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lewis m. &ri8t, proprietor, j iln Jnkptnknt Uofospaptr: Jfor l|t ^Jromotioit of tjje political, ,Social, ^griniltal attir Commercial Interests of fjjc Soutlj. ]terms?$2.50 a year, in advance. ? VOL. 39. YORKVILLE, S C? THURSDAY, MAY 31, 1883. NO. 33. fdertfd fflrttg. YOU KISSED ME. Yon kissed me! My .forehead drooped low on your breast, With a feeling of shelter and infinite rest, While the holy emotion my soul dared not speak Flushed up like a flame from my heart to iny cheek! Your arms held me fast?oh! vour arms were so boldHeart beat against heart in their passionate hold. Your glances seemed drawing my soul through my eyes. As the sun'draws mist from the sea to the skies; And your lips clung to mine till I prayed in my 'bliss They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss. You kissed me! Mv heart and my brain and mv will In delicious joy for the moment stood still; Life had for me then no temptations, no charms, No visions of pleasure outsiae of your arms. Of thejov and peace that are giveii the best, I would fling my white robes unrepiningly down, And tear from my forehead its beautiful'crown, To nestle once more in that haven of rest, With lips upon mine and your head upon my breast. . You kissed me! Mv soul in a bliss so divine, Reeled and swooned" like a drunken man foolish in wine; And I thought 'twere delicious to die there, if Death would come with my lips yet moist with your breath. 'Twere delicious to die if my heart might grow ^ \ cold While your arms wrapped me round in that passionate fold. And these are the questions I ask day and night: Must my lips taste but once such exquisite delight? Would you care if your breast was my shelter as" then; And if you were here would you kiss me again ? The following has been tacked on the foregoing by the St. Paul Pioneer Press. It is rather clever, though not in the same strain of sentiment as the foregoing: I KISSED YOU. ' I kissed you, I own, but I did not suppose That you, through the papers, the deea would disclose, Like free-loving cats, when on the ridge-poles they meet, With their squalls of "You kissed me!" disturb the whole street. I kissed you. The impulse as suddenly came As that cold-looking cloud is transformed into flame. My act was the lightning that glances and thrills, And yours the loud thunder that blabs to the hills. I kissed you. As kissed the poor Carian boy, In dreams, his Diana, so cold and so coy, And foolishly fancied?encircling your charms, A maid?not a match-box?was clasped in my arms. I kissed you. The zephyr on tip-toe passed by, The moon with a kerchief cloud hid her soft eye: From the bough that swayed o'er us, all silvered with dew, With half-smothered titter the katydid flew. I kissed you. All nature to counterfeit sleep Half-promised our secret, so sacred, to keep; No ubiquitous press correspondent peeped thrnnffh The leaves. I was "interviewed" only bv you. I kissed you. Then, scared at inv boldness, I ? deemed You had fainted, or else would surely have screamed; But no; you not only all censure forbore, But,like Oliver Twist,are now asking "for more." I kissed you. All others may do it who choose, But I to repeat the performance refuse. On your lips I will never again print a smack, By the press or by note you may send that one back. I kissed you. The poetess?Sappho?of old, ^ Like you, was so warm that her Phaon grew cold; So she ended her love and her life in a pet? I presume there are equal facilities yet. ?he jjftfltg Seller. MARY NOBRIS. It was at the Hartford Railway Station. Why I was there, or where I was going, I don't exactly remember, so much having happened since, and I, at that time, having no reason to go to one place more than to another. The express train from New York had just come in. She was standing a little aside, just out of the crowd and bustle, looking on, scanning every face as it passed and repassed, mine among others, and, as I fancied, with more interest than others. Her face was very pale and her eyes were anxious, but she looked calm and self-possessed. By-and-by I saw her speak to an elderly lady who stood near. She received, I fancied, a hurried, not over courteous answer, for I saw a flushTise to her face as she turned away. By this time the platform was almost clear. Such passengers as were going on had departed to refresh themselves: others had gone to their resting places. Tne railway official had began to regard the solitary figure curiously. Raising my hat I ventured to ask if I could be in any way of any service to her. A shade of perplexity or disappointment crossed her face when I thus addressed her. She answered, "I was to have been met here, but I see nobody. I am disappointed. I must wait here." Again lifting my hat, I left her, but only to pace the platform and think about her. As the minutes passed by, I thought she looked paler and paler. At last, as I approached her nearer than in my other turns, she came a few steps toward me. "Will you be so kind as to advise me ?" I smiled, and promptly assured her I would. "Oh, I am so glad!" she said, quite childishly. Then she added, "Will you tell me what to do ? I am going to my brother who is ill in Bangor. Some one was to have met me in Hartford, and I know nothing about the route beyond this." "Were you tp go by land ?" "Yes: my brother forbade me travel by water." "Well, if you wanted to go by land, and quickly, you ought to have gone by the New York and New Haven railroad to Boston, thence by Eastern Railroad." She tuaned so pale that I paused. She looked about for some resting place. I gave her my arm, led her to the waiting room, got her a glass of water and a cup of coffee, begging her to drink the latter. She obeyed me, and as soon as she could speak, it was, "You will tell me what to do now ? My brother is very ill, perhaps dying. Will it be best to go back to?to the place you spoke of, or, as I am here, to push on by this route? Which way is the quickest?" Where is your baggage ? The train starts for Portland in five minutes. Perhaps it were better to push on by this route now that you are here." She rose directly. "I have no baggage but what is in that bag," pointing to one I had taken from her when I gave her my arm. "I left home at an hour's notice, in consequence of a tele 4 ?t fowlhnt* Kxr tb?e gram. ^v.re JUU gumg uu,> uuuici wv> inio route ?" "Yes." "Would you kindly, while you are traveling the next stage, write me down directions ?" "Certainly." The ladies'car into which I looked was full, so I handed herinto another, and got in myself; and as that small hand rested in mine*, a curiously strong conviction entered into my mind and rested there. I seated myself opposite to her and having said that "we shall have plenty of time to talk it over before we get to Portland," I feigned to be fully occupied with route books and maps, in order to give her time to recover herself. She did not speak to me; she turned her face to the window. I thought she was interested in the fascinating romantic scenes past which we were flying. Jiy-and-by, a gentle, stealthy movement of hers, a little hand slipped into her pocket, and then her handkerchief lifted to her face, assured me she was crying. I am always afraid of a woman who is crying. A man is a brute who can speak a harsh word to a weeping woman, and a kind one often changes a mild tickling of the salt waters to a deluge, so I left her alone. She kept her hand and her handkerchief in it, and her face turned toward the window as much as possible. I began to hope | she would fall asleep. I believe I myself did fall asleep for a few moments. By-andby I was roused by the falling of a book from my hand. When I opened rav eyes I found mv opposite neignbor fixed upon we with a look of waiting for the opportunity of addressing me. She had left off crying then and was looking very wan and ill. She had her purse in her hand. "Shall I have money enough ?" She asked me holding it toward me, when I gave signs of being fully awake. I took the poorly furnished purse in my hand. "Oh, yes, if you don't get cheated; and as I am going to Bangor by this route, I will see to it if you will allow me." "You are going to Bangor?" Such a light in the eyes, and such a pretty flush over the rlelieate fare! "Yes." It was the state of her purse that had finally decided me. She put the purse I returned to her back in her bag. After that, and when I pretended to be looking in another direction, I saw her small hands folded together, and was confident that her lips formed the words "Thank God." Somehowl was more touched than I could have told reason for by this. Two old ladies and one old gentleman were nodding in another part of the car. For a long time I did not stir hand or foot or look at my neighbor, hoping that, her mind more at ease, she might catch the infection of their drowsiness. She did. When I ventured to look at her she was asleep. Her hat lay on her knee; her head was lent back in the angles of the cushions. The light of the car-lamp?it had grown dusk now?slanted down from the bright hair, threw a shadow of long lashes on the pale cheek, fell on the pretty round white throat; but it did not look easeful sleep, the mouth retained lines of anxiety and depression. Contemplating the graceful little figure before me, I fell into musing as to who she was. From a ticket affixed to her little bag, I discovered that her name, was not unfamiliar to me, and yet the familiarity of it carried me far back in the past. "Norris!" I kept repeating. I questioned and perplexed myself, to no purpose j but, by-and-by, when I had given up, or imagined I had, thinking about the matter, it all came to me. * Norris was the name of an old drawing master of mine; JNorris was tne nameoi a young school-fellow of mine; Norris was a name that for two or three years I had seen in the National Academy's catalogue as the painter of pictures which had struck my fancy. "For the sake of the name as well as for the pictures themselves, I had purchased some two or three, wondering if that young artist, Norris, was my young school-fellow Norris. I now. determined that the two should certainly be one, and that one the brother of my little companion, who must as certainly be the "Hister Mary" of whom he often talked?A baby girl then, and the object of his almost idolatrous affection. While she slept, I furbished up my memory, as to all matters regarding the two Norris', father and son; and at length I was anxious the tired little sleeper should awake, quite resolved that Will Norris, her brother, was my very dear friend. My charge?so I now regarded Mary Norris moaned i- her sleep in a faint distressful sort 01 way. I bent toward her. We were stopping at a station. She roused herself. "Could you get me a glass of water?" she asked. "1 am so sorry to give you trouble." "You feel ill?faint? I'll be back directly." I sprang out. I brought her a glass of water into which I had put a little cognac. "You needn't be afraid?it's not too strong; it will do you good. I'm a sort of a doctor." She took it with a grateful confiding look, and drank it. "You are better now ?" 1 said, as I jumped into the car. "Oh, yes, thank you. I had been dreaming painfully of Will, my brother. "I have made a very pleasant discovery, while you were asleep, Miss Norris." 1 said, pointing to the ticket on her bag. "This is your name?" "Yes." "It is a well known name to me. A favor -L r_n s.nlla/1 Will ICC SCnOOHCllUW UJ lliiuc wao ututu Miu Norris. Now, don't tell me you are not the 'little sister Mary' he used to talk about." "I am only too glad and proud to tell you that I am." "You don't ask who I am, or seem surprised at my discovery." "No," she answered, slightly smiling; "I knew before." "Knew me?" "Yes; Will used to talk to me about you enough to make me remember the name very well; and while you were walking up and" down the platform at Hartford I read your name upon your baggage." "But how did you come to associate the baggage with its rightful owner? I did not go near it." "By instinct, I suppose, partly, and partly because Frank once tried to paint a likeness of you from memory, and you are still enough like his picture to have me notice vour face before 1 noticed the name on the baggage." When Ave reached Portland, I handed Miss Norris from the car, and felt that she was trembling. "You cannot go on till the eighf o'clock stage in the morning. I shall secure a room for you at a hotel, where I can rely upon your being safe and comfortable. I shall engage your place in the stage to-night, and call for you in the morning." This as I led her to the cab. "How can I ever thank you for your kindness." "It's nothing. I am a very idle unoccupied fellow, at anybody's service?especially at the service of your brother's sister." The mistress of one of the Portland hotels was well and favorably known to me. I committed Miss Norris to her care, explaining in a few words, the object of her journey. Then I ordered?and I remember I took great pains with its selection?a little dinner for one, of soup, game, cutlets, sweets, choice fruit and colfee to be served as soon as possible to No. 99; and after 1 had done that I went about my own business. I sent a telegram to Portland to request that my baggage, which I had left unowned there, should be taken charge of till farther notice. I dined at a hotel close to the stage office, looking toward the windows of the I house where I had left Miss Norris, and wondered dreamily what would come of this very strange adventure of mine. I was sorry that she had seen my name, otherwise I could have laid the flattering unction to my soul that it was my face which had inspired her with confidence. But what on earth could she have done had I not been there ? When I was tired of moonlight rumblings I went to my hotel and found it was too late to be worth while going to bed that night, so I watched till morning. I was at her hotel pretty early, anxious to settle her account before she should be troubled about it. I ordered breakfast to be taken to her in her room, and sent a pencilled message to her, telling her I had arranged everything. I shall not easily forget the earnestly grateful look she gave me when we met. "Had she been comfortable ?" I asked. "Oh, yes, I had thought of everything. I had been most kind," she answered, her eyes full of tears. And then, "where was 1 going?" with a half-alarm in her tone and her face as she found I did not take place beside her. "To the balcony above, one sees better there, but this is fitter for a lady." How long we were upon our route altofether I cannot distinctly remember. We ad bad weather at one time, cold and rain, snow, wind and hail. She never complained, though she got so benumbed with cold that she would have fallen but that I caught her in my arms one evening as I was helping her to alight. Caught her in my arms! Yes; and before I knew it had given her a sort of compassionate hug, exclaiming, "You poor, tired, patient child! I couldn't help it. When we reached Bangor, in the full brightness of the sunny morning, she did look travel-worn, fagged and jaded. The night before in a crowded stage, she slept a great part of the night, her head upon my shoulder?a sleep of such profound exhaustion as had half-alarmed me. l naci veniureu to put my arm aruunu uer, to draw her to me, in order to support her better. What a slight, fragile-feeling form it was! As I held her thus, and she slept this dead sleep, my eyes never closed, and my mind was very busy. What would be the end of this journey ? Should her brother be already dead? Friendless, moneyless, homeless, alone! When we stopped once she half-rous#d; she looked confidingly up in my face as I bent down to her. "Iam afraid I weary you," she said. "I can't help it?I am so tired." She was half stupefied with fatigue. Almost before she had finished speaking, her head dropped on my shoulder again. I pressed her closer to me for an answer, that was all; "Your wife, poor young thing, seems quite worn-out," said a kindly, half-Quakerish-looking lady sitting opposite. I had noticed how pleasantly and compassionately she glanced at Mary. I answered simply. "She is worri-out; she has traveled a week almost without stopbing. She has a brother dying in Bangor." "Poor, poor young thing! But she is Happier tnan many: sne win meet sorrow with one by her siae who loves her with more than the love of a brother." My conscience was roused; none of our other fellow-travelers could hear us. I briefly told her Mary's story, and finished by asking: "Are you going to stay in Bangor?" "Yes, friend; and shall be glad to be of service to the young lady." "You may, perhaps, be of the greatest service." I gave her my card and she gave me hers, penciling on it her address in Bangor. "This is your brother's address?" I iisked Mary, as We approached Bangor, reading a curd she gave me. "Yes. You are surprised; why?" "This is such a miserable quarter." "Oh! he is very poor, and always saving to be able soon to give me a home," she said. "He says I shall never be happy as a governess, nor he to know me one." "Mary," I said, taking her hand as we drove through the streets; let me call you so. I am a brother to you, washing to be to you more than any brother. But I am not prepared to speak of that now. Are you prepared for a great shock? I knew that brave mind well. I mean if your brother should be very ill?dying?dead?" She shuddered. "You have said the word; I could not. I have been thinking, day after day. that he is dead; that is why?" "Why no one met you?" ' "Yes." "X fear poor child, you may be right. You will try to bear up bravely, and you will let me be a brother to you till?" Now our cab stopped. "This street is enough to have killed * * ? * i an 1 mm," sne saiu. "oureiy it is uumen;. "It is here," I said as the cabman opened the door. I gave the word "Wait!" and lifted her out. Up the dark, chilly, dirty stairs?up and up. At last we reached a door on which the poor fellow's card was nailed. She seemed to gather courage now. She led the way through a small, dark ante room, in which we paused. I listened. I heard a smothered exclamation from her; from him a cry so shrill as to be al most a scream. "Mary !" I walked to the head of the stair case, and waited there perhaps half an hour. 'Then she came to me?came close up to me, and laid her hand upon my arm. The expression of the piteous eyes lifted to mine told me there was 110 hope. With a caressing word, I drew her to me. She leant herforehead against my arm a moment ; then, "Will wants to see you; Will wants to thank you!" she said, in a scarcely audible voice. I followed her into the room. The full light of a small square window was streaming on a low couch where my poor young school-fellow lay. I saw directly that life with him was a question of no more than days, perhaps of only hours. Yet what a beautiful face it was still! What a light streamed from those radiant eyes, as he, without rising?he was past that?stretched both hands toward me! Ktr V*?m amo Konrl iUltry Wllfl tlUIlUUU^ W^Y mm , why- iiunu soon clutched her again, the other grasped mine as I sat down by him. In this strange world how often are simple deeds, that cost nothing to the doer, most richly rewarded ! What had I done? What sacrifice had I made ? And how they thanked and blessed me !?he with his difficultspoken, faint words ; she with her blessed eyes confirming his praises. A few words explained the case. He had rallied after sending the first tele gram, and had thought it needless that Mary should come. He had not calculated on the possibility of her starting as immediately as she had done ; and the second message which bid her not come had not reached her. A few days after?two days since now?he had broken a blood vessel, and had been pronounced beyond hope. "If only I had known of this sooner!" I thought, as I looked at the miserable room, and thought of my idle hundreds and thousands. When by-and-by?Mary for a brief while absent?a woman, living in the rooms below, who had been very kind to Will, had taken her away to give her some refreshment?I stammeringly expressed something of my regret, he answered, "It is better as it is ; for I am well content." "Is your sweet sister free ?" I asked, I "freefrom any engagement?free-hearted?" I spoke low and hastily, and feltinall my being how much hung upon his answer. "My little Mary? Oh, yes, as far as I know ! And she has never had any secrets from me." "r love her." T resnonded. "If she can love me, I will (lo what a man can do to make a woman happy as a wife. He did not immediately answer. He lay with closed eyes ; but I felt the tightening pressure of his hand. "I may tell her by-and-by that I had your good wishes ?" . "You may tell her"?the radiant eyes unclosing 011 me?"that in my last hours I drank a full cup of happiness, believing that my darling, my little Mary, my ewe lamb, my pet sister, would be happy among' women as your wife." "You have not lost your generous hearted enthusiasm for a very unworthy fellow," I answered. "Nothing I have heard of my old friend, my protector, my benefactor has tended to lessen those feelings," he said. "One word of yours in your sister's ear will make me?" She came in at that moment. I was going to leave them together, but he begged me not to go. While he spoke a mortal faintness surprised him. It passed, however. He asked to be lifted up. The recumbent position was painful to him. He lay with his head on Mary's j shoulder, bright hair mingling with bright hair. J The doctor came and went, and the wo- < man who had nursed him. Tney both fore- 1 boded the last hour was near. It was an afternoon not to be forgotten. 1 He said he did not suffer much, and every ( now and again he talked. Mary did not shed a tear. She seemed ab- s sorbed in him beyond all conscioussness of 1 self or sorrow. She moistened his lips or wiped his brow continually, and her eyes s seemed to cling to his. I The sunset entering the room touched i those two. She was watching him intently. His eyes, only half opened, seemed to look at her dreamily, like the eyes of one who J dozes off to sleep. The light faded, the dusk gathered. We did not stir, believing that he slept. > By-and-bv, through the gloom, the near hush and distant noise of the great city, t Mary's voice, low and awe strucK, reached me asking for light.' I had fallen into,pro- s found thought. Life, love, death, immortnlitv. failure, success, the world's vanity? I do" not know what 1 did not think of as I sat motionless in that dusky room. I procured a lamp. I set it down on the table, where the light fell on those faces. I found that Mary had sunk lower and lower as the head on the shoulder grew heavier. A glance told me the truth. He was dead. She saw it, she knew it. She sank down lower yet, till his bright hair was on the pillow, hers beside it. She moaned softly : lying thus cheek to cheek. I heard a few words?"Brother, take me?take me with you. I have none but you." Then she lay quite still, half on the couch, half on the floor, face to face with the dead. What did I do ? I stood and looked at them. As I stood and looked at them, I went through one of those experiences that it is no use to try and record?that are written on the page of life forever. By-and-by I found that she was lying in a dead faint. I disentangled them, and laid her on the floor on as good a couch as I could make of my wrapper and the cushions of an old chair. I had told her the truth when I told her I was a sort of doctor. That had been the c profession I had not loved well enough to 1 follow, after a large fortune left me had 8 made the pursuit of a profession needless. 1 I could treat her as well as another. I did 1 what I could for her, and saw her revive. My entreaties prevailed on her after a J time to leave the room for a few hours, go- J ing with the woman to the rooms below; I but before the night had passed she was * back again. r "Do not be angry with me. I want to sit 8 and look at him. I won't cry. Soon I shall * lose him forever." 8 She took her station by him; she begged r me to go away somewhere to rest. I pre- a tended to yield ; but found myself too anxious to go beyond the ante-room. She was 8 not in a state to be left alone. The dawn brought the horrible and har- 5 rowing business of putting away, out of 8 sight, ought of reach, the mortality that had * been so dear, that we have clutched so * close, and never could keep too near?to my J mind. 8 I talked to her as little as I could, and as ? gently. Gently ! If words could have float- ? ed on the air like eider-down, or touched I her with gossamer-light touches, they would still have seemed to me too rough to be cast * at her then. Still, I was forced to try and " assert her wishes. t "You know what is best?you will do r what is right," she answered me, gently; * "but don't ask me to leave the house while * he is in it. Think of the long years that?" j There she paused?buret into violent weep- ^ ing. She had not cried before. "Oh, I feel as if my heart were breaking!" j she said, pressing her hands over it. ' I clasped her to me ; I comforted her as r; well as I could, reminding her, as well as I J; knew how, of how well things must be with ? her beloved brother. I spoke, too, of the [ place where we would lay him to rest, of [ the country quiet among*the roses, the violets. She lay quiet in my arms, and by-and-by c lifted up her face to listen. c To see that sweet, sad face resting against s my, breast, to look down upon it, and meet i its trustful eyes, filled me with overmaster- c ing emotions. r "If you love me," I said then, "you need H never feel alone or unsheltered, never more a while I live. This is no unfit place or time c to tell you this, for he knew I loved you, and ? was glad in knowing it; but I do not ask, j or expect, or desire any answer?not now." i I hardly know that she took in the sense i of my words; sorrow and exhaustion had drained her life. No tinge of color came to t her cheek, she just listened. 1 "How good you are?how good you are!" g she said. "What could I have done but for s you ?" t I arranged everything for the best as far c as I knew ; I tempted her from the room to c go with me to the graveyard beyond the i walls, to choose where he should lie. She r seldom spoke; she said afterwards it was all ? like a dream, from which she expected at ^ any moment to awake. > The next day we buried him. g When all was done, we lingered near the l place. The place was very soothing and c peaceful, towered over by the great monu- r mental tomb of some forgotten great one. j That was a day to be remembered. t - 1 \ il..,i. l,r> 1 piuiliiseu iier unit IMC piavt ouuuiu ut/ cared for better than any other in the place. When we went away I took her to the care of the motherly, kind, Quakerish lady of the stage whom I had prepared to receive her. I did not see her again for some days ; she was too exhausted, when the reaction from long over-tension set in, to leave her bed. I called everyday, and always found some gentle-worded, grateful message ready for me; but day after day I did not see her. At last a bright day came when I did. She was more altered, more broken-down looking than I had anticipated. The meeting me agitated her very greatly. Her black dress, too, increased the delicacy of her look. Mrs. Emmet stood by her, smoothing her hair and petting her with loving deeds and words till she was calmer ; then?good woman !?she left us together. 1 I had no idea what lay before me. t Our interview was a long one. More than t once I left her side, and paced the room in / despair; stood at one or other of the win (lows that looked down upon me city, aiiu pondered how I could convince her of my r love?that is to say, of the selfish and inter- j ested nature of it. r She met my definite offer of my hand and r heart with the most meekly, humbly-firm refusal. j Her gratitude was so full and so lowly, a her agitation so great, that I could not be 1 angry with her ; but 1 was greatly irritated, ( and turned my irritation against myself? 1 cursed myself that I could find 110 words 1 strong enough to convince her. r It was just like me, she told me?just like a what she had always heard of me. She r would always love me with the most grate- 1 ful, reverent love, always remember me in 1 her prayers ; but be my wife?110! ( It was long before I could get a reason 1 why; but at last I tortured it from her. 1 She believed that I was sacrificing myself, 1 that I loved her because she was friendless j and alone. But she was not fit for me, she 1 told me ; she had not the accomplishments, 1 the education, the talent, the beauty, the ] anything that my wife should have. As for i her future, I need not be anxious, she as- 1 sured me. Mrs. Emmet had told her that 1 here, in Bangor, she could procure her a i suitable situation. ; At last when I had exhausted every argu- ( ment, or thought I had, and despaired, at .< all events, of present success, I grew hurt ( and angry. , r I turned frem her to a window, and stood c looking out. A veil of blackness gathered i between me and all I looked on. I was ill s with anger, disappointment, and thwarted 1 will. ; I don't know how long I had stood so, but [ believe it was a long time, when the soft- j 3 ist of small hands entered mine, which; lung down beside me. I flirted, and looked around. She was i ooking up into my face so wistfully, her ' >wn face strained with pain and earnestness, by "You look so pained, so displeased," she sei aid. "I must seem to you so thoroughly CI leartless and ungrateful. I cannot bear it." tal Before I knew what she was going to do co: ihe was kneeling beside me; before I could ' >revent her, her soft fingers were raising ti\ ny hand to her softer lips. ex I lifted her up. ha Holding her by the shoulders I asked her, bl< i am afraid almost fiercely: th "Can you tell me that you do not love me?" cr; "No, I cannot. I do love you, I love you Tf ;ery dearly." bu Pier tears began to fall, and she, tottering ea oward me, shed them on my breast. wi I held her there fast and firm ; and never 1 iinee has she disclaimed the right to be there, fai ! ! I I Sil FATE OF GREAT EXPLORERS. J* De Soto and his men?the flower of the ai5 Peninsula chivalry?braved everything, suf- fir ered everything, in their search for El Do- jj, ado. The hot springs of Arkansas they vj bought the fabled fountain of perpetual jn muth. They penetrated Missouri from the iq south ; twice crossed the Ozark Hills, and pent the winter of 1541?12 among them. fi0 They found the region swarming with fierce jn Indians. They fought the Pawnees, who jia fill do a thriving business at scalping sur- W} ,'eyors and throwing trains alongthe Union w, Pacific Railway in Nebraska; and the sp Caws, of whom a miserable remnant yet urvive? to raise ponies, and beg tobacco th md whisky, on the fertile bottoms of the wj Cansas River. They smelted ore, and were an lisgusted to find it lead instead of silver, de Vernon county, Missouri, still contains ruins ha >f old fortifications and furnaces, believed j0'. o mark the winter camp of those gallant, frf 11-starred soldiers of fortune. e;l Their fate served as a warning. For one jia nindred and forty years the great river was nil eft undisturbed, unseen by civilized man. rj( rhen Marquett the missionary, with Jolie ch he explorer, starting from Canada, floated po lown its silent current to the mouth of the (u Arkansas. Like late travelers, they were p{1 urprised to find the stream so clear and as >lue above the mouth of the Missouri, so y. nuddy and turbid below. ' Before reaching the Gulf, they turned lin >ack from dread of the Spaniards. But af- Jia er, also from the north, came La Salle the ]ie pnrlpssM. Hp rnrle the muddv current until le had planted the lilies of France at the nouth of the Mississippi. Louis XIV. was on it the zenith of his'glory. In the name of pj, he Great King, the bold explorer took posession of the entire country, baptizing the in( iver "St. Louis," and its valley "Louisi- as ma." kr. Poor La Salle! He hoped for wealth, fame an md honor for (his discoveries. They brought ^ lardship, heart-sickness and death. For ^ rears he faced appalling disaster with un- f0I haken soul. At last, after long, fruitless < ndeavors to find again the banks of the ])C Mississippi, a bewildered wanderer in north ^]1( Texas, he fell assassinated by one of his own rj. oldiers. How great explorers, like great ^ rators, have suffered the most cruel mock- e(j ry of destiny ! They form the saddest pic- t0j ures in all history. Columbus, of the broad wj >row and majestic frame, in an old age of tri >overty and chains ; Ponce I)e Leon, feeble so ,nd gray-haired, shot to death by savages, frc veil while seeking the immortal fountain; ^ni ja 8alle, the dauntless and tireless, with his f01 hin arms folded, and his tattered cloak an trapped about him, cradled in an unknown 4 i ?ave, amon? the barren hills of Trinity ev liver; Raleigh, the early darling of for- ye une, his narrow, bald head under the shinng axe, his calm lips murmuring, "This ^h s sharp medicine, but it cures the worst dis- ~a use ;" J)e Soto, lowered at midnight to the jia >ottom of the Mississippi, with no audible cjj >rayer for his heart-broken comrades, lest or, he lurking red men should learn that the co' >old leader was at rest after all his wander- S01 ng, in peace after all his troubles ! False Perceptions.?The simplest forms i if insanity are those which consist merely l\? ? <* x; 1 ?u ? ?x ?x-lsh ?i itu.se perceptions, unu me) uic nut ui ? uch a character as to lessen the responsibilty of the individual. There are two forms >f false perceptions?illusions and halluci- ha lations. Uncomplicated illusions are rare ; us.' till there is no doubt that there are illu- wj ions not the results.of disease in the organs ^ >f sense or of circumstances unfavorable to ty sxact perception, but which are due to a |)V norbid condition of the perceptional gang- ha ia, and the unreal nature of which is clear- Pe y recognized by the individual. ty Illusions of sight often relate merely to ve he size of the objects. Thus a young he ady who had overtasked herself at school dr aw everything of enormous size at which he looked. Tlie head of a person seemed flii o be several feet in diameter, and little nil ihildren looked like giants. So far as her ?h iwn person was concerned there were 110 llusions. Her own hands appeared of the cr latural size, but those of other people seem- lo' ;d to be of enormous proportions. Sau- pi rages refers to a case in which a young |)U voman suffering from epilepsy had the illu- th lion of seeing objects greatly magnified. Tr V fly seemed to her to be as large as a ?0 hic'ken. In the case which came under h? 1 a: A1 .. .1 rsC +V,o " I Iiy uuwrvuuuu tut? umuai umiauici ui mu )erception was fully recognized, and hence an lie intellect was not involved. Pr Morbid illusions of hearing unaccompan- 0,1 ed by other evidences of mental derange- A* nent, are not very common. One case only ni< las come under my observation. It was tie hat of a gentleman to whom the ticking be )f a clocck was resolved into articulate vords. Generally the expressions were in an he form of commands. For instance, if at tn linner, they would be, "Eat your soup!" tin 'Drink no wine!" and so on. One day he 1)0 nade the discovery that if he closed the an iglit ear firmly the illusion disappeared; tiu >ut if the left ear were closed the words tai vere distinctly heard. It was hence clear th hat the center for hearing on the right side tei vas the one affected, and that On the left ( tide was normal. For a long time this by gentleman resisted accepting any of these | llusions as facts; but after a time he bejan to be influenced by them to the extent; |ir ?f regarding them as guides. Eventually I ')ri le put clocks in every room in his house, i a"' ind professed to be governed altogether by I he direction they gave him?Popular I ' lience Monthly. I sai I it How to Get Rich.?Everybody wants to Le jet rich. Almost anybody can become rich ha f lie likes to apply himself to the matter, ab rhe trouble is that every one wants to get bu ich at once -and without exertion. Many ap ieek to do this by speculation. If a person tin iad obtained control of 100,(MM) bushels of mi ,vheat on Saturday last, which could have sal ieen done by putting up a margin of one wl :entper bushel, he would have made $3,000 no w "vfondav. and would have received back fir: lis margin less the broker's commission, no This would be a reasonable profit for a day's wl ,vork at doing nothing. Jf he held on till mi Tuesday $2,000 of his profit would have in; leen wiped out, and probably by to-mor- tin ow he would have lost his margin and To everything else beside. Still people only ap ook on the gaining side of the matter, and fill housands are striving to get rich in this nij >vay. One out of every thousand will to irobably succeed. A gentleman of Detroit, Gi ,vho is worth over $100,000 gives his expe- soi ince in getting rich, arid the beauty of his an ilan is that 909 out of 1,000 can, by fair soi nanagement, get reasonably "well off," shi vhile many will become rich. He says: it < 'Young, man, save one-third of your earn- thi ngs. If you get $6 a week, pretend that Tli rou get only $4 and put away the other $2. clc Jn no account touch that reserve fund to Ac ;pend a cent of it, but when it gets big sta mough put it in a 10-per-cent. mortgage, m< Ten-per-cent. mortgages with first-class se- tw :urity, are not so hard to find as a person fal night think. Add the interest to the re- it i lerve fund and keep on putting it out on na nortgages. This method is slow but it is wi aire."?Detroit Free Press. its Miscellaneous |teatling. DEATH--A BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT. isi! The annexed extract is so beautiful that, the ' every one who reads it, it will be pre- ey? rved. It fell from the lips of Rev. J)r. cia: larlesWadsworth, Philadelphia. The text dre ken by him was, "As a shock of corn I k rneth in its seasonesP "In his moral tillage," he said, "God cul- re^ rates many flowers, seemingly for their tab quisite heiiuty and fragrance. For when if} tried in soft sunshine they have hurst into jm Dssom, then the Divine Hand gathers *f 1 em from the earthly Holds, to he kept in 1110 ystal vases in hlesssed mansions above, ins little children lie?some in the sweet 'I id, some in fuller blossom; but never too tin rly to make heaven fairer and sweeter sj0 ith their immortal bloom. I u\Tnril\r tlio o\ro f\f VniHi nnthimr 5? ' ircr than the death of young children. m(; ght and sense, indeed, recoil from it. pai le flower that like a breathiug rose, tilled a s art and home with an exquisite delight, eXi is! we are stricken with sore anguish to sta id its stem broken and the blossom gone, wil it unto Faith, eagle-eyed beyond mental Jty sion, and weighed to mount like the sing- Cul g lark over the fading rainbow unto the no lie heaven, even this is touchingly lovely. Th "The child's earthly ministry was well up me, for the rose does its work as grandly ere blossom as the vine with its fruit. And pu: ,ving helped to sanctify and lift heaven- by ird the very hearts that broke at its fare- tin ill, it has gone from this troublesome Xo here ere the winds chilled or the rains poi lined it, leaving the world it blessed and tec e skies through which it passed still sweet ma ith its lingering fragrance, to its glory as cer i ever-unfolding flower in the blessed gar- put n of God. Surely, prolonged life on earth Spt th no boon like this! For such mortal ere veliness to put on immortality?to rise gist )m the carnal with so little memory of tin rth that the mother's cradle seemed to tau ,ve been rocked in the house of many the ansions?to have 110 experience of a wea- era xl mind and chilled affections, but from a mi: ild's joyous heart growing up into the wh wer of an arch-angel intellect?to be rap- ant reel as a blessed babe through the gates of tur iradise?ah! this is better than to watch Lei an old prophet for the car of fire in the sen alley of Jordan. fori "Surely, Cfod is wise in all his works, tioi cl even amid our tears will rejoice in this the rvest feast, that among us as elsewhere, of 1 gathers so largely, 'the flowers in their the ison.' Ian "And as of flowers, so of fruits, in their em fier and after their kind each'cometh in oft< s season.' We indeed sometimes talk of the atimely deaths' of young Christians re- obt Dved too early from spheres of usefulness, vis if the omniscient husbandman did not iow when his immortal grapes are purple c d his corn in the ear. Surely God does 183. e whole thing wisely gathering each spir- bee lal growth just as it comes into condition a c its immortal uses. vas 'Oh thought beautiful and comforting! He >ath is not destruction, but harvesting? two e gathering from fields of mortal tillage anc >e fruits in the season. And why, then, ing ould our harvest feast be sad over garner- the immortality ? Why should this sweetly he ' ling bell filling the troubled earthly airs assi th a gentle sound so startle and appal the Woi istful spirit? God strengthen your faith qui to behold this mysterious thing in a light the >m heaven, that its dark veil shall seem >Sen msparent, and a face with soft eyes look con th loving and bright as the face of an y gel. . at i Death is not destruction! Death is not the en decay! Death is harvesting! Hear pet parents irom wnose nousenoiu sweet mo ilclren have been rudely parted, hear ye grc is: "The beloved has gone down into his hir rden to gather lilies." Ye children who anc ve lost revered parents, and whose life is the illed in the shadow of that dread thing? tioi phanage?hear ye this: 'As a shock of can rn cometh in his season, so are matured cul ills gathered to the garner of God." out ? ont Shepherd Dogs.?Our readers have, no ask ubt, since childhood, heard of the Scotch ed epherd dogs and their wonderful sagacity, agn most amounting to reason) but few of she em, probably, are aware that these dogs pio ,ve been introduced and are now being me ed in their favorite work of keeping sheep, C thin a hundred miles of this place. Mr. 183 alter T. McArthur, of Montgomery coun- In , who is probably one of the largest sheep for ,-ners in Georgia, has for several years tur d two of these dogs, which during that ser riod, have served him well and faithful- ten in the care of his flocks. They are so Ar] ry intelligent that at any time they can ed trusted to either watch their charge or the ive them to or from the pasture, no mat- 184 : what may be the distance or nature of e way, a command from their master be- / * all that is necessary to secure prompt daj edience. The sheep composing Mr. Me- foil thur's flocks were purchased from sev- the il different persons, and each particular do. ; naturally remain together and rather hal in ra ted from the others, each of these VOl nches being designated by the name of rep e party from whom they were purchased, wn ie.se dogs can, at any time, be sent far in- sha the woods for a specified bunch, it only pro ing necessary to give its name, thus: tin: .'he McCloud Sheep," or "the Nash sheep," it, d a failure on their part to bring the A\ t oper lot, not one being missing, is reck- clir ed among the phenomenal occurrences, wit 5 a matter of course, these dogs are of im- aro ?nse service to their owner, and the gen- tot nian who gave these facts says he doesn't der lieve thatSl,000each wouldbuy them. So j par ong is the instinct in these dogs to watch j Sue d keep together allanimalsof a kind, that i the ree puppies of the above mentioned dogs ! tale id their chief enjoyment in driving all the lik< ultry of the yard into some clear space wai d keeping them for hours, regardless of the anc :t that not one particle of food can be oh- firs ned there by the imprisoned fowls. On tha is account it isneccessary to keep these en- kin prising pups shut up. i thii L>neofthis species is owned in this city j yoi 31 r. J. K. Nightengale. * j our fhese facts were uiven us by a gentleman | seci this city of undoubted veracity, who af- we] ins that he has often seen these intelligent har utes go through the performances above dui udeclto.?Brunswick, Ga., Appeal. ale yoi In k Scarlet Fever.?It is as unneces- ma ry for a child to die of the scarlet fever as 9?n is that it should be blind with a cataract, i*?'t us see. At any time before the body s finished its ineffectual struggle we are ^ le to help it, not by wonderful medicines, ma t by the knowledge of anatomy, and the tvh; plication of common sense. We consult sha ii sympathetic nerve, and do what it com- of i inds us to do. We must give this child t when it wants it; we must give it acid to i ien it has fever and anxiously craves it? can t vinegar, hut lemon juice, because the axc it cna cm lu tes nlhnmen and the latter dries bla< t, on account of the surplus of oxygen dec lich it contains. To imitate the soothing seM jcus in the intestines, which is now want- s(> * ?, and to give some respiratory food at hin e same time, we add some gum arabic. cha i restore and relieve the injured nerve, we Pf? ply moist warmth. In practice we can dis< till all this with the following simple mapulations : Undress thechild and bring it P bed at the very first sign of sickness, shu ve it if it has already fever, nothing but ric' .irish warm lemonade with some gum ibic in it. Then cover its abdomen with F ne dry fiannel. Take a well-folded bed not eet and put it in boiling hot water; wring out out dry by means of dry towels, and put strc is over the flannel on the child's abdomen, poo len cover the whole, and wait. The hot giv ithes will, perhaps, require repeated heat, of t :cording to the severity of the case, and its any ige of progress, perspiration will com- are mce in the child in from ten minutes to eac o hours. The child is then saved; it soon as ; Is to sleep. Soon after the child awakes, be shows slight symptoms of returning incli- unci tion for food , nelp its bowels, if necessary, pou th injections of oil, soap and water, ana con recovery will be as steady as the growth any i green-house plant, if well treated. Of rse, if the child was already dying, nothcould save it, or if it has already efforts in the lining of the heart or brain, it uuch better that it should die. But if above is applied in due time, under the is and direction of a competent physin, I will guarantee that not one in a hund children will ever die of scarlet fever, now this will startle some of my readers, ecially those who have lost children aldy, but I shall go still farther. I mainn that a child will never get scarlet fever iroperly treated. If a child has correctly xeu blood, it will not catch the disorder )ut in bed with a sick child. This is still re startling, but nothing is easier of proof. - - - 'he Actor's Art.?The essence of acg is apparent spontaniety. Perfect illu11 is attained when every effect seems to an accident. If the declamation is too asured, the sense of truth is at once imred; if, on the other hand, it falls only hadow of a shade below the appropriate jression, the auditor's sympathy is inntly checked. "The union of grandeur hhont nomn. and nature without trivial ," is of ail artistic ideals the most diffit to attain, and with this goal before him actor can feel that art is a plaything, e end of all acting is "to hold the mirror to Nature." Different actors have diffnt methods, but that is their common rpose, which can be accomplished only the closest study and observation. Acg, like every other art, has a mechanism, painter, however great his imaginative ver, can succeed in pure ignorance of the hnicalities of his art; and no actor can ,ke much progress till he has mastered a tain mechanism which is in the scope of ;ient intelligence. Beyond that is the lere in which a magnetic personality exises a power of sympathy which is irre;ible and indefinable. That is great acg, but thongh it is inborn and cannot be ghf, it can be brought forth only when (actor is master of the methods of his ft. I am conscious that no words of ne can add any weight to the lessons ich are set forth witn such earnestness i brilliance in Talma's pages but I vene to emphasize them by two golden rules, t the student remember, first that, every tence expresses a new thought and theree frequently demands a change of intonan; secondly, that the thought precedes : wuru. xiieiicioi auuuiu nave uicu.it :hinking before he speaks." Of course re are passages in which thought and guage are borne along by the stream of otion ancl completely intermingled. But in it will be found that the most natural, most seemingly accidental effects, are ained when the working of the mind is ible before the tongue gives it words. ? 'olonel Yell's Electioneering.?In 5 Colonel Archibald Yell, of Arkansas, ame a candidate for Congress. He had ompetitor at the beginning of the cants, but soon scared nim off the track, re hangs a tale, and I must tell it. The ) were to dine together on a certain day, I came across some men who were shootfor beef. Colonel Yell asked them if y would allow him to take part in what called their "game." On receiving their int, he allighted, made several shots and a several quarters of beef. He then inred: "Who are the poorest families in neighborhood?" On being informed he t them all the beef he had won, with his ipliments. r i.i i.1?:_ j.i lUUllliJi^ tiitui nurses nuuri iiinvcu a campmeeting on the wayside. There y tarried several hours. W hen the comitor thought it was about time to be ving on he searched all over the camp und for Colonel Yell, but could not find n. At length he went up near the altar 1 there stood Colonel Y ell, singing at top of his voice: "How firm a foundai, ye saints of the Lord." The reader i imagine his surprise. With some diffity he succeeded in getting Colonel Yell from amongst the brethren, took him to ! side and said. "I'm off." "Off where?" :ed Col. Yell. "Off the track," respondhe. "I see it is perfectly useless to run linst a man who on the same day can ot for beef with the ungodly and sing us songs over the mourners at a camp eting." tolonel Yell was elected, and re-elected in 7, serving until the 4th of March, 1839, 1840 he was elected Governor of the State four years. In 1845 he was again rened to Congress, but resigned in 184G to ve in the Mexican War. He was mussd into the service as colonel of the First Kansas Volunteer Cavalry, and was killin a gallant charge upon the enemy at battle of Buena Vista, February 20, 7. l Word to Young Men.?Hardly a r passes by, but we see evidence of the y of young men, scattered here and re. They are in quest of something to They are willing to work for about "11 xi ~1 1,1 Tf I tiiy pay siiuuiu ue iwciviug. n 1 ask them what is their trade, they will ly they have none, and in these days en skilled labor is in demand it is a me and outrage for so many bright, raising young men to be loitering tneir le away, either for work or, if they have in a position where their pay is nothing. ! have seen too many such who expect to 11b up the ladder of fame and fortune hout working for it. They are looking und for pins to pick up, and then folded he embrace of some wealthy bank presiit or philanthropic merchant, made a tner, and finally marry into the family. h cases are not to be found every day in present time. We read Munhcausen js of years gone by, that have an ending 2 this. But to-day the merchant who tits a young man wants one of character I ability, Learn a trade, young man; t become proficient in some industry so t when you go forth to pastures new you >w within yourself that you have someng to fall back on for a living. If the ing men of to-day would ask some of old and successful merchants for the ret of their success in life, they would II be astonished at the stories of early t dsliips, trials and privations they ened. Fathers, mothers; is there not ssson to be learned from this ? Is it not ir duty to see your boys educated to ke their own living, so that wnen tney ic to man's estate they can bless you for -Boot and Shoe Recorder. 'he Right Kind of Pride.?A young n "that works for his board," no matter at honest work he does, has no reason for me. A young man who eats the bread idleness, no matter how much he has, is graced. All men, starting in life, ought lim first of all, to find a place where they earn their bread and butter with a hoe, i, spade, wheel-barrow, curry comb, cking-brush?no matter how. Indepenice first. The bread-and-butter question led, let the young man perform his duty aithfully as to attract attention, and let l constantly keep his eye open for a nee to do better. About half the poor, ud young men, and two-thirds of the poor . ouragea young men, are aiways out 01 rk. The young man who pockets his le and keeps a stiff upper lip, need not rve, and he stands a chance to become i, if he cares to. 'ouring out Tea.?Persons who are aware that the first cup of tea poured is the weakest, and that the tea grows mger as you proceed, often bestow the rest cup upon the greatest stranger and e the strongest to the youngest member he family, who would be better without \ Where sveral cups of equal strength wanted, you should pour a little into h, and then go back inverting the order you fill them up, and the strength will apportioned properly. This is so well lerstood in England that an experienced irer of tea waits till all the cups of the lpany are returned to her before she fills a second time, that all may share alike.