Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j 31 it $nbcj!citbtnf Jfantilg ftcfospapcr i Jfor fjic promotion of fjic political, Social, Sgriniltural atiir Commercial interests of fjjc Sonflj. ] TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 30. YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 29,1884. 1STO. 22. Original fuettg. Written for the YorkvlIIe Enquirer. REASON AND GOD. i ll BY JNGOMAB. I asked of Reason to tell me if A God there be in the starry dome, And if those stars which so brightly shine Of their volition did come alone: I asked if Sun which illumes the day, And silv'ry Moon which lights up the night, Doth of themselves swing around in space, And whence derive they their brilliant light: If they primordial did themselves evolve From out of nothing, to pray explain How something comes from out of nothing, And if to nothing they'll go again. If ex nihilo nihil fit, to state By what process-ratiocination Come lana and monntains, lakes and mighty oceans, Which mankind call the work of the Creation. My son, quoth Reason, the truth to tell I nothing know about Creation, I can't explain what none comprehend, And can indulge but in speailation; But oompt of ages I've noted well, And if some Jew say there is no God, They are but few 'mong the mighty many, For soul of man cries for living Crod! Behold the spheres which revolve in space And gravitate to their own center, Gravitation's laws will not explain Why thus they're held,?an All-Wise Mentor Most surely guides and controls their motions, For thus*they're swung since cosmology, And while them I study and do admire, I never pay them cosmolotry. The larger bodies, by gravitation, Would draw the smaller in their embrace, And thus collision, or annihilation, My son, most surely would then take place: And for existence?the vital germ Most surelv rests with Infinity, So in thy folly, my son, be wise,? True wisdom lies in simplicity. Naught can I tell of this vast Creation,? Not what I touch, handle, feel and see; t And O, believe not the few who tell you I That I do teach Infidelity. If Heaven or Hell in truth there be not, And dissolution erewhile takes place, If annihilation then befalls you, 'Twill be the fate of all human race; But, if Heaven and Hell in truth exist, My son, 'tis wisdom to follow those Who in all ages have taught and believed In place of joys and in place of woes. The truly wise will take compt of ages, And heed not eddies along their banks, 1 1 ? 1?* OrtiMfc. KAVA fmrolorl Diu tread uiu ruau iuui tuo ounuo umu And thus attain their celestial ranks. My stream's polluted at many crossings By wolves who cry out to little lambs, Who say, lo, here! and behold, lo, there! But their frothy teachings are delusive shams. They cannot tell how a little acorn In time is changed to a large oak tree, Nor when small acorns are fed to swine How changed to flesh those same acorns be: They cannot tell why those same acorns (And noi^B can know but the living God), When sown in ground will make limb and leaves, When fed to swine will make flesh and blood! r Behold, my son, yon bright field of clover; Note swine, and kine, sheep and feathery geese, All browse and fatten on that same clover,? Result?hair, bristles, feathers, wooly fleece! I can't explain what all eat alike A different flavor should give to meat, Nor why hoofs and horns on some should grow, On others naily web-footed feet; And so, my son, heed not idle pratings Of those who talk to you in my name, For much they say is but idle ravings, And to my cheek they bring blush of shame. I cannot wrestle with things infinite,? They're more than ocean or mighty flood: Thev're dark?mysterious?beyond*my reckon " ing, But I believe in a Living God.' ' Columbia, S. C., May, 1884. fbc Mler. tiTe fokger's fate. The hill white pine-trees in front of the old fashioned red brick house were motionless in the balmy air; the sunshine lay in bright gleams across the piazza floor, and far off ou the meadows the voice of the reapers floated down like sounds in a dream to the ear of Alice Cary as she sat in the doorway, her work lying idle in her lap and her eyes fixed on the clear blue sky. Lovely eyes they were, too; soft, large, and as blue as the sky above her; fringed with long golden lashes that almost swept her cheek. 1 "Now, don't look off into vacancy so provokingly, Alice," said a tall, handsome man who was leaning against one of the columns of the piazza; "do be a little better natured to a fellow who has driven all the way out of town this broiling day, just to catch a look from your bright eyes." Alice turned her head and smiled, but it was pla;u she was thinking of somethingelse. "How do you like my ponies, Alice?" pursued her companion. "I bought them with a special eye to your preferences. See them toss their heads. I tell you there's blood there." lirni. ~ ^ 5? ?a*\1 J /\d AT? nn " a ney art: vcrj picitv, icpncu au^c. "Very pretty? Is that all you have to say ? Alice, what ails you to-day ? I don't believe you cure half as much as you say. Let me see one of your old smiles; now do, or I shall fancy that you haven't forgotten your old beau,* Frank Ennis. I met him just below the turn of the road as I drove over; didn't stop to speak, however. By the way, Alice, I've done a pretty smart stroke of business to-day that I think will put Frank Ennis effectually down for the present." "What do mean, Charlie?" said Alice, suddenly rousing herself from her temporary abstraction. "I mean that we took the mortgage on the old Bell place into our own hands a week ago and I foreclosed yesterday at 10 o'clock. Just an hour after it became due." v "Foreclosed it?" W "Yes; and I defy Mr. Ennis to help him" self. Of course he had no idea of it, as I kept it a secret. I have always wanted a chance to break Frank Ennis' pride and fortune has favored me. I should not wonder if he were en route this moment to give directions to that old lawyer of his, quite unconscious the Bell place must go, for it will be impossible for him to raise the money at so short a notice, and, in addition, it won't be a bad arrangement for me pecuniarily speaking." But Alice had risen from her seat with reddened cheeks and eyes that were literally wells of angry fire. "Charlie Gerard, you are not in earnest?" F "Never more so in my life, my dear." "You would not stoop to such a dlshonororable, underhand proceeding, surely ?" "Not at all dishonorable, Alice, only a trick of the trade. To be sure it is not usually done, but I would stretch a point or two to make Frank Ennis feel my power." "Despicable, base," said Alice, wringing her hands passionately, "cnarlie, l never would have believed this of you." "Scold away, darling," said Charlie, caressingly touching the braids of golden hair as you might pet a child. "You've no idea how pretty you look with your cheeks blazing and those great eyes dilated. I like to see you get excited." "If it is really so, Charlie," said the girl eagerly, "go immediately and undo the evil work. Do not let Frank Ennis suffer for a mere legal technicality ; remember the place is his home?his all. Hasten back ' to the city, in Heaven's name !" "Never," said Charlie decidedly, and with an almost demoniac light in his eyes. "I tell you, Alice, I hate that man, and I will not bate my hold on him." "Then, Charlie," said Alice calmly, "our engagement is at an end. I will never marry a man who has taught me todespise him." "Now, my darling, don't talk so," said Charlie Gerard coaxingly ; "you know very well that you love me?that you are my affianced wife. Tell me the truth now, my own, that you only want to tease me." He would have passed his arm around her waist, but she drew back with dignity. "I might have loved you once, Charlie, or fancied that I did, but your own words have dispelled the illusion. Hereafter you are no more to me than the merest stranger." Charlie's handsome brow darkened. "Are you serious, Alice Cary ?" "I am." "And you really dismiss me from youi presence ?" "I do." "Very well; I accept the dismissal; re turn to your first love, if you choose ; bul remember rav fickle fair one, that you car not smile me back again when you are wea ried of playing the coquette. Make youi selection now or never." "It is made ; good evening, Mr. Gerard/ said Alice, calmly, and quietly she stooc1 there, her white dress fluttering in the breeze, while Charlie twitched the reins o his splendid ponies from the post and sprang into his carriage, driving off like a whirl wind. Brave little Alice. She was true to her self, to her womanhood and even at the time when Frank Ennis lost his ancestra patrimony he gained a wife who had learned to love him for himself alone. It was f ray of hope in the darkness, and with f Eroud ana brave heart he set to work te uild up the fallen fabric of his fortune once more. "Quite romantic, upon my word," sneerec Charlie Gerard, as he read the marriage o: ' - A l?nA Poi?fT in nQXI'CnO. rraiiK. imjiiis tinu ante ill viiv/ iiv pers. "As they could afford to marry But," he added between his teeth, "I could sell myself body and soul to the evil one tc dash that man's cup of happiness to the ground." Twenty years had wrought but little change in the beauty of Alice Gary, the peach-blossom color of girlhood had giver place to a softer rose on her cheek, but Alice was lovely still as she stood in the frost\ December twilight, shading her eyes with one jeweled hand, while the other pushed aside the crimson trails of the frost-touched vines which hung over the piazza pillars looking for her husband. Ah, there was nc loving eye to watch for Charlie Gerard's erring footsteps. At length he came, welcomed home by the glow of firelight and the sunny voices ol children and the peaceful calm of Alice's smile. The world called Frank Ennis lucky because he had prospered exceedingly in the paths of commerce; but what would the world have said could it have peeped in his bright home circle ? There must be yet an undiscovered word to express such happiness. "But, Frank, something has annoyed you; you look grave and thoughtful;" said Mrs, Ennis, when at length the noisy crew 01 little ones had been piloted to bed and husband and wife were sitting together. Frank in a velvet easy chair, and Alice on a low ottoman beside him, her cheek resting on his knee, as she had been used to sit in the days of her bridehood. "You are a veritable witch, Alice," said Frank, laughing. "I believe you know every thought that crosses my mind. Yes, dearest, I have been excessively annoyed. "Tell me about it, Frank ; you know you never have any secrets from me." She put her little hand caressingly into his; he stopped and kissed the diamond-sparkling fingers. "I have an opportunity, Alice to pay ofl a very old debt?to pay it off with interest, What do you advise?" "Don't talk in riddles, you provoking fellow; speak plainly or I shall never be able to comprehend you," said Mrs. Ennis. "Listen; then, my dear wife," said Frank, suddenly growing grave, almost stern in his manner. "You know that I have been in theTiabit of depositing from time to time any unappropriated sums of money in a New York bank. Well, I had occasion not long since to send for a supply; it was duly forwarded to-day with a notice that I had slightly overdrawn my account. I knew this to be impossible, as the balance lying there was nearly ten thousand dollars and my order was but for five. On examining the statement of accounts sent on with the funds I discovered that a check for five thousand dollars, bearing my signature, had been presented and cashed some six months previously. Now, I never heard of the thing nor signed the check." "Well?" said Alice, her lips apart and her eyes fixed earnestly on her husband's grave face. "The name of the man who presented the check?this forged check, remember?was Charlie Girard." Alice grew pale and clasped her hands tightly together. "Good-heavens, Frank, can this thin? be nossible ?" "Not merely possible, but true. A fit winding up of his career of recklessness and dissipation." "But, Frank, what measures have you taken?" asked Alice, who seemed scarcely able to realize the fraud. "None, as yet, but at the earliest practicable hour to-morrow morning I shall set the officers of the law upon the track of this now detected felon." "What is the consequence, Frank?" "Imprisonment for life," was the stern answer. Alice trembled and half opened her lips, but there was no gleam of encouragement in the dark brow of her husband. "Oh, Frank, dear Frank, to think that I might have been the wife of this man." Mr. Ennis passed his hand fondly over his wife's hair and drew her closer to him, as if he would avert the very thought of danger from her. "If vou nlease. ma'am." said the servant, putting his head in at the door, "would you step into the hall a minute? The housekeeper wants to speak a word with you." Mrs. Ennis arose and quietly passed into the hall. Frank remained in his old position, gazing into the fire with set teeth and corrugated brow; in a moment his wife returned with a white, shocked face. "Frank, husband, 1 have a sad story to tell you. The servants have brought in a poor, foot-sore creature, wearied with travel, and I fear, on the verge of fever, lie fell on the wayside a little way below, and Bruce found him as he came back from stabling your horses; he is worn to a skeleton with fatigue and privation. Shall we take him in?" "Certainly," said Mr. Ennis, rousing himself with an effort from the train of thought in which he had been well nigh absorbed; "letthe servants see that hehasevery care." "But, Frank, dearest," pleaded the wife, looking with grieved, terrified eyes, into his own, "will you come and see him? We have laid him on the sofa in the ante-room.'1 "II you wish it, my dear, certainly," said Mr. Ennis. Why, what is the matter, i;iro n lnof9? )UU IICUIUIU Ali\%s <4 1V.UI "Oh my husband, "murmured Alice, pausing as their feet touched the threshold of the door, "only remember the Bible's words. 'Blessed are the merciful for they shall ob tain mercy.'" Frank Ennis had not time to ask what hei words meant ere he found himself in the ante-room, from which the servants had all been dismissed. Upon the sofa lay a wildeyed man with dusky garb and bleeding feet, his clothes in tatters and his face shadowed by a bearuot several uaysgrowin As Mr. Ennis approached he gave a fainl cry, and tried to spring from the sofa, but weakness and coming sickness overcame him, and he sank back on the couch, cover ing his face with his thin hands, and as he did so, Mr. Ennis saw that it was his dead liest foe, Charlie Gerard. "Have they come to arrest me?" shriek ed the half delirious creature. "I have flee; long but was not fast enough for them. J am ill, I think I am ^oing to die, but sent him away, don't 1 t him see me. I knew il would be detecteei, but I thought I coulc replace the money before he found it out I did not think that it would all be swal lowed up in that miserable speculation. I; it he, or only another troubled vision ?" "It is I, Charles Gerard," returned Frank coldly. What have you to say for yourself ?' "I can say nothing. I have no excuse tc plead, but for God's sake do not deliver me into the hands of the law. I would have fleel beyonel its reach, but you see how weat I am, have mercy on me. Oh, Frank En nis have mercy for her sake. I shal soon be beyond*the reach of earthly aid oi pardon." His piteously imploring voice almost ab ject in its entreaty?jarred on Ennis' ear : he turned to Alice, who stood silently at his sh side. ar "Allice, if I pursue the plans I had ar- lo ranged the officers of justice will be here at t noon to-morrow, if not " hs i "But you will not, dearest Frank," cried sti his wife, whose quick eye had detected the ve i* relenting change in his face "you will, for- SI give as we ourselves hope one day to be ol ' forgiven; for my sake, dear love; for your to I sweet sake and Heaven's love." te; i Charles Gerard knew that he was safe, m f The next morning Mr. Ennis entered the w ; darkened room where lay the rival of his N - youth, the dogging enemy of riper years, co The dim eyes of the sick man turned wist fully toward him as the feeble hand was m } stretched out. at I "Do not fear, Charlie," said Frank, en- th couragingly. I have sent a letter to the th t bank enclosing the amount by which my ac- sh i count was overdrawn. Rest in peace for no of ) act of mine shall ever disturb your safety." ) A sudden flush mounted to the wan cheek ga where health's rosy tide would never man- ed I tie more. pa f "It is most generous, noble of you, Ennis, ry and I feel accutely how little it is deserv. ed; no revenge could cut to my heart like pi I this, I shall not live long but it would have ft, > been hard to end my days in a prison cell, th ? Alice?for I may call you once more by the fr< old sweet name of our youth?I am glad se 5 you married Frank, he is worthy of you ; I m . novor wfltj " f h t A few days after he died, holding with ju ? his last grasp Frank Ennis' hand, and only ga r relaxing the chill pressure when at last his yc i soul passed out into the great unknown, w< [ where neither friendship nor enmity could bl I follow him. nc ( The five thousand dollars?ueed we say > it??were missed, but in its stead there 3 came a deep peace far more precious to nc Frank and Alice than the gold of Ophir or m 3 the diamonds from Golconda. The sun of f Charles Gerard's life had not gone down up- it* 3 on their wrath. sb OUTOF PITY. > She was justseventeen ; the very youngest "i - little bride that any one ever remembered 5 coming to reign at Arnwood Towersthe gc sweetest, daintiest little Lady Fielding that the country had ever welcomed. th ! To herself it was all like a dream, it had ed come so fast; it seemed as if all her life had h? t lived itself in those six months; the leaving I 1 ? ' --S r..iU nf her Engiisn scnooi ana going out 10 nei mui- ^ : er's plantation in Ceylon, so proud to be his ou r housekeeper and compauion ; the strange 1 brief life on the up-country coffee estate, dr ) Then the young English stranger who passed nj through Lindoola, in his rather vague wan- te ^ derings for adventure's sake, and who was pr " received and entertained at Holme Harcourt bl j with the delightful open-handed hospitality wl of the colonies. li? 1 And then the awful night when the sud- it. ' den, terrible stroke of cholera left her rath- hi ! erless, and lifeseemedone great blank void; ' and the chaplain's wife had been good to her nc ' and kept her from dying in despair; and hi f Sir Harry Fielding had been still more good; vv; and then?she was resting her poor little or- tif phaned head on a heart that was kind and bt true as her own father's, and a strong arm on > was close around her slender waist, and the th voice she liked alone to hear of all the voices pr i around her was telling her she should never ha l know another sorrow that he could guard cl< i her from. He seemed the only real thing co in all that dream-time; the sad past and to the present that was so happy, but just as bl; unlike reality. Was it really herself, sim- be pie little Nesta Harcourt, that people were th fussing over and petting and welcoming sti home as if she had been a royal princess? br Perhaps it was as well she could not real- ed ize it or her head might have been turned, te Why, had the whole week Harry and she A were spending with his sister, Mrs. Mostyn, as to present Nesta to the country side, been ha J -e c?x?r,c A i one rounu 01 lesuvmes ui wiuuu sue w<io ? the queen ? This evening they had all . driven to a grand concert in the county town sh to hear a famous singer; and Nesta, in her be wonderful golden satin gown, rich with em- th i broidery and lace, with her eyes outshining ur the diamonds on her white neck and her lef ' cheek flushed with its pretty shy pink, had wi ' been an attraction only second to the queen re of song herself. She felt a little weary with th i the excitement and the happiness now that fe< - they had reached home and were having ha supper in the great hall, for the concert had sli > forced them to dine rather earlier than usual, sh I The house was crowded with guests and sti they were all vehemently declaring thai; the night was hardly begun yet, and they meant r? to finish it with a few games. The ftrni- Sli turein the blub drawing-room was being op hastily removed and Nesta's heart sank at ha ; the thought of further exertion ; her head ot i ached and she was worn out. She would m slip away quietly to bed and leave Harry to wi make her excuse to Eleanor. Where was an . Harry, by the way ? She had not seen him since they went to supper, and he and that th beautiful Miss Trafford were talking togeth- an | er in the doorway. A hasty search through m the nearest rooms had no result, and Nesta be stopped by an open door to glance in at the it half-cleared drawing-room. ry Two portly dowagers wero deep in con- sti versation. their heads bent together behind r their fans'; but their voices arose above the vc music Eleanor was playing, and Nesta wj could not help hearing what they said. he "Gladys Trafford; yes, indeed!" cried ca , the black velvet gown to the purple bro- glj cade. "A very, very old love affair, that, F< , my dear. Pie and she were perfectly insep- sh , arable, and a most suitable match it would tii have been. The two oldest families in the wl , country; his equal in position and fortune, lo' Lord Stourbridge's estates are next to his, ne , you know, and Gladys is heiress to a great ou , part." ca , What made Nesta's heart give such a . leap, and her feet feel spell bound to the sa [ spot where she stood? Arnwood Towers di i was the only place near the Traffords. It . was as if her whole being were strained to sj( , hear the rest. She never thought of eavesdropping, poor child ; it was life-and-death rv . work to her. ar ; "And why didn't it come about?" asked j the purple brocade. sh ' "Heaven knows! A lovers' tiff, I sup- yc pose, or some rubbish. It's a thousand | pities! A lady Fielding has always been at an the head of the county society, and Gladys ' Traffor is just made for the position, with m her beauty and cleverness and talents. She tei has always been immensely popular. yC 1 "And who is the girl lie has married? hn . She seems a nice little thing enough." be > "Oh, a harmless sort of creature ; pink- i] and-white prettiness, nothing more. She to ! wasa planter's daughter in Ceylon, or somewhere, and he was staying with them when h . the father died. She was left quite friend; less and destitute, and he married her out yc | of pity. He was always a quixotic goose, lei Harry Fielding." yC r The spell was now off, and Nesta, white hi j as death, was hurrying up the stairs to her in , room. There was a little sofa In a sheltered se [ nook in the corridor, and there sat Harry? I t the missing Harry?and the woman he th . should have married. ed ! Nesta sped past, but as she fled she saw . Harry bend his head to kiss the beautiful dc . hand he was holding, and she heard his low murmur, "ii i nau oniy Known you years w . ago, things might have been so different!" W) [ On, on, till her own door closed behind her, nc [ and she gazed wildly round at the pretty orn- j0 11 aments that strewed her bower, as if she had so I i never seen them before. She Hung the dia- ife [ j monds from her throat and wrists as if they Co . j hurt her, and sank into a chair beside the aj ! i quaint old ebony table, leaning her bead to 31 its tangle of crisp brown hair down on her ]K ! folded arms. She did not shed a tear, but j ' t ; her brain seemed on fire. Beside her stood f0 > i the tall vase of rushes that Harry and she th ) i had gathered from the lake only yesterday, he ; j Wasn't it one hundred years ago?" s0 ; "Never another sorrow could he guard I her from?" so "Well, it was true; he couldn't help wi I this; It wasn't his fault, he had meant, to re do right; he had married her 'out of pity' when he loved another woman. It must, he pi her own fault, not his; yes, because she , was pink-and-whiteand nothing more ; and ti< e was not tall and stately and talentc id she ought to have known pity was ve, only it had seemed so like it!" "If he had known years ago things mij ive been so different." Might they i ill ? What if she were to go away tl ;ry night and never trouble him agai le had not a friend in the world except 1 d Brighton school-mistress; she would her and beg her take her in and let 1 ach the little children. And perhaps i ight die soon, and Harry could be nap ith the woman he had always Iov esta felt as if death wouldn't be long ming, she felt so ill now. She got up to fetch a time-table. Yes, 1 ail train passed through Middlehamp! one o'clock ; it was only twelve now, a ough she couldn't very well understa e puzzling figures, she thought it m Dp at the little station just the other s: the park. She drew her blotting-book to her and m to write fast. A big tear or two spla I down on the paper, but she wiped th> itiently away ; it most be clear, that H might read it. "They say you only married me fr +xr '! ufiia wrnf-ju "T micht, hftVft Clips' "J i "4V,VV ? ? ?-e?? o , my darling, but you were so good to at I never, never did. I can't make j se again ; but it is better for us never e each other any more, and perhaps ay die, and you can go back totnewom ey say you have always loved. I saw.\ st now when you kissed her hand a id things might have been so different >u had seen her years ago. Yes, tt ould have been different for us all. G ess you, my poor, good boy !?you w< >t to blame." She paused and looked up. "What shall I sign it ?" she said ; "I i >t his wife any more, for only love rea akes a marriage." Her eye fell on her little wedding rii J brightness scarcely tarnished yet. ? x>ped and pressed her lips to it, gent lemnly. "Oh, Harry?my Harry!" she whispen f it had only been love?not pity !" She rose and slipped off the golden sa iwn and put on a dark warm dress instei "I must even go away from him in 1 ings he gave me," she said, as she fast [ her long cloak with its silver clasps, iven't a single gown that was mine wt knew him. He has even dressed me i charity. Plis pity has been more gen is than other people's love." She opened the French window in ] essingroom and stepped out on the bal r, whence a flight of steps led down to; rrace below. She glanced back at 1 etty room, with its Japanese cabinets fi ue and white china, and the ebony tat here the letter to Harry lay, with 1 fht full upon it, so that he could not m Then she shut the casement sharply nd her and resolutely turned away. The moon was bright with a fitful brig iss?now almost as light as day, 11 dden behind hurrying clouds?that as bitterly cold. Nesta drew her clc jhtly around her, and tried to walk fi it she was desperately weary and coi ily stumble along. Somehow the way e little gate had never seemed so inco ehcnsibly long. Surely she could 1 ive missed her way? The moon and I 3uds were playing sucn pranas tnat c uld not be sure, and her heart had b( 0 full to notice all the turns. It was ack as Erebus now; a darkness that mij 1 felt. Nesta took a few steps forwa en stopped short, by some mysterious inct, just as the moon shone out clear a ight once more, its golden sparkles refle [ as by a thousand broken mirrorsin the \ r of the lake which slumbered at her fe strange, sharp pain shot through her he she saw the very rushes Harry and s id been gathering yesterday. Yesterda t housand years ago when she was hapj A wild thought flashed across her brai e had wished to die; would it not tter for Harry and herself, yes, and at other woman, too, if she were lyi ider those cold, smiling waters in a drea 5s sleep ? It wasouly a moment, her s< is too white and too brave for more ; s coiled with a start of horror; but, a e bank was worn and smooth ; her lit ^t slipped on the edge ; she threw out 1 aids to stop herself, but the frozen gr d through her fingers; there was c ort, sharp cry and a pale, sweet face 1 ill among the rushes in the moonlight It was dark and warm and deliciou stful when she knew anything aga ie heard Harry's low voice before she e^ iened her eyes, and felt his clasp of 1 md?Harry's hand clasp, there was her like it anywhere?and thought ust be heaven, and was glad she had dc ith earth, since this was so much bett d so she slept again. And when next she woke she knew tl e clouds she seemed to lie on, clouds s id billowy, were her own bed, nothi ore ethereal ; and she was aware it m earth still, but feltit did not matter sii would be so much like heaven, for II 's voice and Harry's hand were thi 11; and she slept again, smiling gently But the next time she woke the hand a lice were missing, and only Harry's ba ?a ,,ic.ikln in fko mnm hntrnnfl r:lit lO VISiUiV ill l*AV> iuuiil UV'JV41V?M?J Wi.w ? ? rself on her pillows. And as she rose s ught sight of herself in the long Psyc iiss opposite and started at the reflecth >r all her tangle of brown hair was < ort, and there was no pink and whitepr less now, only great dark eyes and a srn tiite face. And as she fell back on her f ws, half from surprise and half from wei ss, for she was very feeble, the bells bu t clear and sweet and mystical in aperf rol of exultant joy. "Christmas bells! Is it Christmas?" s id. "Why, it was November when ed!? And as Harry turned and hurried to 1 le, she smled up at him, and asked agaii "Christmas? Is it really Christmas, II ?" but he only bent to catch her in ms. She yielded to his kisses; then suddei e tried to push him from her. "Har ill must not!" she said. He saw the troubled look in her ey (1 knew that memory was coming back "Yes, I must," he said, "my litle darlii y blessing, my life! The doctorsays 1 ni 11 you all aboutit, for the worry will h iu more than the talking; and, oh! hov ive waited for this time to come! It 1 en one long nightmare since the mini heard you scream, and ran up just in tii see you sink." "Then it was you who found me? C arry!" "Yes, you must hear it all. I came ur room five minutes after you must ha ft, and there was the time-table open, a iur little note, bless it! (That tearspot! t of paper will never leave Harry Fie g's heart while he lives.) And so I J' t off for the station as hard as I could j had almost reached the park gate wli at cry came?off to the right?and I tu just in time." His voice broke and he bent his lie iwn to hers. "Nesta, it was a lie, a vile infamous 1 hoever told it. Gladys Traflford and 9re always dear old boy and girl friem (thing- more. I knew my cousin Wilfi ved ner, and I always thought she h methingto do with his going to Aust i, years ago. It was only that night 5 nfessed to me that they had been engag I these years and Wilfred always try! make a fortune for her sake. I told 1 >w I would soon put all that right, and tl scolded her for never having told me ! re, when I could have saved them both ese weary years of waiting. Nesta, !"? r face was hidden and she was sobbi ftly?'"you will never doubt me again "Never, never, never! not if you told : yourself! But, Plarry," in a whis] hiCh scarcely reached his ear, "did y ally marry me out of pity?" "Yes, my sweetheart?the very sincer ty for myself!" And Nesta never asked any more qu ms. n'i Ulisccllatteousi Reading. ^ot SHORT TALKS WITH THE BOYS. hat My son, I heard you speak of your fathei n ? the other day as "the old man," and of youi tier mother as "her highness." go What's the matter that you can't refer t( ler them as your father and mother? ihe Suppose your parents should speak of yoi pv as "the kid," or "the fly." You'd soon be ed. gin to think you were born into the wron^ in family. The son who is ashamed of hi; parents ought to be ashamed of himself, the Suppose their ways are old fashioned, ant ton their grammar a little off, and they don': ,nd feel like keeping up with the fashions of th( ,nd day? Not one father or mother in ten hat ust the advatages you enjoy. Forty or fiftj ide years ago they walked three or four miles tc a country school to pick up a little learning he- while now you are talking of going to col sh- lege. They began poor and have toiled em an(l labored and saved for their children ar. You just remember that things have great ly changed in this country. Years ago a cal om ico dress was seen at church far oftener thai jed a silk. Men went to meeting clad in home me spun. The rule in most houses was for tin <->hi lrlron ofonrl tin tn Oil f T'lio hiorcyf>?fr. niPf'Pi rou UWilU t?; VUbl AliV JJ/4VVV. to of pie went to father and mother, and chil , i dren were not allowed to sit up until 1( ,an o'clock at night, or to argue a question aftei rou the head of the family had decided it. md My boy, don't get any foolish notion; i if into your head. If your father is old anc iev gray and bent?if your mother is trembling [0Cl and weak and has no care for the frivoiltie; ere of this day, it is toil which has brough these, days of hard work and nights full o anxiety tnat their children might be sparet am the same slavish life. Where they wor< lly blue-jeans you have broadcloth. When they ate johnnycake you have sweet cak< ng ana pie. Where their mode of life ant ;he forced economy prevented them from en ly joying society, amusements or books, jus ' think how you make the shillings fly, ant 1(j. what is offered to interest and amuse you * ' Now let's have a word to say about econo rrttT T'hnon nrVif o m An rr \7AI1 n nfl tin ii4J A wv'^a *J6AIW """""b %%?%% ?(j know that you want this, that and th< iu* other, and "want it bad." Up to the tim< en_ of the war if one of the boys of that daj uj had a dime to spend for Fourth of July, h< ien thought himself well fixed. The boys wan 3Uf about five dollars apiece nowadays, anc er_ that's all gone before noon. If we got a new book it was considered i ^j. great piece of extravagance. The lad win c had cash enough to walk into a panoramh t^e exhibition, buy a pair of skates, or treat him Ljj self to sweet-meats was looked upon bj in(j the rest of us a Jay Gould, jjg I'm not saying that you shouldn't hav< ^' money and use it, but right there is a vita ^ point. Be sure that you really need wha b you buy. Ask yourself if it will pay' Money is the wheels on which the work moves. Acquire the habit of throwing i 0 " after every novelty brought out and you'l Ik by and by have a second-hand museurc )ak and no cash to run it. ^ I dislike a stingy boy, but when I see i jld lad planking his nickels down at the desl {.0 of a savings bank I know that he is one o m_ the future men who is going to build oui 10^ railroads and do our wholesale business l^g There's a big difference between being stin |ne gy and being economical. The richest mei >gn of America are liberal in giving to church [ ? es, asylums and to the unfortunate, but thej never waste. They don't indulge in thif ' i or that simply because they have inonej jn^ enough to pay for it. n{[ Now, if you are about 15 years old you'vt * got a sneaKing i?ea into your neau mat iu : vu. a big thing to use an oath occasionally , / You never made a greater mistake ! It i: I true many men use more or less oaths, but J would like to have you find me one whc 9 isn't ashamed of it! It's a mean habit, foi ? ' it is a habit. 1 know you can point t( *'. the greatest men in the land and prove thai ^' they spit out oaths, but that's no reason whj r you should follow suit. There isn't a swear er in this country who doesn't feel a quiei ? satisfaction in sittingdown to converse witl [ a man whose language is clean and pure ,^e There's nothing manly in using an oath Swearing is about the first thing you heai .ij * from the lips of a fool or drunkard. Ever ' er a heathen can swear. Now, don't get the idea that I want yoi ne to be too good. The too good boy is a nul or* *-?/ ?/ ! Tia Knun f a Ka o n n n n-nl Kn f f li a\ | aaiitc. axe >vao uun. iu i6e?, J forgot to spike on the wings. Go to the cir *i cus ? Certainly! I know there are people Iin this world who look upon a circus as the ' next thing to a visit from old Satan himself but they ought to have lived forty yean ago. If you were my boy I'd walk you in show you every animal and curiosity, and then we'd take a reserved seat and see the circus. When a man has trained a horse 01 ' mule or dog to obey him with almost human intelligence he has proved to you the iaJ practical value of patience and persever?'t ance. Every shade of men will stop on the n? street to see a man lift, or to watch a jumpust ing-match. Then why deprive you of the lce sight of the performance of an atlilete, whe ar" has spent years to bring his strength and sre agility to perfection ? . Would I take you to the theatre ? To a good play?yes ; to a Buffalo Bill barn.storming hurrah?no. Five plays out oJ seven are healthy in sentiment, and point s Ij16 moral so plainly that even a child can catch !he on. I want my boy to rub against every day life a little while he is a boy, If he has the idea that a hunter's life is full of juicy bufj, fain steaks and victories over grizzlies I'm going to send him into the woods for a week * I to live on woodchuck meat, carry a cold in x his head and be jumped out of his boots the first time an owl hoots. If he asks for mon? t>? ?:? x? ki.? i..,f T hp A 111 tswl,,K tu Klvu 1L tw inUJj uuu J. iiiuii ' r to sit down of a Saturday night and see how he spent it, and show up some of his foolish bargains. If he wants to sail the bounding ier billow I know of a lake captain who will take hiiri on a trip from Detroit toSaginaw, jlF" and if he can't cure him in just one voyage ,11S nobody else need try. Sit down and talk to your boys as you would to your brother. Don't bulldoze bery> cause you happen to be his father and have the bulge on him. Argue and reason. Don'l es> expect to make assertions and have him swallow them as gospel truths unless you :1?> have backing. Teach him what to avoid ay and what to cultivate and turn him loose ur| for a while. If he seeks the good he has v' the right instincts ; if he runs afterthe bad, ias don't walk him into the wood-shed for a Jte pounding until you have asked yourself il lie doesn't come natural by that failing.? ^ M, Quad, in Detroit Free Press. How Senator Ewing Came to be to Called "Solitude."?The nicknaming ol <ve prominent men, particularly of those mixnd ing in politics, is practiced in America more, :ed perhaps, than in any other country, and, as Id- a rule, the recipient takes to it kindly. Thus List General Jackson was as well known as "Old ?o. Hickory" and more readily recognized than ien if called President Jackson. Senator Benm ton in his life-time was almost as well known as "Old Bullion," so called from his ;ad advocacy of a gold and silver currency and his inveterate opposition to banks and papei ie, money. The late Thomas Ewing, of Ohio, i I while a Senator in Congress, had his nickIs ; name of "Solitude," and it so stuck to him ed that even now, long after his death, the preiad fix is still given nira, to distinguish him ra- from his sou and namesake, General Tom >he Ewing. Senator Ewing made a speech in ;ed the United StatesSenate which fastened the ng "Solitude" upon him. It was during the ler national bank agitation, when the support len era of that institution were active in picbe turing the ruin that would come upon the all country if the bank's charter was not renewfor ed. Senator Ewing in debate spoke of the ng mechanic being out of work, and that the ?" busy hum of industry is heard not in this me the busy season of the year, and wound up ler with the assortion that "our canals are a oil solitude, our lakes but desert wastes of water." A number of Congressmen?several est of them Senators, and more than half ol them Democrats?made up a party to return es- to their homes by way of the New York canal. The West was then sending its pro duce to the East via lake and canal, and - the Congressional party found that the canal trade, if judged by the numberof boats met, was immense, and it was a standing joke with the Democratic members when a fleet l* of boats hove in sight, to call Mr. Ewing r from the cabin of the packet-boat to look at his "solitude." At the lower end of the ) canal there had been a break, and a large ; number of boats were usually in sight. Of i course, it was fun to see them and to point | - them out to the Ohio member, but the fun * was not 011 his side, nor to his liking. At i Rochester, just as the packet-boat landed, a freight boat was discharging cargo, and Mr. I Ewing and the other Congressmen were t lookers-on. By some accident, a hogshead i filled with molasses had its head burst in, I and the contents poured into the canal. An r Irish laborer standing near to Mr. Ewing, ) without knowing who he was, exclaimed: , "Jabers, mon, that must be solitudeswaten ed." The other Congressmen roared with I laughter, and Mr. Ewing was forced to join . them. The Democratic members told the - joke, and it got into the newspapers, and it - aided in perpetuating the soubriquet of "Sol1 itude" on Senator Thomas Ewing. ' Curiosities op a Roman Prison.?The 3 Marmmertine prison consists of two subter* ranean dungeons, one below the other. An J old monk with a lighted lamp conducted us r down a long flight of stone steps to the upper prison. We found ourselves in a cold, dark 3 room, built up on all sides and overhead I with enormous stones. In ancient times r the only connection between the upper and 3 lower dungeons was by a circular hole just t large enough to admit a human body, f Through the opening prisoners were lowered ^ to the dungeon below. In modern times a - stairway has been cut around through the 3 stone from the upper to the still more horrij ble lower prison. No light of day has ever 1 penetrated that dark, damp, dismal dun ereon. But the chief interest of the Marm t mertine lies in the tradition that St. Peter 1 and St. Paul were confined there just before 1 their martyrdom. Without believing or - disbelieving the story, westill get some idea t of a Roman prison in Paul's day. 2 In descending the stairs the monk paused - before a rude indention in the stone wall, 1 which we could imagine looked like the side 2 of a man's head. There our guide waxed t eloquent and said: "This is the impression 1 of St. Peter's head! When the jailers were taking the apostle to the prison below, they * pushed him against the solid wall, leaving 2 this indention in the solid rock!" In the 2 lower dungeon the monk showed usaspring, " and again becoming eloquent, he said: 7 "Here Peter preached to two of his jailers until they believed and asked to be baptized. 2 Then the apostle touched the floor and this 1 fountain burst from the rock; thus, by a t miracle, water was furnished for baptism." ' But, alas for the old monk's story ! Plu? tarch tells us that Jugurtha drank of this t same fountain when he was in the prison, 1 and that was a century before Peter was 1 born. We tasted of the" water and found it pleasant. * "Carolina."?There has been quite an J interesting discussion in the columns of the Charleston JYewsand Courier as to the origin * of the name of Carolina. The last communication on the subject declares the matter to be incapable of solution, and says that as " it was a mooted question in Charleston as far back as 1G80, when Ashe visited that ' city and the first settlers were still alive, it : cannot be freed from doubt. We suspect 4 that much of the doubt sprang from what : Ashe wrote. Charleston was originally lo 5 cated on the Cape Fear, then removed to the Sand Hills above the site of the present ? city and subsequently definitely established ^ where we find it. It was called in honor of ' Charles II, who made the grant of the J province to his seven courtiers. Doubtless l among the settlers there were some who supposed that the name of the province also was derived from the same source. But I Ashe hardly shared the notion. He wrote i that "the name Carolina was derived either from that of our most gracious sovereign ' Charles II or Charles IX, of France &c." ' One sees at a glance that he was inclined to ' the last opinion or he would not have mentioned at all the possibility of the deriviation being from the French king. Besides, he logically puts the better opinion last. 'r The fact is there was no basis for the suggestion that the name was derived from [ Charles II. "Our most gracious sovereign [ came to the throne in 1660, while the coun' try South of Virginia was called Carolina I anterior to that date. In 1052, in Crom' well's time, Yardly, a Virginian by birth, *1 * ~~i- A Ik/. : saueu inrougn uurruucK. miei uuu aiuc[ marie sound and visited Roanoke Island ; and the ruins of the fort erected by Sir ; Walter Raleigh's colony, and in his account [ of his exploration he speaks of the country ; as "South Virginia or Carolina." The | whole region between Virginia and Florida ' was known as Carolina long before the day j of "our gracious sovereign Charles II." ' This then removes the doubt which Ashe , in 1580 expressed as a sort of compliment to the English king. It is noteworthy, too that even at thas date, 1052, South of Curri' tuck inlet was known as Carolina, for Curj. rituck inlet was subsequently fixed as the beginning of the dividing line between the 1 two domains.?Raleigh News and Observer. Modest Maidens.?There is an old and very sweet word which has now gone out of | fashion, and that is modesty. We hear of some girls being steady and respectable, ! and somegirls being "doubtful," or "giddy," ' or "rough." We speak of "girls of the pe| riod'; and "fast young ladies," but we sel' dom hear of a younggirl being "modest" or "maidenly." *My dear girls, old fashions ' are sometimes better than new. We would not have you dull, or sad, or downcast, ; looking as if you were afraid to speak or j move! That is not modesty. We would1 have you fresh and joyous, and innocently | gay; but still we would have you gentle in your ways, and dignified?yes, dignified ( in your behavior. You have each of you a jewel to guard, , as precious to you and far more precious than the richest gem could be. I mean ' your virtue, your character, your honor. | Depend upon it, a girl, however young, [ however weak or unprotected, she may , be, can make herself respected, if she re| spects herself, remembering that, as a christian maiden, pledges to tight against all that | is evil and serve God, who loves and blesses f the "pure in heart." r< 1 +l,Qr> J | uruu.ru )uui auu k>uui cmo, ui^i, a. pray you, from the sound of evil as far as you can. Never try to know about wrong things ; that you need not know about. Never f listen'to bad talk. Never read a book that . vou would be ashamed to read out openly. Never allow yourself in actions that you \ would not wish those whom you respect to i know of. Never enter bad places of amuse[ ment. liemember God sees everything and i knows everything. Remember, too, that what is good and true always comes to light. Dear girls who read this, think of these things, and may God in his great mercy enable you to "walk in white" amid the black temptations of the world, that so you may "walk in white" with him above in the heavenly country where sin shall be no more.?The Instructor. Selecting Jurymen.?"In getting our jurymen we lawyers frequently make terrible mistakes?terrible mistakes," sighed a well-known legal defender of criminals, as he sat in Judge Moran's courtroom and watched the selection of twelve good men to try a prisoner. "We study the faces of jurymen all our lives," he continued, "and still wo blunder whenever called upon to fill up a jury box," "What are the general rules that lawyers go by in selecting jurymen ?" asked the prisoner to whom the attorney had spoken. "There are no safe general rules," was the reply. "Lawyers try to establish such rules, but always find them misleading. All lawyers concede, however, that an American mechanic or small man of business makes the best jurymen to get at the merits of the case, and return a true ver diet. Some lawyers hold that a German will convict a prisoner on insufficient testimony because of his high regard for law, and an Irishman will show sympathy and help a poor devil out of a difficulty by finding him not guilty, when it is possible. Some say that old men are more likely to find a prisoner guilty than young men are. A low-down juryman, who never had a chance to exercise any authority in his own or any other people's affairs, will vote to convict everybody that conies in his way, simply to revenge himself on the human race that has kept him down so long. Then there is the weak-willed juror, the addle-head juror, and the sleepy-lazy juror, who are mere nonentities and will find a verdict at random. The bull-dog juror and the passionate juror are the fellows who will either have a verdict all their own way or will have no verdict at all. But the thing that counts and what I like to see in the jury box above all things is "blood !" "Blood ?" "That's it. "A born gentleman is the best juror in the world. A good figure, a fine eye, and clean cut features are unanswerable arguments to convince the coarser eleven that their favorite associate understands tlio phup mnrc thnrnnchlv than thov can hope to do. Blood will tell as quickly in a jury box as any other place."?Chicago News. Max Always the Same.?The most splendid specimen of the Caucasian race that the civilized world can show to-day has no more organs, bones, muscles, arteries, veins or nerves than those which are found in the lowest savage. He makes a different use of them, and to some extent has modified stature, physical, intellectual and moral, and many other attributes; as climates and habits of lifehave modified complexion, the diseases to which the human frame is liable, and many other peculiarities. But if we take historic man, we find that in all the physical features of his animal construction that constitute him a species, he has been essentially the same animal in all stages of civilization or barbarism. And unless we boldly assume that the prehistoric man was on nnitnol Kn?*n *ir?+V* O ?AO t nf llQlt* Q11 AtT CkV an <iiiiiua,i uuiu yyivu a vi imu uu vtvi his body, and that clothing was restored to him as the hair, in successive generations, disappeared, we can have no very strong reason for believing that the human body has been at any time an essentially different structure from what it is now. Even in regard to longevity or power of continued life, if we set aside the exceptional cases of what is related of the patriarchs in the Biblical records, we do not find that the average duration of human life has been much greater or much less than the threescore years and ten, or fourscore years that are said to have been the divinely appointed term. As to what may have been the average duration of life among the prehistoric men we are altogether in the dark.?George Tickaor Curtis. Early Rising.?The proper time to arise is when sleep, properly so-called, ends. Dozing is not admissible from any reasonable or health point of view. The brain falls into the state we call sleep, and the other organs of the body follow it. True sleep is the aggregate of sleeps. In other words, sleep, which must be a natural functionthat is, physiological instead of pathological, or induced by disease or drugs?is a state which consists in the sleeping or rest of all the several parts of the organism. Sometimes one and at other times another part of the body, as a whole, may be the least fatigued, and so the first to awake, or the most exhausted, and, therefore, the most difficult tn nrrvnco The ??prr>t r?f a o-nnd is? the physiological conditions of rest f)eing established?to so work and weary the several parts of the organism as to give them a proportionally equal need of rest at the same moment. The cerebrum or inind organ, the sense organs, the muscular system, and the viscera should be ready all to sleep together, and, so far as may be possible, they should be equally tired. To wake early and feel ready to rise, this fair and equal start of the sleepers should be secured ; and the wise self-manager should not allow a drowsy feeling of the consciousness of weary senses, or an exhausted muscular system, to . beguile him into the folly of going to sleep again when once his consciousness has been aroused. After a very few days of self-discipline the man who resolves not to "doze" that is, to allow some still sleepy part of his body to keep him in bed after his brain has once awakened?will find himself, without knowing why, an "early riser."?Lancet. Prayer.?So sacred a tiling as prayer, in which the soul presents itself before God to make known its requests, might be thought avomrif fWim cnr>h 'ihiwp n? that, tn whifh an exchange refers under the heading, "Prayer as a means of Personal Abuse." But there is nothing too holy for profanation by sinful man. It is a fact that some people are base enough to "pray at" people, instead of praying to God, and to use prayer as a means of lecturing their fellow-men, or, perhaps, even of giving vent to their spite against individuals. And such wickedness is just as likely to take place at the prayer-meetings of those who profess to be perfectly sanctified, as anywhere else. That such a prostitution of prayer is abhorred by all sincere Christians, when they once observe it and see its import, is certain; but some are so thoughtless as not to observe it and not to realize its wicked character. This and other abuses add their share of evidence in favor of carefully prepared forms of prayer, which express the desire of believing hearts, and leave 110 room for the utterance of mere individual opinion and sentiment, abusive or otherwise.?Lutheran Standard. Drinking while dating.?is aiure never intended for people to wash down their food while eating, says a medical paper. She has wisely placed salivary glands in various places in our mouths; they secrete a fluid for the moistening, besides a chemical action of the food after mastication. This gets the food in suitable condition for swallowing. Drinking every few minutes while eating prevents the usual flow ot saliva; also it washes it down before it can have a chemical action on certain portions of the food. One of the most pernicious habits to health is drinking several tumblers of water while eating; better drink warm drinks. The stomach will not digest one particle of food when it has a temperature below 100 degrees Fahrenheit; neither will it digest one atom of food until all the fluid is first absorbed. No healthy person should drink more than a half pint of some mild fluid while taking food, and dyspeptics should not drink a drop while eating, nor for three or four hours after. Hating People.?Hate not. It is not worth while. Your life is not long enough to make it pay to cherish ill will or hard thoughts toward any one. What if that man has cheated you or that woman played you false ? What if this friend has forsaken you in your time of need, or that one having won your utmost confidence, your warmest love, has concluded that he prefers to consider and treat you as a stranger ? Let it all pass. What difference will it make to you in a few years, when you go hence to the "undiscovered country ?" All who treat you wrong now will be more sorry for it than you, even in your deepest disappointment and grief, can be. A few more smiles, a few more tears, some pleasure, much pain, a little longer hurryingand worrying in the world, some hasty greetings and a'brupt farewells, and life will be over, and the injurer and injured will be laid away and ere long forgotten. It is not wortli while to hate each other. SSaT Trees are among the most poetic objects of creation. Every wood teems with legends of mythology and romance, every tree is vocal with music, and their flowers and fruits do not afford more luxury to the sense than delight to the mind. Trees have their roots in the ground; but they send out their branches toward the skies, and are so many supplicants to Heaven for blessings on the earth.