Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m:. grist, proprietor. J 5U Jfabqpbtnf /amili) fttfospaprr: /or flit promotion of fjjc |]olitira!, Social, |3,?ricalfural anb Connnmial Jhitcrrsfs of tjjr jsoutlj. ] terms?$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. -29. YOBKYILLE, S C.. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 11, 1883. NO. 41. Jfc lecttd fflctrn. | THE SUMMER IS DEAD. "The Summer is dead!" A soaring lark said? .. Singing up in the blue afar, "I'm chanting lier dirge, Where golden clouds surge In the wake of the morning star." "The Summer is dead!" A damask rose said? "In the light of her smiles I grew, And warm with the bliss Of her parting kiss I shall glory in dying, too." "The Summer is dead!" A honey-bets said? - To the red roses still aglow, "But her honey is mine, I need not repine When your beauty lies under the snow." "The Summer is deadl" A butterfly said? "Let the honev-bees hive?I suppose rr.1 ?.ic? i ney are pruucm uuu ? ^<*, , But'work I despise; Let me die on the heart of the rose." * "The Summer is dead!" A fair maiden said? As she liied to the trvsting tree, "But where Autumn leaves lie Cometh one, by and by, Whose life is' life's Summer to me." "The Summer is dead !" A sad woman said? "Yet I mourn not its vanished glow, Pot time cannot bring The joy of youth's Spring Or the Summers of long ago!" < "The Summer is dead!" An aged man said? "But what is oneSummer to me? A shining drop cast In the stream of the past, While I stand by Eternity's sea." Home Journal. A SKATE FOR LIFE. , Rube Wexford ought to have been a happy fellow. Pie was certainly considered one on the day when Kate Wilde became his bride. He was the envy of every young man in the rude western hamlet where the ceremony took place, and many were the good wishes showered on the heads of the newly-wedded pair for their future happi- , ness and prosperity. Still there were those who not only insinuated nut ooasieu mat the helpmate of her choice was unworthy the woman he had won. lvate's father and mother were particularly opposed to the match, and did all in their power to prevent it, but the girl, beside her unwavering love, i possessed a determined will which, when ( once aroused,,carried much before it. Rube "Welford was never accounted a strictly temperate man. Indeed, there had been times before marriage when he was for days under the influence of liquor, and Kate had seen him in this state, and therefore knew ,< fully the extent of his weakness. But the woman loved the man, aud with herself < resolved that his reclamation should be j her duty. That success must crown her efforts she little doubted. Autumn drifted away, the crops had been gathered in, and all the indications pointed tn on o?ri\' nml spvprc winter. Rube's 1 sprees continued. No wind was too cold, k no snow too deep, to keep him from Wash' burn's, a not distant tavern. One evening in the latter part of December he took down his leggins and gun from the peg where they hung and was preparing to go out. : Kate went to him and said: "Rube, you must not leave me to-night. Gi ve in to me this time and stay at home." ' "I am only going for a jaunt," lie replied, "I'll be back soon." "No, you are going to Washburn's. Tonight you will, you must, gratify me. 1 am < afraid'to remain here alone." "Afraid ?" he answered. Such a thing ; as fear was almost unknown to Kate Wilde. She clasped her arms around his neck, 1 whispered into his ear, her cheeks flushing brightly, then sat down in. the rocker and j cried as if her heart would break. Rube < stood the gun in a corner, threw aside the leggins and cried too. The next morning when the winter sun beamed upon the cabin the little log shelter held three souls instead of two. A wee stranger had come in the night, a brighteyed baby girl. Her weak cry seemed to 1 move all the better parts of the husband's nature, and his wife looked on with a new- ; born confidence in her face. After a week, 1 when Kate was able to sit up, Rube went to relate the happy event to the grandpa. rents. It was the first time he had visited 1 them for some months. Very early in the morning he started, and when the afterternoon shadows began', to lengthen Kate looked up eagerly for his return. It was toward day-break when he appeared, his hands and feet almost frozen, and his senses stupefied by liquor. The wife's new hopes were destined to be short-lived. Freshly made promises marked the morrow, but urpiit hv onlv to xee them unfulfilled. Now there was a new torture. Rube had forsaken Washburn's and made his visits to Pineville instead, where Kate's father and mother lived. It was almost more than the woman's nature could bear to know that her parents were the frequent witnesses of her husband's disgrace. This was a sort of thing which she could not and would not long brook. Little Kate, the baby, was a month old to a day when Rube made preparations one morning for a trip to Pineville. Kate looked on silently for a few moments, and then saiu: "Where are you going?" "Only to Pineville." "What for?" "To see about some powder and stuff." "That is untrue. You are going to spend the day with worthless companions and you will come back stupid with liquor. Rube, listen to me. I have stood all which it is possible for me to endure. I have prayed and entreated you to abandon a | habit which has disgraced us both. My pleadings have brought nothing. I cannot and will not have our child grow up to know a father who is a drunkard. If you refuse to stay at home I have said my last say. Go to Pineville if you insist on doing so^ but if you are not here sober by sunset I shall go with the baby to father's, and in this house 1 will never set foot again." "That's all talk," Rube answered in a rough, joking and half-serious fashion. I "Why, it's fifteen miles to Pineville." "Xo matter," was the rejoinder," I will! Ttmk-o flip start if the child and I freeze to 1 death by the way." "Look out for wolves," ltube laughed ] again. "There have been half a dozen seen ; here lately, it has been a hard winter for them, and they are almost starved." "Wolves or no wolves," muttered Kate, "I'll go." Rube hung about the house uneasily lor : an hour or so, then silently rigged himself out, leggins, buffalo coat, gun and all. Kate ; worked away and said never a word, lie opened the door, and without looking back, remarked: "I'll be back by sunset." "See that you are," was the reply, "if you come here latethe house will be empty." ' The wife watched his form across the | clearing and saw it disappear in the heavy j timber which circled the cabin. She turned to her household duties, but had no heart for them. Well she knew that Rube Wex- i ford would break his hist promise, as he ! had broken others before it. If so he must; abide the result. She was determined. The day went by at a snail's pace, and the j afternoon seemed never ending. Kate fondled her baby, listened to lier crow and cry, ; and fed her a dozen times. Then she pre- j pared supper, and sunset came when it was completed. Rut it brought no Rube. An-1 other hour and still he was absent. So the moments passed until the clock struck ten. The baby was fast asleep. Kate rose from a chair at the cradle's side, a look of firm determination on her face, and opening the cabin door, peered across the clearing. Not a soul was visible. She closed the door, went to the chest, and took from it a pair of old-fashioned skates, whose steel runners gleamed in the firelight. She laid them ready for use and proceeded to wrap herself as warmly as possible. Then she bundled the baby in the same manner, lifted her tenderly in her arms, and with the skates slung over her shoulder, started across the clearing. After reaching the timber she left the beaten path and made for the river. It was coated heavily with ice and the strong winds had blown it almost entirely free from snow, leaving a nearly naked surface. Kate laid the baby down for a few moments while she fastened on her skates. Then she lifted her baby once more and started for Pineville, fifteen miles away. The moon shone brightly; she was a wonderfully rapid skater and she knew no slightest suspicion of fear. Rube AVexford sat near the warm fire, which was surrounded by a dozen men, beside himself. He had been there for hours, listening to anecdotes of hunters' lives, even adding to the general fund, some of his own oxDeriences. butthoutrh his companions per suaded and coaxed, they could" not prevail upon him to taste liquor. This was something so entirely new that many a laugh and jest was had at his expense. He answered all persuasions to imbibe in the same way, saying only, "Not to-day, boys, not to-day." When sunset came he was still in his seat. He wanted to go home, wanted to keep his promise, but he thought he would wait awhile and start later, so that it would not look to Kate too much as if he were giving in. So thinking, he went to a quiet corner by himself, and had not been there long before he fell asleep. It was 11 o'clock when he awoke with a start, and said hurriedly: "What is it, Kate?" A loud roar of laughter brought him to his senses, and a rough voice cried: "Rube, guess you have been dreaming!" "Yes," he replied, foolishly; "I thought my wife was calling me." He glanced at the clock and said: "Boys, I niust?o." "Have something before you leave," was the general cry. "No, no; not to-night." Then he was gone. His conscience smote him as he trudged through the snow. It would be after 2 o'clock when he reached home. One thing consoled him somewhat; he was sober. But would Kate be in the cabin when he returned? Of course, she must be. Nothing short of madness could tempt her to keep the rash vow she made in the morning. So thought Rube. This was because he was incapable of estimating the great suffering which he had caused his wife. On, on he went, until through the stillness of the night was borne to his ears the sound of falling waters. It proceeded from a spot which marked the half way between Pineville and his own home, and was caused by the river tumbling down a steep descent of fifteen or twenty feet of rugged rocks. His road at this point lay close to the river bank, and soon he was in full view of the cascade. As he passed it he noticed, with a sort of shudder, how cold and dark the water looked as it tumbled down. For thirty feet above the falls there was no ice. It broke off abruptly, and the current rushed from beneath with terrible velocity. Beyond, in the IlJUUUllglll, ^liotciicu <111 UllUXUiVUll .-?uu?tc \Ji clear ice for fully half a mile before there was a bend in the river's bank. The sight was an old one to Rube, and he paid little heed to it, but stalked 011 silently, still thinking of Kate and wondering if the cabin would be tenantless. Suddenly he stood stock still and listened. Many an ear would have heard nothing but the sound of rushing waters. Rube's acute and practiced hearing detected something more, and he felt instinctively for his ammunition, and looked to the priming of his rifle. Then from a distance the sound came again?a peculiar cry, followed by another and another, until they ended in a chorus of unearthly yells. Rube muttered to himself one wordwolves?and strained his eyes in the direction of the curve to the river's edge. The cry proceeded from that direction and grew louder every instant. Before he could decide 011 a plan of action there shot out from a bend in the river what looked to him like a woman carrying a bundle and skating for dear life. She strained every nerve, but never once cried out. Next came a wolf, followed rapidly by others, which swelled the pack to a dozen, all ravenous, yelping, snarling, and gaining closely 011 their prey. Rube raised his rifle, flred and began to load as he had never loaded before. The cries came nearer and nearer. Great God! the wolves were upon the woman! It seemed as if 110 earthly hope could save her, when, quick as an arrow from a bow, she swerved to one side, the maddened brutes slid for ward on their hind legs, and she had gained a few steps. Again she flew onward, and again tried the ruse of swerving aside, the man 011 the bank in the meantime firing rapidly, and picking off wolf by wolf. A fresh danger arose. The woman evidently did not see the abrupt break in the ice above the falls, and the dark, swift current, which lay beyond. Perhapsshe was too frightened to hear the rushing waters. On she went, making straight for the falls, the wolves almost 011 her heels, and the man's voice crying in terrified accents, as he dropped on his knees in the snow: "Kate! Kate! My God, save her!" The woman was on the brink of the ice, when she made a sudden sweep to one side. Nearly the entire pack, unable to check their mad flight, plunged into the water, which carried them swiftlv over the rocks, and Kate Wexford was flying toward the river bank, where she fell helpless in the snow, her baby in her arms, while Kube's rifle frightened the remainder of her pursuers. It was some time before she could answer her husband's voice. When strength enabled her to do so she arose feebly in the snow, her resolution to go to her father as strong as ever. Rube took her hand, knelt down and said : "Kate, bear with me for the last time. As God is my judge, I shall never again taste liquor. This night has been a lesson which 1 cannot forget." Kate believed him and accepted his promise. Then they started for Pineville, Rube carrying the baby and more than half carrying his wife. When they arrived there Kate told her parents she had been dying ulmw tVimu thr> hnhv nnd. tsi.kim* nrlvnnt age of the moonlight night, hatl made the journey on skates. Rube kept his vow, the roses bloomed on Kate's cheeks, and to-day a happy family of boys and girls feel no touch of shame as they look up with pride to their father. bhdhdhbbhebli A Haity Thought.?"While 1 was defending l)r. Mudd," said a legal gentleman, in Washington, "a little thing happened which I can remember, though in the lapse of eighteen years I have forgotten almost all the details of the trial. A colored woman had been found with some evidence tending to remove a very bad impression from Dr. Mudd, and she was brought up to Washington city. I had my carriage there, and Mudd's brother-in-law put the woman in with us to take her down to the courtroom. As we were about to start the question was asked: 'Sally, have you had any breakfast?' She said, 'No.' We thought that she ought to eat, so as to be able to tell her story without being shaken or weak. The other gentleman drew out a live dollar bill and handed it to her, telling her to go and get her breakfast and then come back t,. n.n 1 /Inn T Lrnnvv whv hut for IW 11IC7 Uil l Kl^v - V ...... ., ..fc, 7 sonic reason hardly intelligible to myself, 1 reached out and said,4No, don't give her five dollars. Take her to get her breakfast at the hotel, and then come back and join me.' We produced the woman in court a little later,and the very first question Judge Holt asked the woman was: 'Sally, has anybody given you any money since you have been in this city?' 'No, sir,'said the woman, innocently. Now suppose she had taken the five dollar bill ? 1 >o you see what an impression it would have produced on that court, and gone to Mudd's prejudice?" ^HiscrUaneous Reading. THE "ENEMY." HOW THE CONSC10 VSNESS OF GJIOUISU OLD | FIBS T ST Alt TL1SS US. How unlike women (lo men meet the en- j emy, Age! The first time that a man notic that the years are mastering him lie is slightly surprised, hut it never enters his mind to undertake to dodge old Father Time or to keep him at a respectful distance. He doesn't run up and down stairs as he once did. He grumbles as he gets ready to go to the theatre, and declares he would rather stay at home. He wishes his wife were not'always wanting to "gad somewhere." He avoids crowds, and begins to fulminate against high suppers. These changes of taste and habits come upon him orrjuliinllv that, lfo never wonders at their appearance or thinks what causes them. One ni^ht he is at the theatre, and before the curtain rises he is entertained in his indolence by the chatter of two youthful snips who sit just in front of him. They are exuberant as to spirits, empty-headed and longtongued. They look at everything from a decided standpoint of extreme youth and mental shallowness. Their comments and actions amuse the man behind them, and he smiles, half in pity for their lack of sophistication and half in {"ty for his own sad knowledge of life. Suddenly he hears his own name mentioned, and is startled by the strangeness of it. It is the younger of the gabbers who refers to him, and the referenences are surprising. The man of forty hears himself spoken of by the boy of seventeen as "Old Wilson," or whatever may be his surname. The little three lettered adjective falls upon him like a hundred pound weight of as i. TIT.'l )) Via MAMAn k-1 r\\rr\Y? lOIUSIlIIlt'IlU * V./1U >Vll&Uiij lie iupcmavvci and over to himself, trying to get accustomed to the queerness of the unflattering appellation. Sitting there in the blaze of the lights, with the throng of play-goers about him and the music filling the air with sentiment, he loses himself in reminiscences of youth, which he never before dreamed had slipped away from him. He does not hear the overture or see the curtain rise. He is away in the primrose spring, young again, lie is retracting those forty years in memory. He is trying to think when he first noticed lines upon his face and silver in his hair. He is looking at himself mentally to see if he really is old. He thinks of it as he goes home, and that pvpninrr heenmes to him forever the mile stone which marks the boundary of his youth. He may have been old to others before, but never until then was he old to himself. He can not think of it for a longtime without a sudden sinking of the heart. Strangely enough, he accepts the charge of being old without disputations, word or thought. Never once does he say: "Oh, infidel, mistake! Oh, pagan, no such thing!" The next time he finds himself protesting against some little plan of recreation which he once delighted in he thinks of himself in his character of Old Wilson, laughs gravely and says, a little sadly, that he believes he is getting old. From that time he speaks of it often and without violence to his feelings. He drops into the older ways quite submissively, and loses his grip a little upon the world. He does not resent the usurpations of age. He submits because it is his destiny, and because his religion and his philosophy teach him that it is folly to fight the inevitable. But he never sits in a theater again that he does not experience anew that sudden sinking of the heart that followed hearing himself called old. A woman, if she has any interest in life at all, fences with time and manages to keep a little ahead of the years. Oldness never takes her by surprise as it does a man. She knows, too, that he is sure to send out his messengers to keep her apprised of the day he will claim her, and she meets them defiantly. They come in crows' feet and streaks in her hair; in a loss of color and disappearance of elasticity of movement and fairness of outline. She is on the watch ,1 ,.i n?.;? I. jur mum <11111 miu ui<i^c.-> iiiun Litiuivn nuu the marvelous cunning of her sex. At the lirst intimation that Time is penciling her face she throws a dash more of youthfulness into Iter attire and if possible, a little more sweetness into her smile, and the effect is to show under the old thief's penciling. For a while she laughs at the audacity of the wretch, as Love laughs at locksmiths. She sits in the theatre and notices the fair, young faces here and there, and knows that Time is closing in on her, but she thinks to cheat him by assuming ignorance of his power and his intentions. She indulges in spoken reminiscences, ceases to date her stories and begins to associate more with women a great deal younger than herself. When the crows' feet become noticeable she resorts to a mask veil which conies just to the top of her nose and takes at least five years from her record. A little later and she makes her hat defy the thrusts of the enemy by a jauntier poise than ever. She tights the foe openly, cheats him with her cherished artifices, contests every step he takes and scorns him always. She never admits his mastery, as men do. The thcol ogyof her toilet tolls her to resist Age and he will flee. This is a doctrine she faithfully lives up to. When she feels the weight of years upon her she affects not to know that time, the all-devourer, is going to be the victor, after all. Just as bravely does she fight-him as though there was a hope that she would win the day. When she can 110 longer defy him utterly she yields grimly to his dictation, though she never acknowledges his mastery.?Xeiv York World. Making Cross-Eyes Straight.?A medical expert described to a New York Times reporter his method of making crosseyes straight as follows: "The operation to be undergone by the patient is simple and practically painless. For convergent cases there is no pain whatever, only a little annoyance while the operator is reaching the little muscle which has to be divided. I have performed the operation hundreds of times on other people, sometimes giving anesthetics, and often with no such aid. The patient is stretched 011 the table. 1 draw apart with my lingers the lids of his eyes and insert between them a little steel instrument shaped like the letter O. The sides of this expand by a spring and force the lids open, disclosing the eyeball and the network of muscles holding it in position and directing its movements. When this expansion is accomplished I lift up the muscle with a small pair of tweezers and divide it with my instrument. When it is cut it feels to the patient as if a small band of rubber was being snapped. There is no pain at all. Very often, however, painful operationsare performed. The muscle has sometimes been divided too much, and the error has to be rectified. This re- j quires some stitches to be taken and a new j cut to be made. The patient must be made | unconscious while this is going on." "Can j you cure any case of strabismus?" "lean benefit any ordinary case, even when it can not be entirely cured. 1 have often wished that 1 could operate on Hen Butler. I think I could give him as straight eyes as I nave iii half an hour's time." Ilow Tjiky Catch Mackhuhi,.?The mackerel-catchers have somewhat peculiar experience. Vessels of this class are of the same rig, tonnage, and lading of the cod-fish, except in them the seine takes the place of the trawl. The scene of their operation is rather wider, too, as they meet the mackerel on their appearance in the spring as far South as Virginia, and follow them to the shores of Greenland and Iceland. George's j bank, in the open sea, about one hundred | and fifty miles off Cape Ann, and the Do-: minon waters are, however, the favorite fishing-ground. When one of these vessels reaches the spot where her prey may be taken, a sharp watch is kept for the schools, which may be seen playing about on the 'surface; old salts aver that they can smell a school of mackerel as well as menhaden. When one is sighted, the listlessness of the crew gives away to animation. The purseine, coiled on the after hatch, is hastily thrown into the seine-boat, which has been towing astern since the vessel left port. Two dories are let down, and in company with the seine-boat, row out toward the school. At the proper time the seine-boss gives the word, the two dories take each end of the seine, some two hundred and fifty fathoms in length, and in three-minutes enclose the school. Then the seine is "passed," and the schooner is signalled to come alongside. There are five hundred barrels of large, fat mackerel in the "purse." The method of transferring them to the vessel is much like that practiced by the menhaden steamers. A large dip net, with long handle, worked by tackling, is let down into the struggling mass and throws them on the vessel's deck, by the half-barrel. This done, the operation of "dressing down" begins by throwing the catch into a square trough ; twelve men of a crew of fourteen attack them with knives, dexterously open them by a slit down the back, and clean them at ft stroke; they are then washed, assorted into various grades according' to the size and fatness,, and packed in barrels, one barrel of Liverpool- silt being required for four barrels of fish. So rapily do they work that forty-seven barrels have been cleaned and packed in two hours and a half. Meantime two men have been overhauling the seine, repairing it where a shark or blue-fish has made a rent and the men are ready for another haul?perhaps to work for hours without securing a barrel. Margaret Gauxt's Secret.?About six weeks ago Margaret Gaunt, an aged recluse, about whose life a mystery was said to hang, died in a small hut near Erie, Pa., where she had lived for twenty years, during which no man, woman or child ever succeeded in learning who she was or where she came from. A few hours before she died she confided a packet of papers to a neighbor with instructions to give them to E. C. Gaunt, who would come from England for them in obedience to commands mailed to him. Mr. Gaunt arrived Friday, 28th ultimo, and to his great surprise, found the packet to contain documents that have been wanting in his family for over a hundred and fifty years to prove certain claims against the British crown. A note informed him that his relative, the deceased, who disappeared from England forty years ago, and had long been considered dead, had discovered the papers in an ancient piece of family furniture where they had been buried by the debris of a century, and that to spite certain members of the family she had concealed her great discovery. The woman was the great-great-great-great granddaughter of Mrs. Elizabeth Gaunt, burned at the stake by sentence of Jeffries, the English judge, in the time of James II. Her offense was sheltering James Burton, a Rye House plot conspirator, and not withstanding that .she fed and nursed a sick traitor in ignorance, King James resisted all applications to save her from the flames, and she was burned to death at Tyburn. She was the last woman executed in England lor political onenses. ner ueain was ?i> infamous that Maeauley makes special mention of it. William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania, was present at her burning. William III promised to recompense the family for the judicial murder, but died without doing so. The claim was revived during the reign of Annie and (leorge I, but the absence of letters written by James, Jeffries, William and others was fatal. These letters are the identical ones discovered, and (Jaunt believes he can recover two million dollars from the crown. Indepent of their litigant value the papers will be prized hv urcfTTcotogrvts. He left next day for Europe. Pooii ok Bkthksda.?We visit the pool of Bethesda. It is full of benevolent, nay, angelic memories, for did not the angel here go down at a certain season and trouble the water, so that those who were diseased and waited along the live porches for the moving of the water, should be made whole? Dul not the sick man nero receive from the Saviour His cure, for which ITe \vas?roproacho(l, it being the Sabbath day ? Now, how changed! There is no water in the pool, save a little green pool in the corner. As we enter it the air is dusty and full of the cries of boys and men driving donkeys within, loaded with the refuse of the city, and whose basket panniers are full of dirt, to be emptied here, to make room elsewhere for buildings. But to our mind it is now, as ever, blessed with the sweet waters of healing. An English engineer ottered the government to clean it out, connect it with the olden sluices, and fill it with pure water. The proposal was rejected. The tender shows that these sacred memories are not all dead, nor is the land altogether left desolate. It is said that one of the chief agonies of the Saviour was that "all foorsook Him and tied." So they did, and it was the bitterst drop in His cup of misery; but now, after two thoysand years, His name is in the households of hundreds of millions of the race ! Out of this desolation, sacrifice and crucifixion, there is ascension for these millions, as there was for Him! Who can describe the healing and consolation which have emanated from these scenes of suffering and salvation ?" Nkwsi'apkh Ai)VEKTIsix(?.?The most successful business men in the world are liberal and persistent advertisers. Some men, it is true, do not know how to advertise, but the judicious advertiser looks after his advertisements as he does any other part of his business, and changes them often. The advertisements of the business man wlm spuds in new ennv for a chance everv few weeks are reacl with as much interest as any other part of a newspaper, and it is such advertising as this that pays. But a man should be as consistent and honest in writing out his advertisements as in dealing with his customers. If a merchant has a good thing to advertise it will pay him to advertise it, but to insure per-manent success the article advertised must be all that it is represented to be in print; if found otherwise it is sure, sooner or later, to injure the house that misrepresents, for the public will not be imposed upon long. C. ('. Shayne, the great fur manufacturer, who is himself a liberal advertiser, says A. T. Stewart built up a name and fortune by adhering to strict business principles. He never deceived the public. Me advertised facts. The public had confidence in his integrity, and when he made an announcement flocked to his store year after year, knowing that they would not be deceived. 1 lis great success was the reward of honest dealing. It is to be regretted that many of the merchants of to-day do not adhere to the honest rule of advertising facts. Their idea is to insert any kind of an advertisement that will draw a crowd, and this kind of advertising soon destroys public confidence. Tin-: Art ok Rkadixc;.?Here is a short sermon and a timely one, which we cull from the New York J'WcmanJournal: To teach children to read without at the same time teachingthem the principles and practice of Christian morality, is to spread a table covered with good and poisonous food and to leave tliem to ieeci or to injure iiiemsolves as they choose. An examination of the kind of literature read by the majority of people, yonii}? and old, who have acquired the art of reading, is sufficient to show that a "little learning is a dangerous thing." Police Cazctti'x till the news stands and are eagerly bought by mobs of men and boys who have learned to read, but not how to utilize their knowledge to their own advantage. The Volice (Uizette is one of those sheets, the proprietor of which has become rich in presenting vice to the public in an appetizing form ; yet it is read by men, women and children. Xo barber shop can afford to be without it. Its coarse prints stare from the news-stands at all railroad stations. Its poison is spread everywhere. There are other sheets more insidious. They have immense circulation. They ex I I cite the imagination, confuse the memory, i distort life; but they are read nevertheless; I and in some families they form the only ; reading matter. A good book is never read, ! for these people have not been taught to J choose good books. They have been taught j to read. ; The art of reading has come to be regardI ed as a life preserver, with which anybody can venture into the sea of life and be saved. It is sufficient for salvation, says popular opinion, without Christianity or morality! i The world is old; but this is the first century ! of its existence that sane men have held j that the art of reading can save society | from dissolution. , How Ideas Come.?A certain lawyer justifies his net hobby, which is carpenter work, not merely by the healthy relaxation of nervous tensions and exercise of muscle that it brings him, but chiefly because he work* out his legal problems, plane in hand. Old law reading comes back to him then, out ol the way precedents recur to the mind, the very text of the law book is never so clearly before him as then. He has a glimpse of the volume and the page, and the very part of the page on which is some needed citation which he would otherwise have long to seek. ic it nniv nimnnfv whioh works when he is half-engrossed with the affairs of his handicraft. ' >r;ginal thoughts arise and ingeniou uo vices; clever combinations take shape of themselves. The case works itsell out, and mental labor is only pleasurable exertion, just as his amateur handiwork is. Hawthorne composed walking. Musicians are seized with ideas, and modern playwrights seize upon others' ideas, at the most unexpected moment. Business men have been known to depend upon their meditation, at dead of night, for sound review ol the present, and forecast upon which they base their plans. When we are hurried, we long for rest, to "think over things" and decide rationally; but, relieved from pressure, we "think of nothing at all." Comes the moment for action, we settle in three seconds the confusion of days, and, for good or ill results, our plans are at least clear. What is needed is not time nor will, but rather the favorable moment when there i* harmony. Then, like the electric message, thought is swift and sure. The idea which we have Ions; waited for arrives, not as the certain result of earnest thought, but as the reward of thought, just as honorable fame is the reward of noble deeds, but not the certain result of them.?Boxton Courier. IT r xr; ox Cr iut msta xt i a l K v i d exck.? In 1.H42 a gentleman on his way to Hull was robbed by a highwayman. He stopped at the next inn, and in describing his loss, stated that he always marked his coins, Shortly after retiring to a private parlor lie was waited on by the landlord, who informed him that he had heard of his (the traveler's) adventure, asked the time of the robbery, and said he suspected his hostler, wht of late had had plenty of money. Continuing, lie said that shortly before, he had senl the hostler to change a guinea, who return ed after dark, saying he could not change it The landlord noticed the coin was not the one he gave hini, but berore no nearet 01 tm robbery he had paid it to a countryman lie suggested that the hostler, who was ther asleep under the influence of liquor, b( searched, which being done, the market coins, minus one, were found in his pockets lie was tried and hanged, but years after ward the landlord, being at the point o death, confessed he did the robbery, man aging to reach his inn by a short cut, ant having paid out one of the coinS before find ing they were marked, he took advantagt of an errand he had sent the hostler on ant his drunken condition to place the market coin in his pockets, end the evidence of tin countrymen hang'' i him. Tin-: Bottom of tiik Lakk Fkm. Oct.? ltetl Fish Lake, aboveSawtooth City, on the summitof the Sawtooth rangeof mountains in the Wood river region, Idaho, hasdroppec through the bottom. The lake had an area of seven miles, and was many fathoms ii: depth. It was on the summit of one of tlu peaks of the range, some 11,001) feet eleva tion above the sea, and surrounded by hcavj timber, which rendered it a delightful place of resort in summer, for camping, fishing and boating parties. The lake has been there since the white man has known the country, but lately the bottom fell out. The country formation is granite and limestone and an immense fissure has opened, whether caused by separation or settling of the earth's surface or from volcanic action is no! known. At present, the bed of the lake i> dry, and presents the appearance of a deej gorgeor valley, on the summitof the mountains. This lake has always contained millions of red fish, and was a favorite resorl for bear, cleer and other game. Where the fish went to is as much a mystery as where the water went. Popular Proverbs.?lieware of false prophets and patent toothache drops. Experience is a high-grade school?course thorough?tuition free?but incidental expenses enormous. Look not upon the horse-race and monkey not with the pool seller, for it is not wisetr bet unless you can win. Try not to guy the stranger who sojourneth in thy land, and seemeth meek and sad, for of such are three carde monte men made, A wise woman will not light the tire with kerosine, but will invite the servant girl, to whom she owes three months' wages, tc do the same. If a man smites thee 011 thy right cheek, ' turn also to him thy left cheek, and peradj venture thou canst, with great ease, plant a I kick that will cause him to become discouraged and repent of his folly. The young man whodrinketh too copiously of firewater and trieth to "run a town," will surely come to grief, when in the fullness of time, he hath everlastingly ham mereu mestunuorn nmesioue. RgBT Emory Storrs, the reparteeist, tolls a story of a man who bought a bill of good.for The firm being suspicious of t hoi r customer put $o()0on their usual prices. The customer could only raise which was the regular rate, the rest being in excess. lie said he would give his note for the remainder, and they took it. Then he said he wa.in the habit of receiving a present on makJ ingsolargea bill. They gave hima necktie, i He bitterly objected to such a mean little j present. The proprietors then concluded to ! present him with his note for the $300. He j took it with a look of cunning, and then said: "Mr. Alexanders, I think 1 will pre! for the necktie, if it's just the same to you." Postar.-C'aKi) E'rniUKTTi:.?Postal-card i etiquette is elucidated by the New York Sun j which says: "Postal-cards should never contain anything which tends to disclose to a I third party the personal relations between the writer and recipient. 'Dear (ieorge,' 'My dear Wife,' 'Yours truly,' 'Affectionately yours,'all do this to a greater or less extent, and should therefore never be used on postal-cards. The best rule to observe } is: Simply write your message, and if you are intimate with the person addressed, sign your initials, otherwise your full i 11111111*." I - ! Tho weight of any bar of wrought iron | may bo found by these rules: Flat and j square iron?multiply the area of the end in inches by the length in feet, and this ! product, by the constant number the i quotient is the weight in pounds. Round iron?multiply the square of the diameter | in inches by the length in feet, and the i product by the constant i\('>l, the quotient is ! tin* weight in pounds. ; It is a truth awaiting full recognition I that the actual learning how to use the hands dexterously and accurately, is a positive gain to the mental faculties. The trained eye and the trained hand are the best preparation for the trained thought. They give the first idea of system, order, accuracy and the effective carrying out of a plan. ! ? wgvapfaiul f cjnutmciit, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN BUTLER, fiOVKRNOlt OF MASSACHUSETTS. Few men in the Union have gained more notoriety by their connection with the stir. ring scenes through which our country has passed during the last twenty years than Benjamin Franklin Butler, Governor of i Massachusetts, and the Democratic nominee for re-election to that position. He is a native of Xew Hampshire and was born on the 5th of November, 1818. He received a collegiate education, graduating from M'aterville College when he was twen. ty years of age. He read law, and on being admitted to the Bar, he began practice at 1 Lowell, Massachusetts. He soon arose to prominence in the legal profession, and at. tained a wide ^reputation as a successful criminal lawyer. ; His first entrance upon public life was in ! 1853, in which year he was elected a member of the House of Representatives. He ; was also a delegate to the Constitutional [ Convention of that State, in the same year. . In 1859 lie took his seat as a State Senator. His affiliations were with the Democratic party, and at this period of his public life lie was regarded by the ultra Southern wing of the party as their most faithful Northern ally. Nor did he disappoint them in their expectations, so far as bombastic action and empty words could go in exemplifying his adherence to the pro-slavery party of the Union. 1 le secured the position of delegate from Massachusetts to the National Democratic Convention held in Charleston in 1860. and on this occasion distinguished t himself by voting ">(5 times for Jefferson " Davis as worthy, the nomination for Presi] dent of the United States. In explanation , of this course he has recently said that he , supported Davis with the view of averting i the civil war which he then saw was im pending, without some conciliation to the ^ South, and he was willing to grant it, [ even to tin? nomination of the most prof nouneed State-rights and pro-slavery man - in the party?a man, too, upon whom he I thought all divisions of the party, North, " Soutli and West, woukkunite, thus securing ?i! .... nw, ijo. | Ills tfU'Ullllli wvn inc iiwiiniivt \ii 11iv iw1 publicans of the North and of the National > Whiff party,-which in the South was then beginning to dissolve; it becoming evident, even with the nomination of Bell, of. Ten nessee, and Everitt, of Massachusetts, that ; the honored old Whig party of the South, j modeled after the political creed of Henry L Clay, would have to soon align itself with i the Republicans of the North, or, to pre1 serve the "peculiar institution," in which its members had a common interest, go bodi[ ly over to the Democratic ranks. Looking \ back over the events of the twenty-three years that have elapsed since the stormy > scenes in the fruitless Convention at Chari leston, Governor Butler's explanation may > be said to have the merit of plausibility, | if his political ken foresaw these things J then as they may be now described; though ] it will hardly be gainsayed that if Butler's i conciliating and compromise policy in the Charleston Convention had prevailed, it ; would only have delayed the evil day for a ' bare presidential term. As events have ; proved, both sections of the coftntry were only too willing for an arbitrament by arms, though the crisis was hastened by the sue' cess of the Republican party in that memorable canvass. Here the services of "Mr. Butler, of Massachusetts," to the National Democratic party ceased for the time. To the conster nation of .the parlor soldiers of the South, who expected to tight the battles of the " | country before breakfast and return home ' victorious for early dinner, no sooner was | the tocsin of war sounded than their Massa, chusetts champion, to whom they looked at 1! least for moral encouragement, donned his j war paint and declared that "the Union *: must be preserved." And as "one renegade is worse than ten Turks" so did Butler prove . to bo the most inveterate foe to the South. Political influence and position had much to do with military promotion in the Union army, as was lamentably shown to be the j case at our own doors, and Jiutler conimeni ced his military career in March, 1861, as a ! Brigadier-General. In the following month . j he was commissioned a Major-General, and ?| he served throughout the war. ' I lis record as a soldier does not place him ' i alongside of the white plumed Bayard, nor ,1 as a miItnry strategist will his achievements .! compare with those of a Wellington or a Na;! poleon. But as a satrap or a military ty! rant, clothed with "a little brief authority," | he was a decided success. 1 Ie was first as| signed to duty at Baltimore, and afterwards ,! at Fortress Monroe. In 1802, in connection with the naval forces under Farragut, lie assisted in the capture of New Orleans, of which he was afterwards military governor. He held this position until some time in 1 SOB, and it was while exercising his prerogatives as military governor of the rebel i creole city, that he committed acts himself j or permitted the commission of them, that will hand his name down to posterity as an j execrable tyrant and a being lacking the ! essential (jimmies 01 n uu niauiiuvu, uu muiter how contrite he may hereafter become, or how penitently lie may confess his faults to an outraged people, or how earnestly he may seek forgiveness from that Power before which nations tremble. The public : hanging of poor young Mumford, by the j mere verbal order of Butler, on the day New Orleans fell, can never be forgotten, ' the offence of the victim of this minion of I military power being only derision of the American flag, which then was regarded by Southern men as the symbol of oppression \ and tyranny. Mumford was a young man, : impulsive, and indiscreet to rashness. He j derided the American flag when it took the place of the Confederate colors on the Custom House, not concealing his sentiments, which pervaded the entire population of the fallen city, and for his indiscretion he was consigned by Butler to an ignominous death without an hour's preparation! But that act, by which a human life was wantonly sacrinceu, wouia paie m msiguiucance, by the issuing of the following ukase, which gained for its author the distinction of "Beast," an appellation which clung to him for many years thereafter: Headquarters, Department of the Gulf, New Orleans, May 15, 1862. As officers and soldiers of the United States have been subject to repeated insults from women calling themselves ladies of New Orleans, in return for the most scrupulous non-interference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered hereafter, when any female shall, by mere (feature or movement, insult or show contempt for any officers or soldiers of the United States, she a hall be regarded and held liable to be treated a* a woman about town plying her vocation. By command of Maj. Gen. Butler. George C. Strong, A. A. G. During his control in New Orleans, thieving and robbery held high carnival. According to the accounts of the day, and they have since been verified, nearly every house in the city was pillaged and robbed of its contents of plate, paintings, pianos, valuable bric-a-brac, and, in fact, all portable articles, from cellar, pantry, closet, parlor and attic, not even common service of table ware being spared. It was then alleged that Butler authorized, or at least permitted this wholesale robbery, sharing in its profits, by which alone he amassed a fortune. He now claims that he endeavored to prevent the thieving,and had no sympathy with it; but so intimately did he seem to be connected with these acts of robbery, that he acquired another appellation as illustrative of his instincts, and "Spoons" was long inseparably connected with his name. These terms, however, are seldom applied to him now. The spirit of reconciliation has even reached the point that the people of the South are willing to include Butler in the social amnesty extended to their late Northern enemies. In 1803, Butler was removed from New Orleans, and his command operated in Virginia and North Carolina. In 1804 he made an unsuccessful attack on Petersburg, and in the latter part of the same year, after a failure to capture Fort Fisher, he was relieved of his command. He was elected to Congress as a Republican in 1860, and re-elected to the Forty-first, Forty-second and Forty third Congresses. Beaten as a candidate for the Forty-fourth, he was elected to the Forty-fifth. After the expiration of this term lie devoted himself to his profession, with occasional deviations into politics, unsuccessfully seeking the Republican nomination for Governor. In the last Guberaa torial canvass, he was the nominee of the parties in that State opposed to Republican ism, and was elected. He was nominated for re-election by the recent Democratic Convention, and will be supported by that party as well as all the other parties in the State antagonistic to the Republicans. This will probably secure his re-election. BEAST TAMING. Falmali, the celebrated tamer of wild beasts, declares that there is no empirical receipt for beast-taming, and that the great secret is, fear nothing. No doubt, it is to a great extent a matter of nervous organization ; but the animals are probably also subdued by deprivation of sleep, no food, and by the administration of lowering drugs. And herein, in our opinion, constitutes the difference between the sportsman who boldly seeks his carnivorous opponent in its native haunts, and him who seeks to further subjugate an already half-broken-in animal. It seems that the hyena is the least intelligent and most irreclaimable of all the carnivora; the leopard, the most affectionate and tractable; while the Cape lion is in this respect superior to his congenor of the Sahara and Senegal. Individuals of the same species, however, show great differences in disposition. The lion is most eusilv tamed between three and four years old, while his character is, so to speak, in process of development. The young lion retains his infantine sportiveness, enjoying a game or a roll on the floor up to six years old, but after that age becomes serious and saturine. Care as to ventilation and cleanliness is much required forthe health of the animals, which are more liable to suffer from heat than from cold. The lion refuses mutton, goat's flesh, cat and dog, prefers veal and beef, but will accept fowl, rabbit and horse. The tiger, wolf and hyena are less fastidious. and the latter prefers its meat "high black bears eat bread, meat and fruit, and can last for a week without inconvenience. All the great carnivora have a passion for milk. Though the wild animals will breed pretty freely in captivity, Falmali's experience was that the young are never vigorous or healthy; and of eighty lion whelps born in his menagerie, we are surprised to learn that one survived its third or fourth year. In most of the feline tribe, the maternal instinct requires to be assisted by a curious precaution?the total exclusion of light from the mother and cubs during the first nine or ten days of their existence; otherwise these fierce matrons would reverse the order of nature, by devouring instead of nourishing their young. According to the authority quoted, an adult tiger is the most expensive of the carnivora, costing six thousand francs, but as much or more, maybe given for a chimpanzee. The lion costs an equal sum ; but the lioness may be had from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred francs. The price of jaguars varies from one to two thousand francs; that of Java panthers, from two thousand to three thousand; and of lynxes, from six to eight hundred ; while leopards are sold for twelve hundred francs per pair. Wolves may be bad at a niucn cneaper raie; auu hyenas from sixty to one hundred francs: but in Africa the latter may be purchased as low as a franc.?Chambers' Journal. Original Home of the Horse.?There is no doubt that the original home of the horse is not Europe, but Central Asia; for since the horse in its natural state depends upon grass for nourishment and tieetness for its weapon, it could not in the beginning have thriven and multiplied in the thick forest-grown territory of Europe. Much rather should its place of propagation be sought in those steppes where it still roams about in a wild state. Here, too, arose the first nations of riders of which we have historic knowledge, the Mongolians and the Turks, whose existence even at this day is as if it were combined with that of the horse. From these regions the horse spread in all directions, especially into the steppes of southern and southeastern Russia and into Thrace, until it finally found entrance into the other parts Europe, but not until atter the immigration of the people. This assumption is, at least, strongly favored by the fact that the farther a district of Europe is from those Asiatic steppes, i. e., from the orignal home of the horse, the later does the tamed horse seem to have made its historic appearance in it. The supposition is further confirmed by the fact that horse raising among almost every tribe appears as an art derived from neighboring tribes in the East or Northeast. Even in Homer the ox appears exclusively as the draught animal in land operations at home and in the field, while the horse was used for purposes of war only. Its employment in military operations was determined by swiftness alone. That the value of the horse must originally have depended on its fleetness can easily be inferred from the name which is repeated in all the branches of the Indo-European language, and signifies nearly "hastening" "quick." The same fact is exemplified by the description of the oldest poets, who, next to its courage, speak most of its swiftness.?Popular Science Monthly.