consuming months of time, for the sake of watching for a few minutes the phenomena which make their appearance when the blazing body of the sun is hidden behind the opaque globe of the moon. But astroaomers count the expense and trouble incurred in the undertaking as nothing in comparison with the results to be obtained. This eclipse is of uncommon importance because of the long duration of the total phase. The sun will remain totally eclipsed at Caroline Island about five minutes and a half. This is the longest totality of any eclipse since that of 18G8. which was observed in India. The totality during the eclipse observed in Egypt last year lasted only a little over one minute. In order to understand what the astronomers hope to accomplish on this occasion, it is best to recall what has been learned within the past quarter of a century by the observation of eclipses of the sun. The astronomers have found by such observations that we do not ordinarly see the sun as it really is. We thnk of the sun only as a dazzling white globe, much brighter and incomparably larger than any electric light. Observations during total eclipses, wnen this brilliant globe is hidden Irom sight, have shown tnis white sphere we see is merely the core of the sun, and that around it there are the most wonderful envelopes. First, there is close around the shining ! globe a scarlet shell of flame, out of which tremendous eruptions of fiery gases occur. Sometimes these geysers of flame reach a height of hundreds of thousands of miles in an astonishingly short space of time, and then the eruption of material spreads out and falls back in clouds and streams of the most fantastic shapes. All around the sun these volcanic like outbursts are taking place, but they are particularly numerous in certain regions. They indicate that the sun instead of being the quiet and peaceful orb that it appears to the ordinary observer on the summer's day, is in a state of enormous activity?it is a huge globe of gasses in which iron and other metals, calcium and other rock-making materials, reduced to fiery vapor, are engaged in the most frightful war of elements that the human mind can conceive. Milton's picture of the battle of the angels is tameness itself beside the tremendous struggle in which these elements composing the sun are engaged. Held in the centre of the whole solar system by the resistless power of gravitation, they are in a pit whence they can not escape, yet, glowing with intensest heat, they surge and swirl and burst forth in tremendous-eruptions, only to fall back in metallic showers, and renew the ceaseless struggle. Animal Doctors.?The Gazette des Hopitaux publishes some facts about animals of a most extraordinary kind. The writer, Dr. Delauney, is one of the most remarkable authors on physiology in Paris. "Dogs," he says, "get rid of their parasites by means of dust, mud or wet clay; the swallow will throw one little one out of her nest (if the fledgling be covered with vermin} in order to save the rest from contamination. "When animals have fever they invariably diet themselves, take plenty of rest, keep in the shade and cool places, drink water and even olumre into it several times a day, when they can. "If a dog loses his appetite, he eats dandelions, which serve him as an emetic. Cats eat grass for the same reason. Sheep and cows always look for certain herbs when they feel sick. Dogs or horses swallow any fatty substances they can get hold of, whenever they need purgative medicine. If any animal be afflicted with chronic rheumatism it keeps the afflicted limb turned to the sun as much as possible. "In the treatment of wounds, the knowledge of animals is equally wonderful. "The soldier-ants have regular ambulance corps, well organized. When Latreille cut off the antenna? of a red ant, other ants came to its assistance, and covered the wounds with a transparent liquid secreted in their mouths. "A Chimpanzee, when wounded, first checks the How of blood by preasing the wound with his hand, and then dresses it with leaves or roots of grass, If the limb of a wounded animal be hanging by-a shred, the creature completes the amputation with its teeth. "A dog struck with a viper kent plunging his wounded nose, for many days, into a running stream. He got well. A hunting dog that had been crushed by a carriage, dragged himself into the bed of a shallow stream, and lay in the water during three whole weeks?although it was winter. He got completely well. They carried him his food there. "A terrier dog that had a lesion in his right eye, hid away from the light, and for two days kept licking the sole of his front leg paw, and pressing his eye against the cool wet surface. No occulist could have ; treated the eye better, and many would not ! have done so well," , *. + How Some Men Started.?The Governi or of Kansas told the young men of Chicago, , that twenty-five years ago he drove oxen, i and drove them well. An exchange says t the present Governor of Texas started in life ; as a hostler at $8 per month, and did his work well. The financial magnate, itutus Hatch, began life as a chain carrier in surveying a Wisconsin railroad, and afterward was a locomotive engineer. There are multitudes of idle young men because they can- . not find "honorable work." They would do well to remember that all honest labor is honorable, and that idleneas is a vice.?Chicago Inter-Ocean. Easter Eggs.?Easter comes very early indeed this year; upon the 2oth of March, which is almost as early as it can ever be, and soon now children will begin to think about preparing what in good old times used to be called paas eggs. It is a good plan, too, for the egg colorers of a neighborhood to hold a sort of "bee," and unite in the production of the dyes, thus saving time and money. The exchange of eggs between friends, as a token of love or friendship, is a very ancient custom, dating back almost to the flood, for it is a symbol of the ark, as well as the resurrection, which is the reason that we present them at Easter. It is moreover a very universal custom prevailing among different nations and religions. The Jews placed eggs on their Passover tables, the Druids used them in their ceremonies, and the Persians frequently given them as New Year's gifts. If you should happen to be in Russia this month, a Russian would greet you on Easter morning with "Christ is risen," and offer you an Easter egg, and stranger still, if you were in the far East, a Mohammedan would do the same. At city confectioners', fancy sugar eggs?some of them of enormous size, and containing panoramas of landscape and figures, or else filled with bon-bons?may be had' at all prices; but appropriate home made ones are worth twice as much. To dye eggs, onion skins put in the water in which they are boiled will make them a bright yellow; or, if left longer in the solution, a rich brown. Log wood or violet ink, gives a royal purple. Cochineal, pink and crimson; and many pieces of chintz or bright ribbons that fade easily, if sewed tightly round the eggs, will color them nicely in figures, stripes or dots. Another way is to dip the egg into hot water, and then write a name or motto on the shell with tallow. It is then boiled in the solution of dye-wood, when the inscription will appear in white, upon a colored ground. Those who are skilful with pencil and paint-brush can present their friends with really exquisite souvenirs, by ornamenting eggs with flowers and buttereflies or appropriate texts of scripture. For these painted eggs, it is better to puncture a tiny hole with a pin in each side, and blow out the inside, leaving a clear shell, than to boil them ; and the apertures can be concealed by stars of silver or gilt paper.?Agjteh Carr, in American Agriculturist for March. What Girls Should Learn.?By all means let the girls learn to cook. What right has agirl to marry and go into a house of her own unlesss she knows how to superintend every branch of housekeeping, and she cannot properly superinted unless she has some practical knowledge herself? .Most men marry without thinking whether the woman of his choice is capable of cooking him a meal, and it is a pity he is so short-sighted, as his health, his cheerfulness, and, indeed, his success in life depend in a very great degree upon the food he eats, in fact the household is influenced by their diet. Feed them on fried cakes, fried meats, hot bread, day after day, and they will need medicine to make them well. A man will take alcohol to counteract the effects of such food, and the wife and childern must be physicked. Let all the girls have a share in housekeeping before they marry ; let each superintend some department in turn. It need not occupy half the time to see that the hous has been properly swept, dusted and put in order, or to prepare puddings and make dishes, that many young ladies spend in reading novels that enervate both mind and body, and unfit them for every-day life. Women do not, as a general rule, get pale faces by doing housework. There sedentary habits, in overheated rooms, combined with illchosen food, are to blame for bad health. Our mothers used to pride themselves on their housekeeping and fine needle work. Why should not our daughters? Man's Need of the Sabbath.?The soul needs the Lord's day for growth in the knowledge and grace of God, our Saviour. We have six days to provide for the body and this life, and one day in seven is just what we need to cultivate the spiritual nature and prepare for the life to come?eternity. The liome needs this day. Many working men have no time to caress, love and enjoy the company of their dear wives and children except on the Lord's day. Bob tnem 01 tins time ana you roo mem 01 uie chance for sweet home life. It is unutterable cruelty to compel men to work on the Sabbath, or menace them with poverty. Alas that so many rob themselves ? The Sabbath is the poor man's "little ewe lamb." God claims for him this day. This is the real reason we should keep it. There is no argument so strong as "the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it." The man that this will not reacn is given over to the hardness ? of heart. It is His to command and ours to obey.?Exchange. Housekeeping and Cooking.?The science of housekeeping deserves to be classed among the fine arts. It deserves to be 1 ?- - -A L- A 1 maae so mucn a siuuy umt pruresscs am* methods are lost and only the effect remains. We all remember Mrs. Btowe's blustering housekeeper who saw good reason why every one around her should be up and doing; on Monday, because it was wash-day; on Tuesday, because it was ironing day; on Wednesday, because it was baking-day; on Thursday, because it was sweeping aay, and on Friday, because to-morrow would be Saturday, and the same author's notable contrast in Katy Scudder, in whose home no one ever hurried, and where the work was always "done up." You consult only the dial plate of your clock, but everything depends on the sets of wheels out of sight. Bo in the model home. A spectator would say the house kept itself, everything seems so easy. But in housewifery, as in literature, results that appear simple are often produced at the greatest expenditure of thought. Macaulay's closing sentence on Byron is said to have cost him two days' work ; and a tyro, deceived by the smooth diction and appropriateness of expression of sentiment, would think he could do quite as well himself. Nothing but faithful thought and care keep the dining-room appointments from coming to shame, from the linen to the walls ; nothing else keeps grease out of the soup and lead out of the bread; nothing else gives peace day and night from insect pests or keeps the dust of ages from windows, floors and shelves; nothing else fills the rooms with sweet air, tidy apparel, thrift and comfort, and imparts the genial atmosphere of a place where you would like to stay. It is not too much to say that good housekeeping is a compound of chemistry. rtnl+i*-a+r./l natural nipntfll onH mniHI philosophy, economy, and that most uncommon article, common sense. Sfcg- Jefferson Davis says that while he was Secretary of War, Hiram Powers, in designing the statue of the Goddess of Liberty now on the Capitol at Washington, placed on the head a "liberty cap." "To this cap," continues Mr. Davis, "I objected, because it was among the Romans the badge of an emancipated slave, and as the people of the United States were horn freemen, it was held to be inappropriate to us. Mr. Powers yielded to the objection and designed a head dress of feathers for the figure. This was accepted.'' ^ BSTSouthey says, in one of his letters : "I have told you of the Spaniard who always puts on his spectacles when about to eat cherries, that they might look bigger and more tempting. In like manner I make the most of my enjoyments, and pack away most of my troubles in as small a compass, as Jrcan."