Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

'' :^| ^ ^ |^ ^| | ^ j ^ ^waj ^ ^^1 lewis m. ?rist, proprietor, j % |nkpcnirent Jfamilg Hrfospptr: <jfor l|t ^promotion of tjjc political, Social, ^gricnltural anit Commtrtial Interests of the Soutlj. j terms?$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 30. YORKVILLE, S C., THUESDAY, JUNE 12, 1884. NO. 24. SftUtUA foftru. ONLY GOING TO THE GATE. Like a bell of blossom ringing, Clear and childish, shrill ana sweet, Floating to the porch's shadow, With the fainter fall of feet, Comes the answer softly backward, Bidding tender watcher wait, While the baby queen outruns her, "Only going to the gate." Through the moonlight, warm and scented, Love to beauty breathes a sigh, Always to depart reluctant, Loath to speak the words good-by; Then the same low echo answers, Waiting love of older date, And the maiden whispers softly, "Only going to the gate." Oh, these gates along onr pathway, What they bar outside and in! With the vague outlook beyond them, Over waves we have not been, How they stand before, behind us ! Toll irates some, with price to pay ; Spring"?ates some, that shut forever; Cloud gates some, that melt away. So we pass them going upward On our journey, one by one, To the distant shining wicket Where each traveler goes alone? Where the friends who journey with us Strangely falter, stop and wait; Father, mother, child or lover, "Only going to the gate." iftc jtotg feller. ~ AN UNLUCKY SHOT. "Well, here we are at last, anyhow; and now we will be able to get things ship-shape a bit." So spoke the first officer of the JBrUania, as her anchor splashed into the smooth water of Port of Spain roadstead, in the West Indian island of Trindad; and the first smile that had been seen upon his hard old face for nearly a week broke over it as he looked around him. The view was certainly beautiful enough to have drawn a smile from any man living. The first rays of sunrise were just streaming through the gorges of the Maracas mountains, and lighting up the stately palms and dark-green orange groves that clothed them almost to the summit. Below them lay the broad plain dotted with trim, white houses, half buried in -1 1 ~ ~ r\f mvun fflathoru e!lCT?P UCC3 VI 4VMV4IVAJ cane, while in the fore-ground the quaint, half Spanish streets and gardens of the town straggled along the curving shore of the bright, blue sea. But the finest landscape in the tropics would have had little effect upon Mr. John Jawley?whom the crew were wont to call "Jawing Jack" when there was no risk of his hearing them?and if he smiled, it was not from any admiration of the scenery, but simply because he was glad to find himself snugly at anchor again. Ana well he might be. All the way across the Gulf of Mexico the poor old Britannia had had the wind as dead against her as if (so the boatswain muttered savagely) "somebody had got up early every morning and turned the wind round the wrong way." With the wind had come floods of rain, as if that was not enough, the sea had beat in the skylight skuttle, and come pouring down below, washing half of the passengers out of their berths and setting a whole fleet of carpet bags and portmanteaus afloat in the saloon. '? _ A _ X i_1 AS tor trie omcers' Staterooms, tney were so completely flooded that the purser, who was a bit of a wag in his way, had proposed to paste up a notice in the companionway, offering a handsome reward for the discovery of a pair of dry pants. Altogether, the first officer had good cause to be out of temper. First and foremost, the captain was ill, and Mr. Jawley had to take the whole charge of the ship himself. Then the salt water had spoiled his new uniform, and had damaged a box of handsomely bound books, which had just been sent him from home. Thirdly, he had given his nose a tremendous knock, which had made it swell up as big as a pear ; from all which causes combined he looked, as the old quarter-master remarked with a grin, "'bout as happy as a skinned rat in a picklebarrel." "What on earth are these creeping fellows on shore about?" growled Jawing Jack. "They must have seen us, and yet there's no sign of any boats coming off. We'd hetfer fire our trun and wake 'em up a bit. Where's that signal gun ?" "Down in the after-hold, sir," answered a a sailor. "You told us to put it there t'tother night, to be out of harm's way." "And did I tell you to keep it there for ever after, you lubber?" roared the officer, turning fiercely upon hiin. "Up with it, smart, or there'll be a row!" The gun was slung, and hoisted up in a twinkling, for the men knew by experience that Jawing Jack was not to be trifled with. But when he attempted to load it, it proved to be half choked with something which, whatever it might be, would plainly have to be got out before the charge could be got in. Again and again did Mr. Jawley thrust in the rammer as fiercely as if he was stabbing an enemy, but the obstruction would not yield. "Who's been meddling with the gun ?" thundered he, glaring around him like a tiger about to spring. There was a uead silence, and all the sailors seemed trying hard to look as if they were somewhere else, while the purser, who was always the first to be suspected when any trick had been played, prudently drew back out of sight, knowing well, that Mr. Jawley, when fairly aroused, would have thought nothing of knocking down an admiral on his own quarter-deck. Receiving no answer, the first officer thought he might as well clear the gun first, and find out the author of the trick afterward. "Hand up the powder horn, sharp!" cried he, and he was instantly obeyed. Scraping the touch-hole clear with his knife, he dropped in some powder and flashed it off, hoping to burn away the obstruction from without if he could not rake 14. 4? "'IfhJn Tnofonfltr fhoro qrnsp a it UUt 11UIU Uililltl. AtldbUlI W1J VUV*V VWV %w smell so horrible that all the officers jumped back as if they had been shot, and even the roughest sailors made wry faces. But Mr. Jawley, whose iron visage changed no more than if the scent had been rose water, dropped in pinch after pinch of powder, till he thought he had burned away enough of the gun's contents?whatever they might be to make room for a charge which should blow away the obstruction matter altogether. "Wheel it to the side and point it down into the water," ordered he, pouring a good quarter of a pound of powder through the touch-hole. So completely had every one been occupied with the gun that nobody noticed a small boat putting off to them from the shore. Pulled by four stout negroes, it came briskly on, and ran alongside just as the gun was fired. The report was followed by a yell so terrific that it startled the whole ship. Mr. Jawley sprang upon the bulwarks and saw, to his horror, three men lying in the boat, covered with blood and seemingly dead, while the fourth, wiping a great splash of crimson from his black face, was screaming out that he was "blowed all to bits." The boat was at once hoisted on board, and the four victims were taken down to the doctor, who came up a few minutes later with very puzzled face. "I don't know what to think of those fellows," said he. "There's not the least sign of a wound anywhere about them, and I cannot imagine where on earth all that blood can have come from." "I think I can," chuckeled the second officer, holding up the crushed body of a young rat which he had just found in the boat. "The brutes must have made a nest in the gun when it was down in the hold, and Jawley's mashed all the young rats to pulp with his rammer, and then fired 'em right in among the poor fellows! No wonder they thought they were blown to pieces." The laugh that followed shook the very air, while Mr. Jawley looked as if he were going to burst on the spot. It was noticed from that day forth that any one who wished to throw him into a furious rage had only to ask whether there were any rats down in the hold. THE MORTGAGED FARM. "Six o'clock!" said Marion Hilyard, looking up suddenly as the tall, old-fashioned clock in the corner rang out its shrill announcement; "six o'clock, and oh, mother, here is Jenny Lane, punctual to the very moment. Now we shall have good news from Jack I hope." She ran out to the gate, flushed and eager to receive the letter from the country carrier ; and returning, seated herself on a low stool at her mother's feet and broke the envelope. On the first glance at its contents a shade of disappointment dimmed her bright face. Insteaa of reading the note aloud she glanced hurriedly over the brief lines, ana then silently, with a quivering lip, placed it in her mother's hand and turned aside to a window. This is what Mrs. Hilyard read "Dear Madam I saw your son a few days since, when to my surprise he expressed himself reluctant to apply his money to the redeeming of the mortgage, saying that he required it for a speculation which promises to be more profitable to him than the holding of the farm. I have therefore, been compelled to dispose of the mortgage to a gentleman of my acquaintance, who purposes to take immediate possession; and I consider it my duty to inform you thereof, in order that you may lose no time in making arrangements for a removal. Very respectfully, Abner Harris." Mrs. Hilyard returned the letter to its envelope with a trembling hand and a dazed, bewildered look, as though unable to realize the blow which had so suddenly fallen upon her. Her eyes met Marion's and the girl threw herself upon her Knees oy her motners siae and burst into a passion of tears. "Oh, mother, mother, what shall we do? What will become of us!" "The Lord will provide," said Mrs. Hilyard, raising her overflowing eyes to the motto on the wall, embroidered by Marion's own hand. "Where is your faith, my child, that it should fail you in the very hour of need!" "Mother, it is not so much the loss of our home nor the poverty, and trial in store which grieves me, but that Jack?your own son, mv own brother?should have so changed. On, mother, I know that our Father in Heaven will not desert us, but to whom on earth can we turn when even Jack can become worldly and heartless?" At this moment a little blue-eyed girl burst into the room with,? "Mamma?Marion! here is Miss 'Melia Anderson at the gate, in her buggy. She says will you step out a minute? for she wants to tell you about old Mr. Millard being sunstruck; and she daren't leave her horse without somebody Jo hold him." Marion was in no condition to listen to 'Melia?the greatest gossip in the neighborhood; so Mrs. Hilyard, drying her eyes, was in civility compelled to see the informal visitor. Marion, her head resting upon the window sill behind the screen of clinging roses, could have heard every word spoken; but, absorbed in her grief, she paid no attention until the name of Walter Hinton struck upon her ear. "It's true for certain; for Maria had it from his own sister, Aggie Hinton. Says Aforin in hnr wilfi wav. Tf h? mmPS hack with ali that money'?you know his Uncle Samuel left him most of his property last year'?says Maria, 'If he comes back rich, I mean to set my cap for him.' On which Aggie answers, 'Oh, you needn't for he's to be married before long, and to a real nice pretty girl.' Of course, Maria wanted to know ali about it; but Aggie only laughed in her mysterious way, until Maria says, 'I believe you are joking,' when Aggie replies, 'If Walter isn't married before winter I'll make you a present of my new earrings which he has sent me.' So you see it's certain sure ; and no doubt he'll bring hie bride to visit his family, and then, tell Marion, we may look out for a grand party. When the Hintons undertake to do things, they always do it handsomely." Marion stayed to hear no more. Gliding out of a side door, she crossed the garden, passing little Myra, who was fondling a snow-white calf, her great pet and treasure, and who called out to her to see how fast Snowball was growing. Poor little sister! It would be as hard upon her as upon her mother and herself to leave the dear old home, with all the scenes and objects endeared to them by the associations of their lives. For in that ample, nleasant. old-fashioned farm-house Mrs. Hil yard had been born and married, and here her children also had first seen the light. Two years ago her husband?who had been too little practical to make a successful farmer?had died suddenly, leaving his affairs in a very embarrassed state and the farm burdened, with a heavy mortgage. Then Jack, good son and brother that he was, had thought it best to go to the city, taking advantage of a situation offered him by a distant relative, until the mortgage should be paid. Only two weeks ago he had written cheerfully that the matter would be speedily settled* to their satisfaction ; and now, just as they were expecting tohearthattheir home was their own again, came this cruel letter. As Marion had said to her mother, not even the loss of their home went to her heart with so sharp a pang as did this evidence of the change in her only brother. That Jack should have grown so worldly and heartless as to consider his pecuniary advantage before the gratification of his mother's comfort, that he should allow them to be actually turned out of the dear old house, and go to reside in the strange city, where they could never feel at home, oh, this was the bitterest pang of all !" So Marion had thought upon first reading that letter; and it was not until hearing Miss 'Melia's words to her mother that she awoke to the consciousness that fate would have even a greater sorrow than this in store for her. One year ago she had parted from her ac cepted lover, waiter mnton, in aDger on both sides. Walter had become Jealous, and spoken sharply to her, and in a manner which she considered herself justified in resenting. Walter was too proud to apologize, and Marion too proud as well as too delicate to make advances to a reconciliation ; and so they had drifted apart, both miserable, until Walter had broken the last link by going out West. She heard of him from time to time through his family, but no word or message to herself ever came. In all this while she had looked forward, with a faint, yearning hope to the possibility of his some time returning, and of all being made up between them. But now this last hope was rudely stricken to the ground. Walter was going to be married. He had forgotten her, and was lost to her forever. "Oh, itis hard?so hard to bear!" thought Marion, as with hands tightly clasped, she passed slowly under the apple boughs, of the old orchard. "Life is bitter. It lias taken all from me ; it can have no more to give. xt 1 i I Only my dear, near nioiner anu myia; rw I their sake I must be stroner and trv to bear it all." On the verge of the orchard, where the high bank sloped abruptly to the meadow, she came to a mass of tangled honeysuckle, I fashioned into a rustic arbor. Walter had j made it for her, and here, in fact, it was I that they had last parted, j Down' in the meadow ran a little path, I leading by a short cut to Walter's home, a couple of miles away. How often she had sat here of an evening and watched for him ! She could scarcely look back upon any time of her life, or upon any object now before her eyes, which was not connected with some association of Walter, 1 There was the walnut tree which he and Jack used to climb, and there the clear, laughing brook in which he had taught her to steer the little boat which he had made for her, laden with grain, down to Jack's ! famous watermill, at the roots of that old ; willow. Further up was the real "grist and j saw mill" which Jack had always been so desirous of owning, and which everybody said would be such a good investment for one who could manage it properly. And then Marion seated on the bench in the rustic arbor, turned and looked long and yearningly at the old farm house peeping from the great beeches acroas the orchard. No other place on earth could ever be home to her. And her mother! Oh, it would be harder still for her, whose whole life of fifty years had been spent under that roof. A sudden sound aroused Marion?a sharp whistle as of some one calling a dog, and she saw through tear-dimmed eyes the figure of a man huriying along the pathway in the meadow. She drew back behind the screen of honeysuckle. The path led past the arbor, but at the foot of the steep bank, and she would not be * ~i- C1~ . ciiscovereu in ner retrain-. ou sue muugm , but a moment or two after there wa3 a sound of footsteps ascending the bank, a rustle of the honeysuckle branches, and Marion saw standing in the entrance of the arbor the figure of a tall young man, who looked almost as much startled as herself. For an instant they gazed at each otherMarion pale, and the stranger with a flush rising to his handsome face. Then he said, as he held out his hand? "Marion, don't you know me ?" She gave him her hand in silence. It was Walter. And suddenly, with the sight of him came the full bitterness of her sorrow, in the consciousness that he was lost to her forever. She was nothing to him now, and he must be nothing to her. "I am glad to have so unexpectedly found you here in this dear old spot," he said. "I arrived at home only an hour ago, and could not rest until I had seen you." She met his eyes, bent upon her with a strange earnestness, and her pale cheek faintly flushed, but she could not have spoken a word. "Marion," he said, suddenly, "have you no welcome for me? Is it possible that you cannot forgive me ?" "Forgive you ?" "Yes; for all my absurd jealousy and pride and folly. I have never had a happy moment since I parted from you, Marion, and I have come back at last to ask your forgiveness, and to beg, too, for the love which I forfeited, but which I cannot live without." "I do not understand you, Walter. I do not know why you should speak thus to me, when?when you are going to be married." "Who told you that of me, Marion ?" "It came from Agnes, your sister." He smiled. "Aggie knows my wishes. It was she who encouraged me to come back. She thought you would forgive me. Will you, Marion darling?" She had averted her face to hide her tearful eyes, but he now took both her hands, and as he drew her toward him a great tide of unspeakable joy rushed over her, and she could only faintly murmur,? "Oh, Walter!" When they were both calmer she told of the heavy grief that had fallen upon them. They must leave their dear old home, which had passed into the hands of strangers. "Of strangers, Marion ? Do you call me a stranger?" "You, Walter?" He looked surprised in his turn. "Did you not know that it is I who have purchased the dear old farm ? Did you not receive Jack's letter?" "Oh, Walter, it cannot, cannot be true!" He took from a pocketbook a paper which he opened and placed before her. It was the mortgage which her father had given to Mr. Harris. "And the place is really yours now ?" she said, looking up radiantly through sudden tears. "Not mine, but ours, darling." She was too happy to speak a word in answer. "You see, dear," Walter said, "Jack and I talked it over the other day, and we agreed, as he was so anxious to purchase the mill and had not means sufficient for both, that I should take the farm and leave him at liberty to invest in the mill property. It is the very best thing for Jack and r-- i-;.. il . t -?1?:?a lur HIS HlUlIltrr US x CA|>liUllCU iaj IICI , 11 umj' she had received his letter. Jack is not fitted for a farmer, and could never have made much of the farm, as he will certainly do with the mill. He came up with me in order to attend to the matter. Forgive me that I neglected to inform you, but I left him behind in the maple field talking with Aggie." Marion started up with a glad cry. Coming down the opposite declivity of the meadow was somebody joyously waving his hand, and in two minutes she was sobbing in her brother's arms?sobbi ng from a fullness of joy such as she had never in her life before known. They hastened to the house, all three eager to gladden the heart of the mother. Jack sprang up the steps and took her in his arms, while Walter lifted Myra, who had run to meet them in frantic delight. As Marion crossed the threshold, the old clock rang out a welcome chime. "Seven o'clock!" said the girl, softly. Her heart was full, and she turned away and went quietly up to her own room. As she passed the clock, she looked up at it with an expression almost of awe. "What a lifetime of misery and happiness in one hour!" A Mark of Thrift.?There is no better evidence of thrift than the prosperity of the laboring classes. They depend entirely upon their own exertions, and their employment is conditioned upon the prosperity of the moneyed class. If capitalists have money to spend in a legitimate way, the laborer is sure to get a large share of. And this dependence is so close and natural that, as stated, a community with a thriving laboring population is a thriving community in everv spnsft of the term. It is interesting, then, to note the number of small dwellings that are being erected in and around the suburbs of this city. Follow almost any street to its terminus, and you will find them, small and unattractive it may be, but each a representative of the strongest bulwark of our civilization?home. It is really astonishing theself-demal that is often practiced by laborers to get enough money to buy or build a place which one can call his or her own. One instance is fresh in our mind, of an old colored woman who cooked for five dollars a month and who denied, and even stinted herself, although passionately fond of finery, until she paid for a lot at a high jjrice, and built her a little house. As there is nothing more dan? ~ I A iU It n /? lrtArtA geruus iu a cum in unity uuui a iuuac nuauug population, these efforts are much to he commended, and our people will lose nothing by giving them due encouragement. It may be that the "Negro Problem," which presents such a forbidding aspect to many thinking men, will settle itself in some natural way, like the one indicated, without the necessity of outside interference. Certain it is that the negro is gradually attaching himself to the soil in this State, and that he is a better man to himself and his community for such action,?Spartanburg Herald. The editor of the Boston Journal of Chemistry, J. R. Nichols, M. D., an eminent scientific authority, takes the advanced position that alcoholic liquors are no longer necessary in medicine or the arts. He says that "if the natural vinous fermentative process should cease, and the art of distillation become a lost art, not a life would be sacrificed in consequence, not a case of disease would be retarded in the process of cure, not a pain aggravated, and not one of the art processes suffer detriment. 1 ^ttisrcUancous Reading. M. QUAD'S TALK WITH THE BOYS. "Hurry up?quick!" Now, my ooy, you want to atop dead still! They call this a fast age and we are termed a fast nation, but in spite of that we have plenty of time. Take time to eat. Take time to dress. Take time to do whatever task you are engaged in to your complete satisfaction. I always feel like kicking a lazy man, and if I set out on a journey, I can't go fast enough, but this impatience has lost me days of time and a good many dollars. If I want to make a shelf or bench I rush for the first handy board, saw it off hap-hazzard, pound in any sort of nails in any sort of way, and when the job is complete I have a shelf which won't tit by a jug full, or a bench which rests on three legs and holds up the other one as if it had a sore foot. I nave taKen tne wrong street I car, lugged off other men's hats, left my change on store counters, bought sugar when I was told to buy butter, spoiled any number of boots, offended dozens of gooa men^ I and all because 1 wanted to save time. Don't rush. The older I grow the less I believe in the man who leaves a cloud of dust behind him. He will be wrong half the time. He will botch his work, upset the best calculation, and lose a dollar for every seventy-five cents he makes. A petulent, impatient boy makes a man who can't keep a friend. He will be obstinate, unreasonable, unforgiving and thoroughly despised. Do not argue that it is born in you and you can't help it. A boy can help anything if he has any sand in his nature. He can exercise patience or give way to fits of anger which ought to be boot-jacked out of his nature to save him from the gallows. But you hate to be bossed, eh ? Well, my boy, if we could all do as we pleased this would be a fine country to live in. Our workingmen would get to their labor at 10 o'clock in the morning and quit in time for five o'clock supper. Our stores might open in the morning or wait until afternoon. Our mills and factories would be run to suit the convenience of teamsters and engineers instead of owners. Our trains and boats would leave to suit captains and conductors, and some days you would get one meal and other days three. We must have hnss^s unrl stand hnssiner. Don't start out with the idea that you can be independent. Don't think you can sit with folded arms and bring men to you with fat offers. Don't imagine that you are doing any body.a great favor by calling upon them and hinting around that you could be coaxed to take a situation. Do as your employer directs. If he doesn't know his business that's none of your affairs. Make up your mind that the boy who sets out to earn only three dollars per week will never get four. If he is determined to be worth four he will soon be receiving five. I sat down with a half dozen of you the other day, and the opinion of the majority was that employers didn't make any distinction between a smart, energetic boy and a drone. Don't be foolish, my lad. Nine employers out of ten had much rather advance a boy than to discharge him. A boy may not be watched as closely as a man, because we make allowances for hisinexpe- . rience and follies and trifling nature, but don't you forget that he is soon sized up. If he is respectful and truthful and honest the employer who doesn't realize it and reward him is no man to work for. Now let's talk a little further about the flash literature I referred to a few weeks ago. I went the^ther day and bought a stack of the stuff" in order to see just what it was. When one comes to see the wretched stuff written and published in order to catch the attention of the boys of America he must wonder if we have any fathers among our law makers. There is a fellow in New York publishing a weekly sheet called the Young Men of America. He must think them a set of rascals or idiots. In one story he has a hunter who catches in his hand the bullets fired at him by a dozen pnpmipci nnrl it. i? no work at all for him to put fifty enemies to flight. We want such a man on the Detroit police force, but the Superintendent will have a long hunt to find him. In another he has a boy whip seven or eight mountain outlaws. The boy has probably died since. If this stuff was held out to you as pure fiction you would be completely disgusted. These flash publishers know this, and so they have these stories founded upon well-known facts and events which are matters of history. In the paper I have mentioned is a story of the Revolutionary war. It purports to be the adventures of General Marion and his scouts. The injury here consists in historic lying. You are asked to accept everything as a fact, when not one siugle fact is stated. As a specimen of what one of the scouts did when he wasn't trying his best I will mention that, being pursued by two British dragoons, he let them fire four bullets into him at close range, before it occurred to him that it was a cold day. He then drew ( his sword and cut a right arm from the body of each. He then rode away in search of root-beer or something else to cool his tongue, but hadn't cooled over half of it before six other dragoons pitched into him. The first move he made was to draw that same terrible toad-sticker and cut off two , heads. The other four fired at him, but his ' brass turned the bullets aside, and he lopped off the head of the third. The remaining , three thereupon rushed into the woods, and ' the scout was kind enough not to pursue. Having cut off three heads and two arms inside of half an hour he felt tired. Think of such bosh! We all like a brave man, but even a boy of 7 insn't green enough to believe in such statements. In a detective story in which a ninety- ; pound woman is the detective, she is made to capture robbers whom three men dared not tackle, and to change her voice twentyfour times per day and her disguise almost as often. She always entered robbers' dens by a sewer without being bitten by rats or getting her feet wet, and if any one fired a revolver within a foot of her head the weapon always missed fire and she calmly knocked the fellow down and went on chewing ] her quid of gum as if nothing had happen- j ed. Boys who beg and steal and sleep under the wharves are made heroes, and bur- , glars and outlaws are held up as shining ; examples of a brave nation. , Drop 'em, my lad! There's more moral i poison in one such story than you will get at the circus or theatre in five years. Better be unable to read at all than to imbibe such stuff. You hate a boy who lies to you. ; Then why pay these men in money and j time to deceive and poison you ? If you ] were told that a boy of 15 had captured six J or eight Detroit burglars you wouldn't be- i lieve it. Then why believe in these wretch- ( ed exaggerations ? Shut right down on that j class of men and their publications, and in i three years they'll have to earn their dollars ] in an honest manner or you'll hear of 'em j behind the bars. i Life and Work.?We hear a good deal 1 about the rapid decay of human faculties in this country, as if there was something in < our climate unfavorable to mental and bod- ; ily vigor in old men and women ; and in 1 contrast with this we hear a good deal about i the great age to which people in Europe I maintain their physical and mental efficien- ] cy. But only one-half the truth is told. A 1 man will accomplish twice as much in an i average lifetime, in this country, as any i where in the Old World?and this is true of ' man in all positions, the lawyer in his office, 1 the physician in his chaise, the mechanic in i his shop and the operative in the mill. An < American working man who recently re- 1 turned to Pittsburg from a visit to England i expressed his surprise at the comparatively i small amount of work done by laborers in 1 that country. They move slowly and leis- ? urely, they take their timeabouteverything i and seem never in a hurry?all in striking 1 contrast with the fierce, unsparing vehe- I mence with which men pursue their voca- . tions in this country. There is no doubt < that Americans overdo themselves. They ; accomplish as much inside of fifty years of age as Europeans accomplish inside of sev- j enty; and if life were measured by the; amount of work done, our people are the longest lived in the world. One reason for this is the immense amount of work to be done in this country, and the comparatively small number of skilled persons to do it. Another reason is the American aversion to idleness. Even our wealthy men die in harness?not so much because they covet more wealth as that they require the excitement of getting it. The centers of power are to be found in the whirlsof active movement. It is in these a man's name is mentioned, his wealth taken into account, his influence made a factor and his talents carefully measured. "When he retires from active life he goes into oblivion; and it is the American's aversion to this dismal sepulture that explains his habit of standing to his desk till he drops into his actual grave. St. Louis Republican. LAZY PEOPLE. I have often been forced, much against my notion, tqjoqkinto the sluggard's heart, says Charles H. Barlow, in Farmer's World, and I have seen that the majority are more unfortunate than the driving working class ever gave them credit for. Men are more like horses in their habits and ways than we imagine. Poor drivers and bad breaking with men as with stock, is generally the cause of balkiness or laziness. Education and training make or unmake man as well as beast. Js ow and then we find a man who works easily, sprightly and naturally. It is a pleasure for him to lay out his strength and drive the work merrily along. He never watches the sun nor ''slouches" at his work, and it is a pleasure to see him, for his work to him is what play was when a child, because his soul is in his work. The immortal part of his being acts like a high pressure of steam, drives his muscular powers, and he lays out his strength unconsciously, freely and gladly. Such a man is a success at whatever he undertakes, whether it is boot-blacking, running a farm or ruling a kingdom. The lazy man works only with his animal powers ; his spirit, all but the animal, is dead. There is no more perfect representation of endless punishment in mundane affairs than the lazy man at work without the master to lead and drive him. Every muscle in his wretched, useless body seems to be groaning in anguish of spirit as he plods along ; every inch he advances increases his misery ; and as he occasionally leans on his hoe, or looks up at the sun, or gazes wistfully at his cumbersome shadow, he seems to say, "Oh, curse upon the man who invented work. The Lord has made me in vain." We know that the live, willing, go-ahead 1 i:i-~ 1 ?r s\rt Uio. WUi'Kur lecia iiivt; >vuiiv, luvca ma iaiui anu home, is wedded to it as to his wife. His home, farm, crops and stock, are to him what poetry, or what the brush and canvas is to trie poet and artist, and his work, his mission, is to build up a paradise on earth, and people it with the living flesh and blood angels of the household ; and he can no more stop his work while he breathes than the engine can stop with a dangerous head of steam and the throttle wide open. Don't you suppose that the sluggard would be glad to swap the animal emotions that torture him while at useful work, for what that glad-spirited, work-worshipper feels while making the wilderness blossom as a rose. In every community throughout our land we see the "unlucky" element (constantly increasing) side by side with the enterprising and successful, and at last we see the cause of this phenomenon?a poor class and a prosperous class?a distinct line of demarkation separating them. Perfect liberty, such as has never before been known in man's history, which allows and enables man to develop to the very highest in his nobler instincts, and make the greatest success, as seen in our institutions and marvelous growth, also allows him to settle to the opposite extreme, and descend to the lowest level. SUNDAY IN A MINING CAMP. Sunday afternoon there was a striking scene. In an unfurnished large cabin on Eagle street were gathered several score of men seated on logs and blocks of wood. Every head was uncovered, and even on the DanK or snow in ironr or ine Dase irame or the cabin were groups of men holding their hats in their hands. The audience was a remarkable one in the matter of appearance. Rough bearded faces were there, as well as the smooth chin of beardless boys. By the side of the preacher leaned a well-known bad man, his six-shooter strapped about his waist. One pile was reserved for two females, both with a tarnished reputation, even in camp where reputations go for little. Suddenly the clergymen started one of Moody's hymns. The crowd caught the infection and the beautiful chorus swelled through the camp, drowning the sound of of fiddles from across the way and subduing the murmur from the gambling tables in the big tent next door. After the hymn came a short prayer, and old miners who had not been in church for a score of years bowed their heads reverently and the crowd in the street were hushed and silent. The sermon was a little too doctrinal, but was well illustrated with familiar terms peculiar to mining camps. Another hymn was sung with a rough and tumble energy, the crowd pourd out of the open front of the roofless cabin, and the air of business on the streets was resumed. Many of those who .AX 1 ~ A fUn dn.T ttlltJIlUt'U lliu aerviue luiiui^ i\.ijc\v tuc uaj was Sunday, but one old man seemed especially depressed. His white hair hung down on his shoulders which were bent with long years of hard work. He led an old yellow dog by a string and seemed greatly moved by some memories awakened by that simple service. He stood for a moment undecided, then, leading the dog into the saloon tent across the street, he made his way slowly up to the platform where the musicians sat. After more hesitation the old man ventured to ask for "Home Sweet Home," and as the old familiar air was played the crowd looked wonderingly at the old man standing there with his dog, while the tears trickled slowly down his face as he took off his hat and brushed the long locks back from his faoo. When the music ended the poor old man ieeiried to awake with a start. He and his dog went out and were soon seen slowly picking their way up the trail to the mountains.?Oceur (V Alene Letter in Chicago Tribune. "Joiin Gilpins's Ride."?John Gilpin's Ride" was composed by Cowper somewhere about the year 1780 or 1782 and under the following circumstances, as he told them himself: While on a visit to his friend and admirer, Lady Austen, he was suffering one 2veiling from excessive melancholy, which her ladyship thought to relieve by relating to him a funny story. It was a story she remembered from childhood and which she had often related to the little ones gathered at her house. "John Gilpin's Ride," she denominated her tale, and she went on and told it in bright, sparkling, narrative style, rid nn the fancv of Cowner was en chanting. On the follownig morning he appeared at the breakfast table with a countenance all smiles, and he told Lady Austen that he had been kept awake half the night by thoughts of her story and his involuntary bursts of laughter at the comical scenes flashed back upon him, And he furthermore told her that he had resolved to put it Into a ballad, the general construction of which he had already in mind. The ballad was written and given to Lady Austen, and jhe insisted upon giving it to the publisher Df her favorite newspaper. So it found its way to the public ; and afterwards Henderson, the actor, recited it in his public readings. There have been various surmises as to where Lady Austen obtained her hero. Some have thought he was a real personage ind have collated proof to sustain the position, while others have believed him to have been entirely fictitious?a creature of Lady Austen's brain, or, mayhap, of the poet's )wn fancy.?London Magazine, A SNAKE CHARMER'S STORY. "This," said Mr. Davis, bringing forward a dark-skinned, black-eyed woman of graceful carriage and faultless form, "is Nala Damajante, the Hindoo snake charmer. She has had enough of wonderful adventures with her crawling pets in the last half dozen years to fill a volume." and fifteen minutes conversation fully justified the assertion Miss Damajante, although engaged in the rather unfeininine occupation of handling enormous anacondas and twining about her body the deadly folds of powerful pythons, is decidedly interesting in appearance and conversation. While a native of ITindostan, she speaks French fluently, has a smattering of Portugese, and is bravely engaged in mastering the intricacies of English. She is of medium height, delicately built, and shows her eatsern origin in an oval face, exquisitely cut features, a pair of melting eyes, black as night, and an abundance of raven black hair, which, when unconfined, falls below her waist. Her skin is that peculiarly swarthy hue seen only among the high caste Hindoos. It is not dark, like that of the octoroon, nor copper colored, as in the North American Indian. It is rather a deep, rich olive, with the faintest suggestion of peach bloom shining through, which intensifies and comes and goes as the speaker becomes animated. The snake-charmer talked modestly, and with a charming absence of any "airs" that would lead one to think she thought herself in any respect braver than ordinary mortals. "I hardly know how to begin," said she, in her pretty broken English, "because, you see, I am more at home with my snakes than in talking to you gentlemen of the newspapers. You want to know why I fear not these big snakes. 1 will tell you. It is because I love them and they love me; it is?ah ! no; mistaken there?they do not always love me. Sometimes I shake?what you say in English you shiver, because the snake wants to squeeze me too tight. Then I feel afraid? Suppose you live in a powder-mill all your lifetime. You are not afraid ? No. Other people are afraid ? Yes. Some day the powder mill will burst and kill everybody. The people who are afraid are not killed, because they are far away; you are killed because you are not afraid and are in the mill. Do you understand me?" As if to illustrate what she had said, Miss Damajante opened a box standing in the corner of the tent and took from oeneath the folds of a gaudy blanket a huge python, whose forked tongue was darting in and out like ligtning, and whose eyes were scintillating like diamonds. Without the slightest hesitancy she wrapped the enormous reptile around her neck, and there it writhed like a living necklace. "You see," she said as the snake suddenly attempted to encircle her chest, "This is what I have to guard against?at the same time siezing the monster just back of the head, causing it to hiss horribly. "When I was in Madrid my largest snake, weighing 120 pounds, nearly choked me to death; and it took two strong men to get him loose. I lost the grip on his neck. Another time, in London, the same snake tightened about my chest so powerfully that it made my nose bleed. In Philadelphia, last season, a new snake that didn't know me, got beyond my control, and before I could seize his neck, had nearly crushed my arm. I was so sorry that the newspapers told about it; I do not want the people to think that I am afraid. In one of the Western States?I cannot remember the name?I tried to show how I handled three snakes at once. The smallest one got away from me, and in trying to catch him I let go of the others. The next moment they were both wrapped around my body, and tightening their folds. I was unable to speak and threw myself on my back to attract attention. Two of the attendants rushed forward and rescued me. I find the greatest danger on very warm days. The snakes are full of life then, and want to squeeze tight. On cold, damp, days they will hardly move.?Philadelphia Record. ' Wind-Sounds in the Desert.?The traveler's tales of sounds like the ringing of bells, which they have heard in the deserts and lonely places, are familiar. Some of them are too well substantiated to admit of serious dispute. Among them is that of the noises heard at the Gebel Nakus, in the Sinatic Peninsular, which the Arabs say proceeds from a convent of damned monks; the musical cliffs of the Orinoco, told of by Humboldt; and the sound which the French savants Jollois and Devilliers declare they heard at sunrise at Karnak, Egypt, and described as comparable to the ancient fable of the vocal Memnon. The sounds are not always * exactly like the ringing of a bell; sometimes they resemble , the music of a string, and may be generally described as of an intermediate character between the two classes. A characteristic of the sound is that no one can discern where they come from. M. Emile Sorel, ; Jils, in order to determine their origin, has made some successful experiments in reproducing them artificially. Taking his gun into an open field, he placed it an angle of 45 degrees against the wind, when it gave forth a sound. Then moving it around, he caused it to utter the exact tone he sought. The sound could not be localized. Address- ( inga peasant, he asked him, "Do you hear my gun?" "Pardon, monsieur, it is the ; bells of?." A similar answer was got from every one whose attention was called to the noise. It was believed to come from about two miles and a half to the windward. M. Sorel believes this experiment authorizes the hypothesis that the ringing is the result : of the blowing of the wind over a slope at , the foot of which is something that may act ' as a resonator. What is done on a small , scale in a gun may be done on a large scale ' in nature, on the face of a mountain or a . rock which is backed by a valley or ravine, or which is itself elastic enough to give the , resonant effect. The sounds are apparently ' not as readily given when the vibrating sur- 1 faces and media t\re moist. Praising the National Capital.? ] The capital of the Republic is not unwor- ' thy of the great and prosperous country in j which it occupies the first place. Washington is an absolute creation ol the Federal 1 Congress. Other cities have grown, but 1 Washington was made. The site chosen ] for the seat of government was well adapted '* for the purpose, though some of the lower ground is said to be conducive of malaria. Large ideas pervaded the founders of the 1 city. They provided for a development ! commensurate with the development 01 tne < nation. Hence they placed the public departments so far away from each other that 1 Washington was happily designed the City of Magnificent Distances. The distances are ] still magnificent; but the intervening spaces 1 have now almost all been filled up with i handsome residences. The streets and av- j enues are all broad, all planted with trees, ' and nearly all asphalted. It is said that the * average width is double that of the streets ' and avenues of Paris and Berlin, Pennsyl- 1 vania avenue seemed to me even finer than < the Champs Elysees. The management of ' the thorougfares is placed in the hands of a J a parking commission, which has done its 1 work so well that upward of 07,000 trees 1 have been planted under its direction. Trees of the same variety are placed in each street and avenue, regard being had for the s surrounding conditions. For instance, pref- i erence is given in the lower locations to the 1 California poplar, which, in its power of 1 absorbing miasmatic exhalations, bears a c strong resemblance to the eucalyptus, which c cannnot be successfully grown so far north, t The result of the Parking commission's op- 1 erations is that 130 miles of shaded walks c are provided for the use and enjoyment of i the citizens of Washington. Many of the i public buildings are splendid specimens of 1 architecture. The capitol, however, over- ^ shadows them all. Situated on an elevation c in the center of the city commands a clear i and unobstructed view on every side. Noth- t ing can be finer than the prospect from the ? capitol?the city, embosomed in trees, lying below; the broad waters of the Potomac beyond; and beyond the Potomac again the Heights of Arlington, where, around the ancestral home of the late Gen. Lee, 16,(XX) Federal and Confederate soldiers lie side by side in one common graveyard. From the Potomac, too, the city has a charming apperance, crowned as it is by the dome of the capitol, which shines in the sun like a globe of polished silver. I have seen many of the capitals of Europe. I have seen London, Edinburgh and Dublin; I have seen Paris, Berlin and Brussels, 1 have seen Copenhagen, Christiana, Dresden and the Hague. But I have seen none that surpasses for effect this city of Magnificent Distances.?^"Our American Cousins." IS THE MOON INHABITED 1 At the astronomical observatory of Berlin, says a translation from Nya Pressen Helsingfor, a discovery has lately been made which, without doubt, will cause the greatest sensation, not only among the adepts in science, but even among the most learned. Prof. Blendmann, in that city, has found, beyond a doubt, that our old friend, the moon, is not a mere lantern which kindlv furnishes light for the loving youth and gas companies' of our planet, l)ut the abode of living, intelligent beings, for which he is prepared to furnish proofs most convincing. The question has agitated humanity from time immemorial, and has been the object of the greatest interest. But the opinions have always differed very widely, and no two minds held one and the same ? Already in ancient times the belief prevailed that the moon was inhabited by some lighter organized, intelligent beings, somewhat resembling man, and in order to communicate with them the earthly enthusiasts planted rows of trees several miles in length so as to form the figure of the Pythagorean theoren. The celebrated astronomer Schroder, in the beginning of the present century, fancied that he could detect places on the surface of the moon which periodically grew lighter and darker, and from this fact he derived the conclusion that the phenomenon was proof of existing vegetation. During the last few decades, however, the idea of life on the moon has been held up to ridicui", and totally scorned by men of learning. But, nevertheless, it has now been proved to be correct. By accident Dr. Blendman found that the ouservauous ui tne muuu gave uut veiy unsatisfactory results, owing to the intensity of the light power of the moon's atmosphere, which is that strong that it effects the correctness of the observations in a very high degree. He then conceived the idea to make the object-glass of the refractor less sensitive to the rays of the light, and for that purpose he darkened it with the smoke of camphor. It took months of experimenting before he succeeded in finding his right degree of obscurity of the glass, and when finally found he then with the refractor took an accurate photo of the moon's surface. This he placed in a sun microscope, which gave the picture a diameter of 55% feet. The revelation was most startling. It perfectly overturned all hitherto entertained ideas of the moon's surface. Those level plains which formerly were held to be oceans of water proved to be verdant fields, and what formerly were considered mountains turned out as deserts of sand and oceans of water. Towns and habitations of all kinds were plainly discernible, as well as signs of in-1 1 1 X CO ? mt_A 1 ^ A uustry anu iramc. me itriiiiiuu pruiesaui n study and observations of old Luna will be repeated every full moon when the sky is clear, and we venture to predict that the time is not far off when we shall know more about the man in the moon than as being an agent in English politics. Killing Made Easy.?In the time of Napoleon it was estimated that it took GOO bullets to be fired in battle before a man was killed; in other words, every dead soldier represented his own weight in lead. But the recent improvement in fire arms has added to the efficiency of the soldier. The greater range of the rifle, as well as the rapidity with which it can be fired, has made it thirty-two times as effective as the old smooth-bore. To put it more accurately, a military authority says that the modern rifle is superior to the old smooth-bore in the following particulars: It is eight * times more effective in accuracy, two-thirds greater in range and penetration, five times greater in rapidity of aimed fire: while the weight of the cartridges per man has diminished, yet the number that may be carried has been increased. The added efficiency of the heavy guns is no less surprising. The famous Krupp makes a gun of nine inches caliber and eighteen tons weight which will seud a ball through twenty inches of solid iron ; and his field-gun, within a range of more than a mile and a half, can be depended upon to put every projectile into a space of less than two hundred square feet. Taking into consideration the breech-loading, rifles, better powder, improved projectiles, the lighter carriages of steel, the science of artillery has been revolutionized ; and one battery to-day is more effective than twenty of those so skillfully handled by the great Napoleon. In the next great battles some dreadful engines of destruction will be brought into play. The Hotchkiss revolving gun can fire bursting shells at the rate of eighty a minute. It can pour out a continuous and deadly fire of seventy-five rvrviin/Su ?f iv-iofo 1 nr 1 900 hlfs PVPfV SlYtv pvuiiuu Wl JMVkUIj W4 AJ-WV J, seconds. It is fearful to think of the havoc which would be caused by the guns of the future. Meal Time.?Punctuality at meal time is due from every member of the family ; the chance laggard, even in childhood, owes m apology and should be taught to make it. Courtesy demands that 110 one should leave the table until all have finished without saying to the hostess, "Please excuse me," and childhood is no exception. Every one should feel the necessity of making themselves fit for the table, and of bringing dieerful faces and the very best that is in them to it. If disagreeable topics must be Jiscussed, meal time is not the suitable hour or the table the proper place for such liscussions, and no one should feel any more at liberty to say an unkind or thoughtless word than he would -to adulterate the food or withhold it altogether. At the ev?ry-day table, no matter how humble it may be, cleanliness, order, mutual respect indgood breeding mark the truly refined. What Makes a Home ??It is an excellonf Hn'nrr t> well L'Pnf linil<5P finplv ippointed tabie; but, after all, the best rneer of every home must come from the heart and manner of the home mother. If that be cold, and this ungracious, all the wealth of India cannot make the home pleasant and inviting. Intelligence, too, must lend its charm if we would have home m Eden. The severe style of house order neatness seldom leave much margin for in;ellectual culture ; a simpler style of living ind house furnishing would set many a ponded slave at liberty, and add vastly to :he comforts of all the household. There are ;abin homes that have been and are remempered with pleasure, because of the beautiful loving presence there; and stately homes without it are but dull and cheerless habi:ations. Early Impressions.?Most people are >et in their first opinions. Our early impressions would prevail with us through ife if our opinions could not be altered. But the mind can be affected and the unlerstanding influenced ; therefore our first ppinion of things can be changed and ;radicated. The most powerful way perlaps to effect a change is by the influence >f example. The schoolboy that is fond of nischief while at school generally commits more or less crime during his lifetime, uness induced by good examples to mend his vays. Thus we see the great importance >f forming such habits only as will render is happy in life and guide us smoothly hrough that short space of time which is illotted to man.