Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j 2U Jjnbepeittomt Jamil]) itefospajjer: Jfor f|e |)roinotioit of % political, Social, Hgriealfural anb Commercial Interests of tjje Sontji. j TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 30. ' YOEKYILLE, S C., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1884. 36. fflfttji. | - i Written for tlie Yorkville Enquirer. , WHY I DO NOT MARRY. 1 . ? BY IN" GO MAR. . c You ask me why I do not marry, i And why with women I ne'er tarry; ? And why I tiee from blushing maid < As if she were a vixen?jade? You say that I'm in prime of life, i And should be blessed with loving wife With loving wife! the words sound sweet, But once I aid a maiden meet, < And fondly worshipped at her shine, ] And longed to call the fair one mine. j O, she was fair as poet's dream! \ Among fair maids she seemed a queen! , Her eves, like starrv orbs of Nifirht. Did dazzle with their luster bright; | Her hair in glossy ringlets black Swept o'er white shoulders down her back; ( Her velvet cheek, when she would blush, Was like moss-rose's gentle flush; ] Her neck, 'twas chiseled?polished?white, j And shone like ivory column bright: Her budding charms were fair to view, : And almost shone her gauze vest thro'; 1 Her waist 'twas tap'ring, small and neat, i In keeping with fair hands?small feet; Her voice, 'twas like a sweet-toned lute, 1 And it could charm the heart of youth,? But she was false; a soulless jade, < Although in years a tender maid. O, how my heart has thrilled with bliss When I felt pressure of her kiss ! 1 With siren song she lured me on ( Until my heart and soul she won; 1 She vowed that she was constant?true? And that I'd ne'er have cause to rue j That I had given her my heart, . For that with it she'd never part: J That of all men she loved me best, J . And then she'd nestle on mv breast; ' And on my soul if you could see ( The wiles, the charms, the witchery ] Of that young maid I loved so well,? Who o'er me cast her fatal spell,? . You would not wonder that I hate ? But what's the use of cursing fate? * *??*? i I strayed one eve thro' shady dell, i And something o'er me cast a spell ( As leisurely I strayed along, j And I my ramble did prolong; Nor dreamt I that my love was near Until her voice fell on my ear: 1 It thrilled my soul like music sweet, And I advanced my love to greet; . i But in a shadv bower near, t WhArftshe full oft mv heart did cheer, I saw her in another's arms And freely yielding him her charms: I saw her drunk as 'twere with bliss s As she his lips did fondly kiss, And panting bosom?glowing cheeksShewed the coquette at her old freaks. I fled the spot in sore dismay And sadly homeward took my way, And ever since when maid I see Approach me with her coquetry I flee from her in wild alarm ' (For me no woman now has charm), For with that heartless, vile coquette, My star of love torever set! Columbia, S. C. ?be totg ?ellet. "villain and spy. 3Y JANE G. AUSTIN. Jean Jacques Rosseau Viexvert, commonly called l'Enfant Perdu, was a corporal in the Ninety-ninth Zouaves, serving, at the time of this anecdote, in Algiers. It was an offense punishable with death # for a zouave to sell weapons or ammunition to an Arab, and yet, as Colonel Milraontain swore, the Beni-Suassens were better armed than his own men; and to stray be^ yond the outpost of the camp after dark was to offer your bones to the jackals and the wolves. A strict espionage was instituted; and when one fine morning, Colonel Milmontain, seated alone in his tent, received the visit of a villainous looking sub-corporal, he immediately said: "Good morning, Jean Lapin. Whom have you detected ?" "Good morning mon commandant. This morning an Arab, Mustapha el Reis by name, a leader among the Beni Snassens, 1 --- 1 - < r\ V -vr;,w,T_ : met a corpora; o; \_uuipmi.y ^v, ?iku%>uj- t ninth Zouaves, in a deep ravine half a mile j beyond the last outpost. A heavy package , of ammunition and a roll of gold were ex- f changed between them, and then the Arab j rode toward the desert, and the zouave re- f turned to camp." r "The name of the corporal ?" demanded ^ the commandant, sternly. "Vieuxvert, commonly called l'EnfantPerdu," replied the informer. "Ah, yes, l'Enfant-Perdu!" replied he, a slowly. "An enemy of yours, Lapin, is he . not?" ; "I was ordered upon this duty, mon commandant." . "I know it; but it is nevertheless true that l'Enfant-Perdu fought with you a few t weeks since, and left you half dead upon the : field?" "Yes, mon commandant." J "He spent ten days in the guardhouse, r and you a week in the hospital in consequence?" "Yes, mon commandant." "And all for no better cause than the ? smiles of a vicandiere ?" "I had been four months making a fool of ? myself to please l'Immortelle, and she was just beginning to smile upon me, when this fellow came between, and took her away from under my very mustache, mon com- f 'mandant." "Not without her consent, however, Lapin." j "He bewitched her, mon commandant." ? "It is a common case, my poor fellow, and , all that I have to say is, beware that 110 private enmity or lust of vengeance tempts J you to waste my time with idle or false reports. It is better to be shot than to die v under the stick. You swear that your tale * is true, and that the zouave was Jean t Vieuxvert, corporal of Company X ?" "I swear it, mon commandant." * "Very well. Now go and find the lied- J beard, and tell him to come quietly to my ; AixnUnivi of nlnimn AVlnr-lf tn-nio'ht'. Here * l[WUlCiO ai CiU VV.J* V VAVVM wv ?.. is leave for the day. You will probably find the Arab at his own donah?he seldom comes into camp since the attempt to steal his wife in his absence. I shall yet discover and punish the offenders in that raid." And the commandant fixed his piercing gray eyes upon the pallid face of the spy, who shuffled uneasily, wined his forehead with the back of his hand, looked, everywhere but into his officer's eyes, and murmured : "I proved my innocence, mon commandant. "Yes; but I advise you to carry yourself a little carefully at the donah of the Redbeard to-day. They haven't much faith in alibis, these poor Arabs." And then ne released him, and Jean Lapin, escaping into the out air, drew the long breath of a criminal who quits the torturechamber. But the next breath he encountered, almost face to face, a young woman in the the dress of a vivandiere, who, casti ing an inquisitorial glance at his face, said, carelessly, and with an intonation that gave the double meaning of his name which was the scourge of the informer's life: "Good-morning, Le Lapin. Which of my comrades have you been getting into x ?:ii. IUA nntMmondunt. nnw ?'' trouuit; wiiii me . "You are always cruel to me, l'Inimor- ' telle, anil I?you never would let me tell * you how dearly I love you." "No; I don't have much time to listen { to romances," replied thevivandiere. "And besides, Le Lapin, some one might come f along and frighten you away before the story was finished." She laughed, showing all her fresh white J teeth beneath the scarlet lips Jean Lapin * had never touched, and walked away, while 1 he, hissing, serpent-Jike, an oath, retreated 1 in the ppposite direction. "She, too! If I can include her in his f disgrace and death ! Or if they would put 1 her bound and gagged, into my hands for \ punishment!" i So plotted Lapin, while l'Immortelle, for retting him as she did the little adder that larted across her path and disappeared, .vent singing on her way to the hospital, .vhere she was welcomed by her weary, fe/er burned, disouraged patients as the devout and immaculate Sisters of Mercy who shared her duties were never welcomed. Presently she caught sight of the handsome, careless, saucy-looking Enfant Perdu, n his showy zouave costume, stopped, ana saluted with a mocking affectation of respect. "Good-morning, my dear little corporal. What new wickedness have you to report ?" "Only the same old sin of coveting what loes not belong to me, I'mraortelle," replied i'Enfant-Perdu, drawing a little paper Parcel from his pocket and offering it to she vivandiere, who curiously opened it, md displayed a medal or locket of pure, yellow gold, wrought in the Saracenic style. "For you, l'Immortelle, if you will ac;ept it." "Hem ! If I will accept it!" exclaimed 'Immortelle, attaching il to the chain about ler neck. "That goes without saying, my ! 1 /I I mu rt 4- in MA 5 O M /-? K1 AA/"1 n ;unu ; limi 11 uicic io uu uiuuu u^uu it; I don't like men killed for my adornnent, even if they be but Arabs." "Not even an Arab was killed.for that :rinket, ma belle; I got it in a fair barter." L'Immortelle looked sharply, not to say sternly, into the face of her companion. "L'Enfant-Perdu, take care that you don't *et your name changed to l'Enfant Pendu The Hung Child,") said she, severely, and ivent her way to the hospital. "I'll be a little civil to the fellow, and get iiis secret out of him as easily as a monkey ;oaxes an oyster out of his shell," was the jlimax of the vivandiere'i reverie, as leaving she hospital, she walked along through the jamp and reached the quarters of Company X just as the men went to dinner. A shout of welcome greeted her appearmce. "See here, l'Immortelle! A soup, for vhich Victor, Francois, Gervase and I have braged to some purpose!" cried Grosjfeorge, sticking his bayonet into the seethng caldron and dragging up an animal that nay have been a rabbit, but looked uneomnonly like a cat. "Thanks, George: but I am looking for i rabbit not yet cooked," replied l'lmmor;elle, dryly. "Where is Jean Lapin?" Every one laughed, but no one could re)ly. The sub-corporal had not been seen iince early morning, and in spite of l'Enant-Perdu's earnest invitation to a seat by lis side and a share of his mess of beans and lard bread, the vivandiere shook her head ind moved away toward her own little tent. She had need to be alone and to think. "Le Lapin had been to make a report to he commandant, and I knew by the evil ook he cast upon me that this report was a evenge upon me; but I personally have lone nothing of which an ill report could >e made; it is therefore one for whom I ?.re that is threatened, and all the world mows that l'Enfant-Perdu is the only man or whom I care the puff of a cigarette, and L.e Lapin is, for that and other reasons, the leadly enemy of l'Enfant-Perdu; it is thereore my poor boy who is likely to be the ibject of this spy's information; and he, vhat has he done ? Been trading with the 3eni-Snassens, of course, for here is the jroof." And she angrily twitched the locket about ler neck. "But that is no crime, except or one commodity, and l'Enfant Perdu is lot the traitor to furnish our foes with veapons to use against us, his comrades! So, no; I will not insult him so much as ;ven to ask the question; but what, what las he been about ?" And hastily dispatching her coarse repast, he vivandiere wandered restlessly forth igain, and this time quite to the confines of he camp, and so near to the outpost nearest he desert that she saw a horseman come galloping from that direction, stop and give he password and exchange some sentences )f gay chat with his comrades, before passng on. The next moment he passed her ,vith a mocking salute, and l'Immortelle's rnrdy bloom paled for an instant as she relognized Jean Lapin, and caught the evil ;riumph in his eyes. "Must have had leave of absence?must lave had a pass and a horse furnished by lie commandant. And that track?yes, it eads to the douah of the Redbeard?in the my of the commandant, also?and the look >f triumph on the face of Le Lapin ? Come, 'Immortelle, you have your work cut out 'or the next four-and-twentv hours, and first, ny child, rest and sleep, for to-night you vill wake." And with her soldierly facility for rest, vhenever rest was practicable, the vivandiere eturned at once to her tent and lay down to leep, secure that nothing more would be lone before nightfall upon the side of the inemy, as she now classed Le Lapin, the ommandant, and Redbeard, his Arab satel ite. L'Enfant-Perdu was desolate. Let him ry as he might, no moment of that day or evening afforded him the opportunity soarlently desired, of an interview with his nistress, who was always either asleep or >usy with her invalids, or out of the way iltogether. That night, a few minutes before eleven 'clock, the vivandiere, prowling in the vi:inity of the commandant's tent, encounter!d a gliding shadow, whose white draperies, tealthy step and crescent-jeweled fez bepoke an Arab. Meeting the vivandiere, he avoided her, md pursued a course leading quite away rorn the commandant's quarters. L'lmnortelle also made a detour, and returned ust in time to see the Arab glide behind the loor-curtain, and disappear in the recesses ?f the tent. Again she retreated, and, sure hat she could no longer be observed by the entinel, reapproached quite at the rear of he tent, and crept close to the canvas walls, vith the naive purpose of listening to what msaed within. But the conversation, carried on in a low one of voice, in the central division of the anvas dwelling, was all but inaudible to he listener, when the stern voice of the olonel became distinguishable, saying, 'To-morrow at sunset, and Lapin will be ihere with a force to arrest him?" when a leavy hand was laid upon her shoulder, md a voice whispered in her ear: "Come away, quick, ma mie! Jules Beauven is looking the other way, not to see ,'ou. Quick!" Grinding her white teeth, l'Immortelle wisted herself free, and, springing to her eet, glared into the eyes of l'Enfant-Perdu vith an expression of scorn and pity, and nuttering, "Sepristi! It is enough to make >ne ashamed to have had a man for a father !" she strode away. TTnfl clio rmnninnrl tnn ininntpe lnntrpr ;he would have seen the iledbeard come orth and take his way through the camp mtil, reaching the quarters of Company X, le prowled hither and thither, evidently ooking for some one, whom he presently bund in the person of Jean Vieuxvert, 'Enfant-Perdu, returning disconsolately. A gesture and a look were sufficient for he quick-witted Frenchman, and, with limply a nod, he followed the Iledbeard to i shadowy nook behind the tents, and as the Vrab paused, asked, carelessly : "Well, Beni-Snassen, what do you want >f me, and how came you here in camp?" "Your chief called me to know of the dans of my tribe," replied Iledbeard, in a ow and confidential tone; "and I was glad 0 come, for I had much wish to sec the mive soldier whom his comrades call l'Enant-Perdu." "His comrades? Yes," replied the zouave, 1 little grimly, "but whose name is Corporil Vieuxvert. Well, what next ?" "Was it Corporal Vieuxvert or 1'Enfant?erdu who spoke with Mustaphe el Iieis in he valley half way between tne camp and ny douah f" asked the Arab, dryly. "For ny business is with that same man." "Sucre won de DieitBut you fellows ire as keen as the edges of your scimitars. Veil, yes, it is l'Enfant-Perdu whom you vish to see; so speak out, and be done with t." "It is well, my brother," returned lied beard, his gravity unmoved. "The BeniSnassens are at peace with the warriors of the French chief, and they need powder and ! bullets to strike the game which is to feed i their donahs. The French chief cannot be1 lieve that this is all, but his soldiers are [ wiser than he. L'Enfant-Perdu sold am: munition to Mustaphe el Reis, and Redbeard has come to him with money and gold in his girdle." "H'm! And you wantammunition merely for the chase ?" asked l'Enfant-Perdu, hesitatingly. "I have said it." "And you will pay well ? If you have not enough money, I will take trinkets such as your women wear." "I have a pair of bracelets fit for a sultana." "All right. When shall I meet you, and where ?" "To-morrow, at sunset, in the dry watercourse between my donah and this camp, at the spot where the trail crosses the mullah." "Very well. I'll be there." And "l'Enfant-Perdu turned brusquely away, as if anxious to terminate an interview of which he might well be both ashamed and afraid. And all this 1'Immortelle had lost through untimely indulgence in a fit of the pouts, and, although she watched all the rest of the night, pervading the camp like an unquiet spirit, she saw nothing except the white, gliding figure of the Arab as he retreated toward the outpost where he had left his horse, and the stalwart form of l'Enfant-Perdu, stretched supinely upon the straw of his bivouac, and wrapped in the sleep of the just. The next day brought no new light to cast upon the enigma to which 1'Immortelle had as yet no clew except those few words of the commandant: "To-morrow'at sunset, and Lapin will be there to arrest him." This it is to be a woman. With all her haste, and she was no laggard, the vivancliere was too late to witness Lapin's departure for the rendezuous ; but, following the same road, she was in season to put herself within the shelter of one of those islands of vegetation that fringe the habitable portion of this strange region. So secreted, 1'Immortelle saw the squad of zouaves approach the deep gully where the rendezvous between l'Enfant-Perdu and the Eedbeard had been appointed, saw them disappear in its recesses, and knew that they were hidden from the point where the usual track of caravans or travelers bound for the desert and the great cities beyond crossed the nullah. Next, she saw an | Arab, whom her keen eyes recognized as the i Redbeard, riding rapidly irom ine direction of his own douah, or dwelling, hidden beneath a clump of palms. Next?a tiny, toiling speck upon the distant track brought a grim smile to the lips of the watching woman, who so easily recognized her recreant lover. But yet another speck was moving now upon the wide, level field of the vivandiere's j observation. It was the figure of a horse| man emerging from the sunken watercourse, a mile or more from the point where the zouaves were concealed, and still further from the point where the Arab and l'Enfant-Perdu were to meet. "Le Lapin !" muttered the vivandiere, fiercely. "And galloping in the direction of the douah ! And the sun already on the horizon?the hour when Redbeard is certain to be at the rendezvous with l'Enfant-Perdu! Now, what does all this mean ? Treachery?but to whom ?" And l'Immortelle remained for a few moments in deep thought; then, striking spurs into her Arab's flanks, galloped in the direction of the douah. Her plan of action had hitherto been to wait until the Arab and her lover had met, then to appear upon the scene. She had come partly to enjoy the Arab's discomfiture, partly to reprove and abash her lover by showing that he could not disguise his movements from her eyes, and partly to betray the treacherous errand of Le Lapin, and procure him a good drubbing from l'Enfant-Perdu. But the movement of Le Lapin in quitting the rendezvous just at the appointed hour, and making toward the douah, which he must have known Redbeard had already left, was inexplicable. It was, therefore, natural that l'Immortelle, being a woman, should reverse all her plans, and rush to investigate that which remained a mystery to her. A sharp, short gallop brought her to the edge of the somewhat extensive oasis, and, slipping from her horse's back, she left him to graze eagerly upon the short turf, and crept through the rapidly gathering shadows toward the white-walled tentgleamingamong the palms. She was still twenty feet distant, when she heard the stifled, sobbing cry of a woman in deadly fright or peril. L'Immortelle was at once woman to leel and soldier to defend and avenge. Springing forward, her quick eyes lighted at once upon the spot where the tent-cloth had been cut loose from the peg that held it I down, and, swift as light, she too raised and ! darted beneath it. The next instant she flung herself with j resistless force upon one of the writhing figi ures, and, clutching her strong, nervous finj gers about his throat with deadly force, I cried to the panting woman whom she had j released from a similar bondage : "Quick, quick, woman! A rope?the tenti cord?anything ! Tie his hands ! Quick, I> ! say, while I can hold him !" For, powerful as she was, and greatly at j I advantage as she held her captive, the franj tic struggles of Le Lapin threatened to j overpower even the strength of l'lmmor| telle, more man's than woman's though I that strength might be. j But Zarah was quick-witted, and even in her terror and pain she comprehended the , command, and obeyed. The tent-rope lay {close beside her, and, catching it up, she ; made a noose, passed it over the right wrist j of the struggling man, then dexterously | caught the left hand in another loop, and ! wound the cord about both his hands and ! | arms with swift energy and hate; gasping all j j the while, amid her sobs, those poetic male- j1 j dictions by which an Arab consigns to eter- ' ! nal perdition not alone his enemy, but all the enemy's kith and kin, past, present and ' 1 prospective. i "Where are your servants ?" inquired i l'Immortelle, when this was done ; and < Zarah, in lingua Franca, made her under- i 1 stand that they were either absent or em| ployed at the spring, some little distance i from the tent, where Zarah had been sur- : prised alone. "Call them, and make this wretch sure and fast until Iiedbeard comes home ; then : tell him what has happened, and say that I, l'Immortelle, left the punishment of his en- : j emy in his own hands. It there is trouble ! with the commandant, I am ready to testify i1 where and how I found him." And gently pulling away the hand the ( i Arab girl was covering with kisses, the 1 vicandiere lingered only to see the stout ser- ( vant-women, with their thongs, clustering, ; with shrill cries, about their captive ; and then calling her horse with the low cry he < always obeyed, let grass or water be never so sweet, she rode furiously back, hoping 1 \'of in timn fnr tlm i n tnrvio w. But when, riding recklessly down the! < rocky path, she arrived in the bottom of the 1 nullah, the first sight that met her eyes was 1 her lover, standing between two stern com- ' rades, while the sergeant commandingstood 1 by, his eyes contemptuously fixed upon the .< culprit; and Itedbeard looked at each in ] turn, as if equally hating and despising all. < Unon a stone in the centre of the group < lay the game-bag l'Enfant Perdu had worn < out of camp, its open mouth filled with car- . fridges. * j "What is this, Sergeant Pelletier ?" de- j manded the rivandiere, in the sharp tone of i command every soldier in the division loved i ] so well. i "Why, it is just this, l'Immortelle," re- ] j plied the sub-officer, in a tone of mingled < affection and deference. "L'Enfant-Perdu < here has been selling ammunition to the i enemy. Lo Lupin found it out, and drop- | ped a word at headquarters?, and we were sent out, with orders to seethe ammunition delivered, and then to arrest both parties and bring them to headquarters, cartridges, bullets aud all." "And you saw Vieuxvert give those cartridges to the Arab!" exclaimed the vivandiere, with a look of loathing upon the traitor. "Yes, I saw it, l'Immortelle." "Then take him to the commandant, and out of my sight!" But as l'Immortelle turned away, the prisoner for the first time broke silence. "L'Immortelle, one wojrd before you go." She fixed a haughty stare upon his unabashed face. "I have no words with traitors and assassins," said she. "But anybody grants a favor to a dying man," replied l'Enfant-Perdu, confidently. "And you may be sure that to-morrow's sunrise will be the hour the commandant will select for my last excursion into the country." "Well, what do you want ?" And, ipite of herself, her voice trembled. "Come with us np,w to the commandant; you will be admitted, you are welcome everywhere, and it would be a last pleasure for me. Will you come ?" "I will come." L'Immortelle presently stood with the prisoner, his guard and the Arab, in the tent of the commandant. The colonel's voice was cold and hard when, having heard all the testimony, he turned to the prisoner, who still maintained the careless, almost smiling unconcern of his manner. "Corporal Vieuxvert, you have heard the accusation and the proof. Have you anything to say. "Nothing, woncomnumdant; there are the cartridges, and there the bracelets, and there the men who saw them exchanged between Redbeard and myself. I offer no defense, but I make, in my character of dying man, one last request." "Make it." "It is that I may be allowed the use of my hands, and may help myself to one of those cartridges, to a bullet, and to my own empty pistol there upon the table. I solemnly swear, on the faith of Jean "Vieuxvert, to harm no one here?no one bu t myself." Eagerly accepting the commandant's nod of assent, the late comrades of l'EnfantPerdu loosed his hands and placed the pistol and the ammunition within his reach. "Yes," said he, slowly loading the weap on, "II- IS preiecuy true mat x sum uiewe cartridges to the Arab, and that I have sold others before these, and it is just and right that the man who puts a weapon in the hands of the enemy should perish by that weapon; but I do not want to be shot by Jacques, and Phillippe, and Jules, and Auguste, and the others whom I have been comrade to so long, nor do I wish it said of the Ninety-ninth Zouaves that they have traitors among them, and that a man has been taken from their ranks to be shot for treason and disobedience, so?good-by, l'Immortelle!" He smiled, almost mockingly even now, as he kissed his finger-tips toward her, and then, while she turned shudderingly away, he placed the muzzle of the pistol to his temple and fired! The cap snapped, but no explosion followed. "Peste ! It is so awkward when the curtains will not fall at the end of the play!" exclaimed l'Enfant-Perdu, as he again failed to explode the charge. "It seems that Providence decides that. I ought not to die," remarked l'EnfantPerdu, tossing the pistol upon the table, and turning his eternal smile upon the face of Colonel Milmontain. "What do you mean by this farce?" demanded the colonel. "It means, mon commandant," replied l'Enfant-Perdu, picking up another cartridge and tearing it to pieces, "that the powder is made of charcoal, without any adulteration of sulphur or saltpetre, and the bullets are made of clay, colored and baked. It is some trouble to prepare them and put them up in this nice cartridge paper, and if Mustapha el Iteis likes to give me a locket, ana iteaoeara a pair 01 oraceieis, iur my industry, I do not know why I should not sell them as well as the bone rings and chessmen, and such matters that I used to manufacture. Am I right, mo/i commandant ?" "But, stupid fellow, why did you not say all this to the sergeant in the first place?" asked the colonel, laughing outright. "I wanted to see how those who had pretended to believe in me would take my apparent change of base." He glanced at l'Immortelle, who was looking at once angry, delighted, ashamed and dubious. "Yes, yes, I see!" exclaimed the colonel. "But you and l'Immortelle will soon make it up, especially with the help of these bracelets, ana I advise you, I'Enfant-Perdu, to try to get her consent to a drum head wedding, and make sure of no more separations. And now, my children, good-night." But before she left the tent, l'Immortelle passed close to Red beard, and said in his ear: "There isasnakecoilingaround thedouah, and Zarah wearies for the strong arm and sharp sword of her lord." The Arab started slightly, turned his calm, dark eyes upon the face of the speaker, and glided noiselessly out of the tent. The next day the horse that Corporal Jean Lapin had ridden upon his reconnoissance came limping into camp, covered with sweat and the marks of cruel spurring, as if he had been ridden fast and furiously for many miles. A few weeks after this there was a great wedding in the camp of the Ninety-ninth, and Col. Milmontain gave away the bride, and l'Enfant-Perdu changed his nickname to l'Enfivnt-Trouve, and l'Immortelle wore the Damascus bracelets. The Art of Not Being Understood.? The importance of the art of being able to express one's self either in conversation or in writing, with conciseness, force and accuracy cannot be oVer-estimated. Yet, if one may judge from the talk of his neighbors in a railway car, and from the columns of the average newspaper, there is no branch of learning that, considering its importance, is so neglected. If he has plenty of time at his disposal almost everyone can make himself understood, but too often the number of aP oil rvmartaid ? r\r\ f a +Vi a WUIU5 UM'U IS UUlUi evil piu^uiuuu t\j tuc ideas. The peculiarly nervous temperament, and the limited vocabulary of most Americans lead them to express themselves in a vague, verbose fashion. They are too long in getting at the pith of what they are talking about; and when they reach this point their inability to remember the two or three words, that would put their thoughts in a compact, intelligible form, 3ompels them to use ten, where one, were it the right one, would have been sufficient. Not infrequently this vagueness is a cloak assumed for the moment to cover imperfect information or ill-defined ideas regarding the subject that is being discussed. This false pride which shows itself in a :lesire to seem to know something about that of which one knows little or nothing, is the cause of much loose, meaningless talk which may serve its purpose temporarily, hut which more often leaves a listener in such a state of uncertainty that he is as likely as not to attribute his doubts to his awn dullness. Honesty, simplicity and exactness are not qualities that are conspicuous in the conversation of an ordinary American, or even in that of a man of liberal education. The temntation to extravagance and insincerity, which, strictly speaking, are forms of dishonesty, is great, especially if one wishes to create the impression that he is unusually clever; and simplicity and exactness of statement, being oftentimes unattainable, give way to circumlocution and generalities. The result is that one gives at best only imperfect expression to his ideas. ItotfS of Snivel in #u*0jic. ENGLAND AS SEEN BY AN AMERICAN. The Extent of English Dominion. American Notions of the British Isles?England's Importance?Extent of the British Isles?Shape and Size of Ireland?Extent of Ireland and Scotland?British Isles as Compared with Texas?Colonics of Great Britain?Population of the British Isles?American Notions of the People of England?Our Fathers' Errors?Poverty and AVeaJth of Great Britain?Britain's Sources of WealthCoal? Agriculture. Wherever the English language, or any of its kindred dialects are spoken, every one has heard of the British Isles. Notwithstanding this fact, the mass of American-born persons have formed very incorrect notions of these Islands. The people of America, generally, are accustomed to think of England as much greater in the extent of its territory than it actually is. England, in many respects, is the most wonderful country on which the sun ever shone. The prevailing feature of modern civilization is English in all its important types. American laws and American manners and customs, all find their origin in England. The rapid growth of the United States is largely due to the fact that the first settlers of these States were natives of the British Isles. England never has been surpassed in war or in peace, except by her own colonies. To day, her only rival is the United States. Such being the case, the American is prone to fall into the error that the British Isles, like the United States, extend over an almost boundless extent of territory, embracing a climate of every degree of heat and cold, and a soil adapted to productions 01 enaiess variety. ' Such is not the case. The British Isles consist of two comparatively small islands, England and Scotland, which are separated by no intervening sea, being one, and Ireland the other. In shape, Ireland is a kind of irregular rhomboid, the greatest length of which is three hundred and two miles, the width across the centre being about one hundred and ten miles. Ireland contains 20,815,460 acres, or 32,524 square miles. England andScotland embrace a territory i ,of 88,005 square miles, of which 30,685 are included within the territorial limits of Scotland. The whole area of the British Isles in square miles, is 110,529. The State of Florida is larger, by 300 square miles, than England; South Carolina is only 115 square miles less than Scotland, and North Carolina is 19,720 square miles greater than Ireland. The State of Texas is 155,251 square miles larger than England, Ireland and Scotland together. Texas contains 44,722 square miles, more than twice as much territory as the British Isles. The greatness of the British Isles does not consist in extent of territory. Neither does it consist in the natural fertility of the soil or the salubrity of the climate. It may be said of the British Isles, as some one says of Scotland, that it is a "wee bit couutry." The British Isles, when compared with the United States, is a "wee bit country." The soil?much of it?is poor, and some of it rocky and barren ; and the climate, although pleasant and healthy, is too cold, and there is too little sun-shine for the production of . a great variety of crops or for the full development of any except a few. Still, Great Britain is the first among the nations of the earth in all that constitutes true national greatness, This "wee bit country," less by the Shite of Tennessee than one-half of the State of Texas, has planted colonies all over the world. In the language of one of America's greatest statesmen, "The sun never sets on England's dominions, and the morning drum of her soldiers is heard round the . world." England sways her sceptre over one-sixth ol all the people and is the acknowledged possessor of one-sixth of the land on the globe. The British Isles, although less by one-half than the State of Texas, contain nearly as many inhabitants as all the States which constitute the United States of North America, and more than one-half as many as the whole of North America. In the minds of many of the people of the United States, there is a feeling of dislike toward England. We Americans are a peculiar people. The circumstances by which we have been surrounded, have had the direct tendency to make us a proud and haughty people. Our fathers won a grand victory when they wrested the thirteen colonies from the hands of the British government. No such event had ever occurred before, and no such event has occurred since; nor, judging from present appearances, is it probable that a British commander will soon again surrender to a Colonial commander. Maddened by oppression and flushed by victory, our venerable and venerated fathers taught their offspring to dislike, if not hate, England. They spoke of the British soldiers as a band of robbers, and branded the British commanders as cowards. Their children believed them, and continued to repeat the same falsehood to their children. British soldiers never were robbers, and British commanders always have been brave. It is these two facts H-rnf ind/lo tho ciippocn: nf fho fliirfopn A mnr. ican colonics grand. If Tarleton, Ferguson and Cornwallis were cowards, and the men they led only a band of robbers, what great honor was due to Morgan, Campbell and Washington ? The fact is, three braver men never drew swords than Tarleton, Ferguson and Cornwallis; but our revolutionary fathers taught us to despise them, and with them, the whole English people. It is readily admitted that much oppression has been practiced by the English government for centuries past. More than this, there is much that can be called by no other name but oppression, practiced in England to-day. Still, the inhabitants of the British Isles are a great people, and the British Isles themselves are the marvel of the world. That there is much squalid poverty in Great Britain no one dare deny; and there are unmistakable evidences of almost incalculable wealth. This is the case in every section of both islands. Extremes meet in every neighborhood. In America we speak of the rich and of the poor; but in the Southern States we seldom see examples of either class : What we of the Southern States call rich men, would be regarded in the British Isles as men of but moderate means; and we cannot, without seeing it, form an idea of the abject poverty, of by no means a small number, of the population of Great Britain. The sources of the wealth of Great Britain | consist in its iron, coal, tin, copper and lead. In addition to this, there are inexhaustible quantities of building stone. It is in the coal beds of England, Ireland and Scotland, that we are to find the base of their solid wealth and political influence. Without their coal beds, the British Isles would be comparatively worthless. Their iron could not be smelted and their lime could not be burned. Take from England her iron, and i the manufacturing cities would soon be de-1 populated, ncsiuesine nome consumption, ; the United Kingdom exports on an average about sixteen million tons of coal annually. Without the coal beds of the British Isles, Glasgow would be compelled to give up building ships; Liverpool its commerce ; Birmingham, Sheffield and Wolverhampton their manufacturing of hardware and cutlery ; Manchester, Salford and Oldham their manufacturing of cotton fabrics; Leeds, Bradford and Leicester, their manufacturing of woolen goods ; and the cab-drivers of London be forced to leave the city. So long as the coal beds of Great Britain remain capable of supplying the demand which is made upon them, other things being equal, the British Isles will be able to compete successfully with the world in the struggle for national supremacy. It is clear to any one that the inhabitants of the British Isles cannot be suported from the products of the soil alone. In every part of these two isles, the soil is well cultivated. For several hundred years, all the cultivated land has been manured every year at great cost. The result is that what was once poor is now rich. This process of manuring is still kept up. Nothing that will add to the fertility of the soil is permitted to go to waste. A manure heap is regarded as indispensable to every well conducted farm, and making manure apart, and a great part, of the work of every wellto-do farmer. Making manure is not confined, as it is with us Southern people, to the winter months, but every month in the year is regarded by the farmers of Great Britain as the proper time to make manure. Our soil?rather ourclimate?is not adapted to the heavy manuring which is practiced successfully in Great Britain. In some sections, the British farmers use large quan tities of lime. In Ireland, energetic farmers scatter lime over their potato fields so thick that the ground is completely covered. Lime is always scattered by an Irish farmer on his potato fields, which he designs sowing in oats the coming year. This is done at great cost and labor. The lime has frequently to be hauled for a long distance, which adds to its cost very much. The American people, especially the Southern people, could not be induced to spend as much time manuring their fields, as the inhabitants of Great Brittain spend. Land is scarce in Great Britain and plenty in America. The motto of the Southern people is, wear out one piece of land and then go to a new country. The motto of the inhabitants of the British Isles is, enrich the land for yourself and descendants. R. Lathan. IHiscclhtneons ftadrotj. A TALK ABOUT TRADES. In the last three articles I have named an aggregate of thirty-eight trades and the wages paid. Let us put them in a simple table and see how the wages compare: Journeyman's wages Trade. per week. Butcher $ 7 to 814 Harnessmaker 8 to 12 Shoemaker 12 to 15 Tinner 10 to 15 Baker 7 to 12 Plumber 12 to 18 Plumber and steamfitter 15 to 20 Cabinetmaker 10 to 15 TT 11 tA 14 riuusc puiiucr u w n Paper hanger 12 to 16 Locksmith 15 to 20 Gunsmith 15 to 25 Wagon-maker 9 to 12 Blacksmith 10 to 14 Horse shoers 16 to 18 Carpenters 11 to 14 Brass tin isher 14 to 18 Electroplater 10 to 15 Electro typer 18 to 22 Tailor 10 to 15 Cutter 25 to 50 Tolegraph operator 15 to 25 Book-binder..'. '. 9 to 15 Wire-worker 10 to 15 Compositor 15 to 20 Pressman 18 to 30 Locomotive engineer 15 to 25 Stationary engineer 15 to 22 Gilder 12 to 18 Jeweler 12 to 25 Photograph operator 15 to 18 Retoucher 25 to 50 Upholsterer 20 to 30 Lithograph engraver 15 to 30 Lithograph artist 18 to 50 Lithograph pressman 14 to 25 Carriage trimmer 12 to 18 Trunk maker 12 to 16 Here it is before you?trades which can be followed in village or city in any part of the world, but I do not encourage you to pick out those paying the highest wages and rush off to learn it. As I told you in a former article, the boy who is not fitted for the trade he attempts to learn is certain to make a botch workman. He may learn how to shoe a horse if he keeps at it long enough, but he will be the poorest paid hand in the shop. So it will be with shoemaking, plumbing or whatever he undertakes without feeling at home with the tools in his hand. The father who says to his son: "Here, Will, I've decided to make a harness-maker of you," and who insists on the boy adopting that trade, is an idiot. He may compel the boy to learn it, but he will, nineteen times out of twenty, make a workman who can't earn his own bread and clothes. The average boy has an instinctive leaning towards the trade he is fitted for, and he should be left reasonably free in the matter. It used to be quite the thing for some old bald-head to pick up a baby and tell its mother in all seriousness that the size of the head, set of the eyes, height of the forehead or width between the eyes was a plain indication that he would become a great judge, poet, inventor or mathematician. There are plenty of instances where such stuff has taken root and resulted in parents forcing sons into trades or professions utterly unsuited to their physical constitution or mental caliber. It is quite natural for a father or mother to desire a son to make the selection of a good trade or profession, but this desire should not become an order or even a request. Said a blacksmith the other day as he flung down his hammer, "If my father had been a sensible man I shouldn't have been here. I had a natural taste for drawing and engraving, and I have no doubt I would have made a good one. Nothing would do but I must become a i blacksmith and here I am supporting a i family on $11 per week. I hate the work; I have no interest in what I do, but I've : got to pound away and hear myself called a botch because I'm too old to go to any < other trade." I found a lawyer the other day in a shab- i by third-story room, furnished with an old i desk, two old chairs and a spittoon. His j clothes looked worn, and his face had anything but a contented look. i "Oh, I thought it might be a client, he . said as I entered. i "Sorry it wasn't. You don't seem to be ] rushed with business." i "Rushed! Why, I haven't had a $o fee i in three weeks!" i "Too far up?" "Perhaps, but I believe the real reason is ) because I hate the profession. I was cut j out for something else. As a boy I was j crazy to learn the printer's trade. 1 got a i chance and worked for three months, but at ; I the end of that time my widowed mother i prevailed on me to stuuy lor tne law. 1 i managed to graduate, passed an examina- ] tion, and the result is that I can't marry < because I can't half support myself." Farmers make a great mistake in deciding that their sons must follow the same pursuit. 1 It is very convenient for them to come to 1 this decision, it saves the expense of educa- i ting a boy, and by keeping him at home it r. saves paying a hired man. They claim the ? services of a son until he is 21 years of age, f and if he then desires to start out with a r trade he is handicapped by his age. He 1 must either go farming or become a labor- c er. It seems not to occur to the closc-tisted j old farmer that while he may save from ?6 s to $12 per month by hanging to his boy on c the farm, the boy, if given a fair chance, t could take up some trade or profession t which would pay $10 to $1. 1 "What about the boy who does not take p up with a trade or profession ? f Look around you and the question is r speedily answered. He must cast his hook 1 into any sort of pond and take such fish as c may be caught. He is a sort of tramp. He t may work on a brick-yard to-day ana in the a harvest field to-morrow. He does the s drudgery and gets the pay of the drudge, t His wages are so small that he finds it im- o possible to lay up a dollar, and a fortnight of e idleness will see him dead broke. The r other evening I met a man dragging him- t self wearily along and carrying a pick on v his shoulder. 11 "Tired, John ?" a "More so than any horse in Detroit." 11 "What do you work at!" s "I'm a (linger. Sometimes I work lor the gas companies, but oftener for the plumbers." "Good wages ?" "So good that my family never has enough to eat, let alone buying decent clothes. If it wasn't for the wife and children I'd wish for that street car to run over me." "Why didn't you learn a trade?" "Because nobody had interest enough to argue and reason with me. I might have had a good trade and earned good wages, but here I am, working harder for $8 or $1) a week than any man does for $18." And now my boy, if men tell you that the trades are crowded, and that so many carpenters and blacksmiths and painters and shoemakers and other trades keep wages down, pay no attention to such talk. Look over the table at the head of this article again. Notice that little "to" in there between what a common and skillful workman receives. Take the trade which you seem fitted for. Begin with a determination to learn it thoroughly, and to become the best workman in the shop. Don't be satisfied to skin along from one week to another without being discharged, but make your services so valuable by being such a thorough workman that your employer cannot let you go.?M. Quad. A SOLITARY GULCH. In one of the gulches of the gold mining district of the Divide, perhaps twentyfive miles from Denver, stand the remains of a cabin, if a few blackened and charred timbers and a pile of stones, evidently at one time a chimney, can be called remains. To the miners and prospectors who pass the rough trail to-day the place has a lonely and mournful look and many speculations are indulged in as to the history and fate of its former occupants. From 1858 until 18(34 this wild and almost uninhabitable country was filled with a busy population who had left comfortable homes ana loving friends in the East in the wild pursuit of gold in these rich diggings. In the latter year, however, the number dwindled from several thousand to perhaps less than a score of white men, newer excitements having carried the restless tide in other directions. Among the few who remained were two brothers who had left their home In a pleasant town in Illinois to 1- - Al- / X XT matte uieir iortuues iu intjsu uiui vciuuai^ rich placers. These were Thomas and William Coleman, who, though so closely relat- ed, were as utterly different in disposition and manner as could be well imagined. Thomas, who was of a dark and swarthy complexion, was always morose and disagreeable, and generally disliked by his neighbors. William, however, witn his bright blue eyes and sunny hair, was ever a favorite with all. But little''was known of their previous history save that the elder was unmarried, but that William had left a young wife and one child in the Piast. It was known also, that this marriage was a considerable source of contention between the two, and it was generally understood that the brothers had been formerly rivals for the hand of the girl whom William afterward married. One day, in the summer of 1864, the stage which was still running in that section, brought as a passenger a beautiful woman to the cabin who proved to be the wife of William Coleman. The meeting of the couple was joyous to a degree, she explaining that parents and child, having both died, she had resolved to join her husband and individually share his fortunes and hardships. Upon her arrival Thomas went out of the house and wandered a long distance over ridges and through gulches not returning until long after dark. Just exactly what happened after he reached the cabin was never known, but it is surmised that a fierce quarrel and double murder ensued, as late that night a man pas J' t 1 i.1 Li. I sing near mere on norseuacit uiougm ue heard loud and angry words followed bytwo reports from a pistol, and looking back after getting on top of the ridge he saw the bright light of a conflagration. Upon reaching the nearest settlement he reported what he had seen. "A party of men started the next day to investigate the matter and found the charred remains of the cabin and beneath the still smoking ruins the burned bodies of Wiliam Coleman and his wife. Thomas Coleman was never afterwards heard of. The place to-day has a mournful lonelinesand silence, unbroken save by the twitter of birds by day and the howling of the coyote by night. PHYSIOGNOMY OF THE MOUTH. The shape of the mouth is not only a guide to permanent traits, but it also assists in revealing temporary emotions. Mouths which turn down at the corners show a melancholy tendency; this is temporary, induced by continued brooding over trouble. Mouths whose corners turn upward, disclose mirthful, fun-loving characters. Mouths which form in the upper lip the appearance called "Cupid's bow" belong to those who possess true domestic sentiments?that is to say, love of the opposite sex, love of young, and (incidentally) of animals. This appearance is observed in all well-developed characters. A thin, pale upper lip is indicative of the reverse nf this, and reveals a snannish. shrewish disposition with a dislike of the opposite sex, as well as of children and animals. Full lips disclose social and linguistic abilities. Many persons have the idea that thick, full lips belong to coarse, gross characters. It is true, if found in the undeveloped races, this is correct; but where the skin is fine, then this development is illustrative of the greatest sociability, sympathy and domesticity. The fullness of the under lip is a sign of generosity, sympathy and benevolence. A thin, pale, bloodless under lip belongs to a cruel, unsympathetic, or impoverished character. Fullness of the under lip is the facial sign of the glandular system?the system which contributes to creating and supplying the body with its juices, warmth and blood. Hence, it is easy to understand how one endowed with an abundance of nourishing fluids is better able to warm toward others, and to have the strength and desire to love and protect them, than one who is really impoverished and cold in his own person. We can give only what we possess. The races of celebrated misers are filled with fine wrinkles, showing their bloodless, juiceless condition and their unsympathetic natures. They are never prolific, and this is yet another indication of their barren natures ; for where the glands of the body are normal we find the procreative function most active, and the face full and well col)red.?Argonaut. Always Late.?Half the value of anything to be done consists in doing it prompty. And yet a large class of persons are al1 A. 1 1 l .X ,vays more or less unpuncuiui ana iuie. rheir work is always in advance of them, ind so it is with their appointments and engagements. They are late, very likely, in ising in the morning, and also in going to )cd at night; late at their meals; late at the ounting house or office; late at their appointments with others. Their letters are ent to the post-office just as the mail is :losed. They arrive at the wharf just as he steamboat is leaving it. They come into he station just as the train is going out. [ hey do not entirely forget or omit the engagement or duty, but they are always belind time, and are so generally in haste, or ather in a hurry, as if they had been born a ittle too late, and forever were trying to atch up with the lost time. They waste ime for themselves and waste it for others, nd fail of the comfort and influence and uccess which they might have found in sysematic and habitual punctuality. A good Id lady, who was asked why she was so arly in her seat at church, is said to have eplied that it was her religion not to disurb the religion of others. And if it were vith all a part, both of courtesy and duty, lotto say of religion, never to be unpunctu1, they would save time for, as well as anoyance to, others, and aid themselves to uccess and influence in a thousand ways.