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lewis \i.gbist, proprietor. J An fnkpcnknt Jfatnilij ^ttfospapcr: Jfor tljc promotion of % political, Social, Agricultural anb Commerrial Interests of tjje Soutlj. jterms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 31. YOBKVILLE, S C? THUESDAY, SEPTEMBER Q4, 1885. J^O- 39." ?bc feller. A LUCKY ENCOUNTER. The night was extremely dark, for the stars that twinkled in the bleak sky had no power to light the dullearth. Nervously, with a beating heart, a young girl hurried down a country lane, a parcel in her hands. She was London bred, and had the town fear of country lanes, and, ii she did not think "every bush an officer," dreaded that every bush might conceal a thief. Eveliue Moreton was employed by a large Loudon mourning establishment, and she had been sent down according to the advertisement, to fit a recently bereaved family. If the way was dark and gloomy, Eveline's thought's were dark and gloomy, too. The poor child was tired and hungry, for her train had been detained for two hours by an accident on the line; She had been told to take a cab, but there were no cabs to be had, and North Lodge was "quite a three mile walk," the sleepy porter had informed her. His directions had been clear enough. Eveline was to keep straight along the dull gloomy lane 1111 sne reacneu , the high road, when North Lodge would be the third house. Oh, how she wished the walk at an end; it was so dark and dull and lonely. Eveline paused suddenly and looked down the path she had to pursue with frightened eyes, for she distinctly heard footsteps. If she had yielded to her first impulse of childish terror she would have tried to find some hiding-place behind the hedge; but, ashamed of her fears, she walked on with a low, nervous laugh. The footsteps approached rapidly, ana soon a dark figure came in sight. Eveline shrank back to get out of its way, but it moved also, so that it was still right in front of her. "Good night!" said a gruff voice. "Goodnight!" repeated Eveline; for, as Charles Dickens said, we are never so polite as when we are frightened. "It is a dark night for you to be out in," went on the man. Have you such a thing as a copper about you to give a poor fellow?" Tremblingly Eveline took out her purse to look for a penny; as she did so it was suddenly snatched out of her hands. Eveline gave a litle cry of distress at the loss of the money; but she was too much alarmed to utter a single word of remonstrance. The man's burly figure still barred the way. "Let me pass, she pleaded. I have no jewelry. My purse was the only thing worth stealing; you have that, so pray let go." "Don't be in such a hurry, pretty one," said the man with a hoarse laugh and he caught hold of her arm. "I want to speak to you." "Oh! pray?pray?let me go," cried Eveline, dropping the parcel, for her poor little heart was beating almost to suffocation. "Not till I've given you a kiss," he said, insolently. "You are a pretty girl." And he drew her near to him, so that his rough bearded face touched her cheek. Eveline pushed him from her with all her force, uttering scream after scream. Her terror gave her sudden strength, and for quite a minute ^he kept him at arm's length. "You little vixen!" he exclaimed with an oath. "I'll have that kiss in spite of all your struggles; I will, by " He never finished the sentence; for, at that moment, a well directed blow from a powerful fist felled him to the ground. "You cowardly blackguard! cried the new comer indignantly. How dare you insult a lady! Stand up and let me knock you down again!" But this the tramp wisely decliued to do. He rolled over in abject terror whining out an appeal for mercy, as the young man spurned him with his foot. "I am indeed sorry that you should have been frightened by the fellow," said the stranger, lifting his hat and turning to Eveline. The girl tried to thank him ; but her emotion was too great, and putting her hand to her eyes she cried bitterly, while the young man looked on sympathetically, scarcely knowing what to do cr say under such embarrassing circumstances. "My parcel!" she exclaimed suddenly, thinking of her employer's property. "Is here!" returned her new friend, picking it up as he spoke, "and your purse, too," for in the struggle the tramp had dropped Eveline's shabby little portemonnaie. Eveline took the purse, and then mechanically held her hand for the other parDnlnk Vownon cnnh WQC tho nflmo W1 j UUt lvaiuu Y CillV/U OUV1I ?? vttv of the gentleman who had come to her rescue?shook his head. "I'll carry it," he said, dubiously. "You don't think I am going to leave you in the lane after what has happened. Where are you going?" "To North Lodge," faltered Evelyn. "You will find the Thursbys in great trouble." said Ralph Vernon, looking at her curiously. "I know it," returned Eveline, coloring. "I have come from London to make up their mourning." "Oh!" cried Ralph, a little surprised, for he had imagined that she was some poor relative, at least. His manner was far more respectful than before, and Eveline felt so glad of his company that she seen brightened up, even laughing at the recollection of the tramp, as he crawled away on his hands and knees, and then suddenly sprang to his feet, flying oft like the wind. It was too dark for Ralph to distinguish the girl's features plainly, but he could see that she was pretty, and that her figure was slight and graceful. Her voice, too, pleased him ; it was so sweet and refined. This little dressmaker was a lady in every sense of the word. "Pray take my arm," he said, kindly. "I know you are very tired and upset by the fright that ruffian gave you." "But you have the parcel to carry," returned Eveline, hesitatingly. "I can manage both you and the parcel," he told her witn a laugh. "YotHiave never carried a parcel before in your life," observed Eveline, as she accepted his arm. "How do you know that ?" he asked good humoredly.* "Well, if I have never made myself useiul before, it is high time I began now." They had left the lane and were in the high road. Strange to say, the walk, which at the commencement seemed so intolerable to Eveline, now appeared marvelously snori. "I shall never see him again," she thought, with a faint sigh, as they parted at the gates of North Lodge, and it was with a very weary little face that she entered the presence of the lady of the house. He had told her that Mrs. Thursby was a very amiable woman, but still Eveline was agreeably surprised at the kindness of her reception. She had been to many houses on the same errand before, but nowhere had she been treated with such consideration. She was at North Lodge for several days, working away as if life had depended on'it, and as she worked he? thoughts were of the handsome stranger who had rescued her ' trom the brutality of the tramp. Once Ralph came up the carriage-drive, and peering from the window, she looked at his frank face and stalwart tigure with a queer little ache at her heart. He was making a call on the ladies of the house, and, no doubt was a lover of?an acceptable lover of?one of Mrs. Thursby's daughters, those graceful, fair-haired ladies who were so dignified in their grief at the loss of their father. She felt relieved when her business was over, and she stood waiting in the little railway station for the train that was to carry her to London. Our little heroine had repeatedly glanced at the clock, when a tall form darkened the doorway, and she looked up to see Ralph Vernon standing before her. "So you are going back to town," he said, shaking hands with her as if they had been old friends. "I thought I would like to come and say good-by." "How did you know?" she asked, in surprise. "01., Grace Thursby told me," he answered, carelessly ; "she is one of the best i girls in the world." ? "She seems very nice to her inferiors," observed Eveline, a little bitterly. "I can ' imagine^how charming she can be to her equals." "Who is her inferior?" asked Ralph Vernon, quickly. "Not you, by Jove! She was saying to me that you were a perfect lady." "Very kind of her, I am sure," said Eveline, haughtily; "only I am at a loss to understand how such a discovery came about." "There, now, 1 have offended you," said Ralph, contritely; "but I am such a clumsy fellow." "Not at all," returned Eveline huskily. "It is very kind of your affianced wife to take such an interest in me." "My affianced wife!" he said, with a hearty laugh. "I should like my brother Tnlin in hoar \mil CflV thnf\" Hp WAS VprV close to her now, as they sat on the hard bench. "Don't you know that I fell desperately in love with you that night when I rescued you from the tramp?at least, I think I did, although it was not till I saw you peep at me through the window that I knew how exquisitely pretty you were? Be my wife, and let me take care of you, not only on dark nights but all your life." But Eveline shook her head, for, although her heart prompted her to say "yes," she felt that she haa no right to aceept the sacrifice her impulsive and hot-headed lover was willing to make for her sake. "It cannot be," she said mournfully. "It is a mad, Quixotic idea. I know, from what I have heard Mrs. Thursby say, that you are wealthy." "Hang the money!" exclaimed Ralph. "If you don't say 'yes,' I'll?I'll go lion hunting in Africa, and get torn to pieces by wild animals." But even this terrible threat had no effect upon Eveline; she was firm in her determination to do right at any cost; she would not even tell him where she lived. And so they parted at the little railway station, and Eveline went back to London with less color in her cheeks than when she had left it, and a strange gloomy look in her beautiful eyes. "It is all for the best," she thought; but life had never been so hard to bear. The girl was brave?very brave?and wanted to do right; but the struggle between love and duty sapped her strength, and laid her on a bed of sickness, from which it seemed she would never rise. During her illness she was continually calling upon Ralph Vernon, in such piteous accents that it drew tears from the eyes of those who heard the poor weak voice. "Mother, I'm going to telegraph for this Mr. Vernon," said Eveline's sister Nellie. "It is dreadful to look at her white face and glittering eyes and to hear her calling upon his name from morning till night." "But who is this Mr. Vernon ?" asked the poor mother, helplessly. "I don't know," said Nellie; "but I found a card with his name and address on it, and I intend to send for him. It must be some one she cares for, and I don't mean to let her die if anything can save her." "But perhaps he won't care to come," said the mother, with the prudence of age and experience. "Then he can stay away," returned Nellie, her eyes wet with tears; and there was a look of pain in her sweet countenance, for her mother might be right, and what would become of poor Eveline if there should be no answer to the telegram ? The next few hours were anxious ones for Nellie. She stood up breathless with eagerness, when some one knocked at the door. In another moment Ralph Vernon was in the room, and had grasped her by the hand as if she had been an old friend instead of a stranger. "Is she ?" he could not finish the sentence, for he feared the worst. "She still lives," returned Nellie, and, taking him by the hand, Eveline's sister led Ralph into the next room where the poor girl lay. Her mother was kneeling at the side of the bed, but rose instantly and motioned to Ralph to take her place, and, as he did so, Eveline opened her eyes and looked at him. The sight of that beloved face had a magical effect upon Eveline. She put out her weak hand with a little cry that told more plainly than words how cruel her sacrifice had been, and, as he gathered her in his arms, her lover registered a stern vow that, if her life were spared he would make her his wife in spite of all the world?herself included. And so he did, for Eveline recovered from that very hour, and directly she was able to leave her room, there was a quiet wedding, and the two started for the South of France, where they remained until Eveline had recovered her health. They are an exceptionally happy couple, and Grace Thursby tells her husband that his brother Ralph's wife is the sweetest woman she knows. ISMAIL PASHA. I Ismail Pasha is to be returned to the ! Egyptian throne and Sir Henry Drummond I Wolff was sent to Constantinople to accomplish this purpose. Cairo has been too long | without its opera bouffe. Under the re| spectable but dull administration of Tewj fik, neither M'me Judic, M'me Theo, or I M'lle Gauier has been invited to display | art in the Egyptian capital. Ismail will i change all this, and music, which seems about to lose a patron in Louis, of Bavaria, will gain one in the ex-Khedive. Ismail I Pasha was born at Cairo in 1880and succeeded his brother, Said Pasha, January, 1868. He was educated at Paris and returned to | Egypt in 1840. In 188o he visited France on'a confidential mission, and proceeded thence to Kome. His policy in Egypt was in accordance with that of his predecessors, namely, the development of his country's resources. He had much trouble with M. DeLesseps in relation to the Suez canal. After these difficulties were arranged by Emperor Napoleon, the Khedive took a i warm interest in the work. The country ! having run enormously in debt, Ismail requested England to send two experienced ! financiers to arrange the money affairs of the country. The result was that the Khedive was called on to surrender all of his property. At the close of the year a new ! ministry was formed in which the interests j of the Western powers were represented. | This ministry was overthrown in 187!) and ! Tewfik Pasha was placed in power by tne action of the English and French. The deposed Khedive took up his residence at Na' pies. Hates on amp Jpaufc. SKETCHES OF TRAVEL IN SCOTLAND. BY REV. R. LATHAN. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. Theological writers tell us that man is a religious creature. This is admitted, but it is certain, beyond all peradventure, that no insignificant number of the human family, even in nominally Christian lands, have learned the art of concealing from mortal eye, their religion. For several hundred years the Scotch and the Protestant population of Ireland have been regarded as the most sensibly devout people on earth. Others have been regarded as making far greater displays of their religion, but for a thorough acquaintance with the doctrines of the Bible, and for a holy reverence for God and nis worsnip, none are equal 10 me acotcn, and the Protestant inhabitants of Ulster Province, Ireland. The Scotch are more like the ancient Jews, and Scotland more like Palestine, than any people or any country on earth, in that the religion of the Bible makes them all that they are. The ancient Jews, when contemplated apart from the religion of the Bible, were like Samson shorn of his locks,common men, and Palestine to-day is no longer a land flowing with milk and honey. It is the religion of the Bible that makes the Scotch people what they are and Scotland what it is. Since the days of John Knox the Scotch have been an intensely religious people. Their religion is not of that kind which pervades an American community after what is called a great revival, but a sober, sedate belief of the truths of the Bible. Such being the case, religion is the frame-work of everything in Scotland. The desecration of the Sabbath and the neglect of family worship places a man, in Scotland, beyond the pale of Christian civilization. The population of Edinburgh is about two hundred and thirty thousand?nearly five times as large as the city of Charleston, South Carolina. The seaportof Edinburgh is Leith, on the south bank of the Firth of Forth. The distance between the two cities is only a few miles. In other words, Edinburgh is removed from the Firth of Forth only a short distance, and Leith and Edinburgh are, practically, the same city. In the two cities there are more than two hundred churches and mission stations. Of these, about three-fourths are Presbyterian, distributed as follows: Established Church of Scotland, sixty-five; Free Church of Scotland, forty-nine ; United Presbyterian Church of Scotland, twenty-eight, and Original Seceders, three. The remaining places of worship are distributed as follows: Episcopal, twenty-two; Baptist, six ; Congrega tional, six ; Evangelical Union, or Morisonians, four; Wesleyan Methodist, three ; Baptized Believers,one; Catholic, two, and eleven are put down under the head of "various," in the Edinburgh City Register, from which the above facts were copied. Two of the Presbyterian Churches have a history which is, to all who bear the name Protestant, full of interest. These are St. Giles' Cathedral Church and Old Greyfriars Church. The older of these is St. Giles.' It is situated on the south side of High street. This street runs nearly east and west, down a high ridge, extending from the Castle to Holy rood Palace. This ridge is the slope of Castle Hill, or of the hill on which the Castle is built. Old Greyfriars Church is nearly south of St. Giles, and distant, I suppose, between a quarter and half a mile. On the site on which St. Giles stands there has been a church for more than a thousand years, but the house has undergone so many changes and repairs that probably there is not a stone in the present building that was in the first church. The name St. Giles was given it in honor of a half real and half mythic individual of that name, who flourished, according to the legends of the country, about the latter part of the fifth and the beginning of the sixth century. He died, according to the same authority, in the year 541. The reputation and influence of St. Giles was, at one time, very great. In England there were dedicated to him one hundred and forty-six churches, and how many in Scotland 1 do not know. Tradition says he was a native of Athens, in Greece, and that from his native land he migrated to the south of France, where, in the vicinity of Nimes, he took up his abode, dwelling in a cave and spending his life in devotion. His only companion was a pet deer. One day some hunters pursued, with their hounds, this pet of St. Giles. The creature fled to its master for protection. He grasped it in his arms laying hisright hand upon its back. While the hand was in this position, a hunter let fly an unerring arrow, which pierced i i ~ ,1 nit; luiiiu ui uiu oiti111 uuu iiiumcx, auu wounded his pet deer. From this legendary fact, St. Giles is represented in old paintings, as an old man with a long flowing beard, a human countenance seated upon a rock and a deer with its fore feet on his knees, and its head reclining on its master's bosom. The master's left hand is gently laid on the neck of the deer, while his right hand, with an arrow fastened in it, is lying on the deer's back. Perhaps that which makes St. Giles Church specially interesting is the fact that after the Reformation, John Knox was the pastor of the congregation which worshiped in it and the remains of that wonderful man were deposited in the cemetery which once lay on the south side of the church. Xo cemetery exists there now. The ground has been devoted to other purposes, and the spot where the body of John Knox is supposed to have been interred, is marked by a small dark stone, level with the ground, on which are engraved the letters I. K. Near by is the statue of Charles the Second, mounted on horseback, looking down upon j the grave of the Reformer. I I can see no propriety in the Scotch erect-1 ing a monument to Charles the Second. If Charles the Second ever did anything beneficial for Scotland, I confess I have, so far, ' failed to discover it. Prior to the Reformation, Scotland was j papal, I suppose I may safely say, in the extreme. Papacy is only a baptized paganism, always low and carnal, but sometimes beastly so. Edinburgh was in the stronghold of the superstition and idolatry of Rome. St. Giles was the tutelarsaint of the city, and St. Giles' Church the principal place of superstitious devotions. JYI mi trail.) [JCiiuu?^cuiapo 411 uic ^cai 95?Christianity, in its Bible simplicity, was introduced into Scotland, but by degrees it became paganized to such an extent that it had not even the semblance of that religion which the Son of God established on earth. When the Reformation from the superstitions of Rome began in Scotland no one can say with certainty. It is common to date it from the time of the martyr, Patrick Hamilton. This individual was put to death on the 28th of February, 1528. Martin Luther, about eleven years before this had, in Germany, declared war against indulgences. But the Reformation was not begun in Scotland by Patrick Hamilton, neither was he the first martyr in that country lor the truth as it is in Jesus Christ. More than a hundred years before Martin Luther nailed his ninety-five theses to the door of the Castle 1 Church, James Resby preached in Scotland that the Pope is not the vicar of Christ. In 1407?three-quarters of a century before Martin Luther was born?James liisby was put to death in the city of Glasgow. James Kisuy was an r.ngnsnman and a ionower 01 Wicklitfe, who was born in Yorkshire, England, in the year 1324, and died in 1382?one hundred years before Luther was born. . The probability is that Reformation from i Popery was introduced into Scotland by the English and not by the Germans. From the time of liisby to that ot John Knox the growth of Reformation principles was slow and almost imperceptible. What little Bible religion there was in the land acted as an incentive to arouse the popish priestsfrom their lethargy and madden them into fury. They thirsted for blood. In 1528 Patrick Hamilton was burnt at the stake. In 1534 Norman Gourlay and David Straiton were condemned, and, after being half | strangled, were thrown into the flames at j Greenside, and in the same year, Henry Forrest was burned at St. Andrews. In 1538 Robert Forrester, Duncan SimpSon, a priest, I Thomas Forrest, Friar Kyi lor and Friar I Breveridge were burned on Castle Hill, in i ; Edinburgh. In the same year (1538) Jerome , j Russell and Alexander Kennedy were tied j to a stake and burned in Glasgow. Thus it was that matters reached that ( I pitch that it cost an individual his life to j speak above a whisper doubtingly of the ; prerogatives of the Pope. George Wishart, ] one of the best men, was apprehended, subjected to a mock trial, condemned and on ' the 2nd of March, 1546, led to the stake, a ; rope around his neck and an iron chain ; about his waist. Wishart died predicting ' that cardinal uavia Beaton, wno gazeci from the window of his Castle upon him, would, in a few days, be hanged out of the 1 same window, to be gazed upon as a spectacle of ignominy. This prediction was fulfilled on the 28th of May. The death of Wishart aroused the people and his castle was taken and vengeance meted out to David Beaton, who died as a poltroon, crying, "I am a priest?I am a priest?by, byall is gone!" , Thus matters continued until 1557, when what is known as the first covenant was subscribed in Edinburgh, on the 3rd of December. This bond was signed by some of the most influential noblemen in the kingdom. The substance of the covenant was that the individuals entering into it bound | themselves to maintain the gospel in oppo- ' sition to Popery. This covenant was not a bond gotten up by preachers, but by laymen. John Knox was, at the time, absent from Scotland, and so far as is known, had nothing to do in getting up this first covenant. The line which separates Popery and Pro- 1 testantism became now, if not well marked, ( distinct. The grand contest was fast approaching. The opposing parties began to J prepare for the death struggle. On the 1st ' of September, 1558, the Popish party determined to celebrate the anniversary of St. ; Giles, the tutelar Saint of Edinburgh, with more than ordinary display. Itwasarrang- 1 eel that the Queen Regent should grace the procession. On such occasions it was customary to carry, at the head of the proces- 1 sion, the image of St. Giles. This image was, I think, usually kept in the Holy rood 1 Palace. Before the day arrived some per- ! sons entered the apartment in which the image of the medieval Saint and tutelar Divin- ; ity of Edinburgh was kept, stole it away 1 and threw it into the Firth of Forth. This' ( only caused delay to the Popish party. In old Grey friars Church there was a small image of St. Giles. This was sent for and the triumphal procession advanced from Holyrood through the principal parts of the city. The display, we may safely imagine, was grand ; for although the people of Scotland were then very poor, the clergy were rich. "Full half of the wealth of the nation be- ; longed to the clergy." Such being the case they could afford to make a grand display ! in honor of their tutelar Saint. The Queen Regent at length retired. Up to this mo- ; ment all was comparative quiet, but no sooner did the populace learn that her royal i highness had quitted the procession and gone to her lodgings in Holyrood than they 1 rushed upon the Popish procession, with the ungovernable fury of a mob, which, in an instant, put an end to the pageantry of the ( superstitious clergy. The first thing which ! the populace attempted was to demolish the ; image of St. Giles, which, for the occasion, had been borrowed from Greyfriars Church. 1 This image, seated on a throne, had been, during the day, carried at the head of the 1 procession on the shoulders of a number of well-fed priests. No consultation was 1 necessary. The image was pulled down, 1 broken into shivers, and trampled in the dirt. The priests, cowardly fellows, fled in : every direction as best they could, leaving the image of their tutelar saint in the hands of the rnoh. A mob is a dangerous thing, but mobs < sometimes effect what, apparently, can be effected by no other means. How long St. I Giles had been the tutelar saint of Edin- ' burgh, perhaps no one can tell, w;th absolutecertainty. It may have been for near i one thousand years. The mob, on the 1st of September, 1558, broke the spell and St. Giles never afterward had any power or in- ! i fluence, either in Edinburgh or any place else. At the time the i mage of St. Giles was j broken into pieces, St. Giles Church was what was known as a Collbgiate Church, with a provost, sixteen prebendaries, a cu- : rate, a minister of the choir, fourehoristers, , a sacristan, and a beadle. All these and near three hundred others were supported out of the public treasury. The Reformation broke up the den, and those who had , been living a life of ease and infamy were scattered. St. Giles Church was swept out". , Its forty-four altars were taken down, all the trumpery of papal worship was removed. For three generations the arm-bone of St. Giles, incased in silver, had been deposited in the Church as a precious relic. This, after being stripped of its silver case, was i thrown into the adjacent burial ground. < Nothing was left in the Church but the pul- < ! pit and a few benches. ! A Fall of Half a Milk.?The greatest ] j balloon feat that I ever witnessed, says a ( i writer in the Philadelphia Times, was in j September, 1857. Upward of 15,000 people < were at Lemon hill and along the banks of j the Schuylkill to see M. Godard go up in a < balloon along with his brother, and drop the 1 latter out from among the clouds in a para- s chute. It is said that the feat had never ] I been attempted before in the history of bal- < looning, it was a startling novelty, and the < ' people crowded to see it. When the balloon i J sailed gracefully upward outside of the in- ; | closure M. Godard and two friends were in < I the basket, while below, M. E. Godard, his i [ brother, was seated upon a small bar of I wood attached to the parachute. It looked 1 like an immense umbrella. The balloon i went over the Schuylkill in a southwesterly * direction, and after it had reached an alti- i tude of about 0,000 feet began to slowly de- i scend. Then the parachute began to ex- 1 panel. When within about 3,000 feet of the < earth the cord was cut and the parachute < rapidly descended, with Godard hanging on the bar. The balloon shot upward again. The descent of the parachute was keenly i watched by the thousands of spectators, and many expected to see the daring man dashed to the earth in the twinkling of an eye. It was observed, however, that the nearer to the earth the parachute came the descent was slow and easy. At last the man and his ! big umbrella faded out of sight over the hills, and we learned next morning that he came down all right on his feet, like a cat, about a half mile west of the old Bell tavern on the Barby road. The balloon landed in Delaware county, near the Philadelphia line. Godard and his brother were Frenchmen. They returned to their native country, and, I 'believe, were valuable to their ; countrymen during the Franco-Prussian war. Gambetta sailed out of Paris to Tours in one of their balloons. Sulk-Control.?In some people passion and emotion are never checked, but are allowed to burst out in a blaze whenever they come. Others suppress them by main force, and preserve a callous exterior when there are raging tires within. Others are never excited over anything. Some govern themselves on some subjects, but not on others. Very much can be done by culture to give the \v ill control over the feelings. i < inn nf thn hnst. means nf milfnre is the I persistent withdrawing of the mind from the subject which produces the emotion and concentrating it elsewhere. The man or woman who permits their mind to dwell on disagreeable themes, only spites him or herself. Children, of course, have less self-control, and parents must help them turn their attention from that which excites to something else. The value of self-control as an agent is very great. 11 prevents great waste j 01 vitality in feeling, emotion and passion. It helps to give one a mastery over pain and distress, rather than it a mastery over us.1 s ^HiscfUattcows fading. THE LAND OF THE EXILE. The city of Yakuisk, Siberia, is built in the bottom lands of the Lena, the bluffs which usually run along the river banks being here about six miles distant. The houses are log built, with the exception of two? x school and a warehouse?which are constructed of brick. Those of the well-to-do merchants are quite modern in appearance, i There are six picturesque, well-built brick ( churches, besides two old, unused chapels. 1 Near the center of the town is an old log fortress, built by the conquering Cossacks 300 years ago. The inhabitans are for the , greater part Yaukuti, who, as a rule, prefer ' the yourta of their ancestors to the more , comfortable and healthful Russian log house. I Around each house is usually a large open , apace resembling a barnyard, in which horses and cattle are kept and storehouses , and merchandise are located. There are two schools supported by the Government?one , for boys and the other for girls?besides , one mantained by the city, and a fourth ' for orphans, supported by private sub- , s'criptions. A hospital is also provided, and attached to it is a small house for the insane. The mail arrives from the , South once a week, except during the Spring ! break-up and in the fall of the year when the Lena freezes. Thence the mail'is sent once a month to Yechoyansk and Kolymsk, and once a year by way of Okhotzk, to 1 Petropaulousky, in Kamschatka. The garrison consists of 200 soldiers, who are principally occupied in guarding the prison. The pay of the Russian soldier in ! Yakutsk is ninety copecks (about forty-live . cents per quarter. His ration money, three and a half cents a day, is turned into the company fund for purchasing provisions. For uniform he receives one coat, one pair ] of trousers and one pair of boots annually, and an overcoat every two years. He is permitted to do outside work, his earnings being divided so that he receives one-half, while one quarter goes to the company fund , and the other to the comrade who performs his military duties while he is absent. The Cossacks, descendants of the conquer ors of the Yakuti, ahout two hunarea in number, are variously employed as orderlies to the Governor, police master and other officials, as escorts to the political ex- ; iles on the way north to Verchoyansk, j Kolymsk and other outlying settlements, J and in carrying the mails where no regular posts are established. The Cossack's term | of service is twenty-five years. They are . usually industrious and well to do, as land is given them which they have the oppor- 1 tunity to cultivate while they are not on duty. The lands in the vicinity and south of Yakutsk, especially the bottom lands of the ( large rivers, are very productive, yielding , in the short summers sometimes as much as fifty bushels of wheat to the acre and other , cerials in proportion. Besides the uncul- ; tivated lands, consisting largely of numberless islands in the Lena, in the immediate ' neighborhood of the Yakutsk, yield a rich . harvest of hay in the month of August. , They are generally assigned to the Cossacks, ' and as their wealth depends upon the num- \ ber of horses and cattle they own, this is a matter of considerable importance. : The Yakuti are beginning to cultivate the , soil, but the principal and most industrious farmers in the district are the Scopci or eunuchs, members of a peculiar religious sect exiled from ltussia. Of these there were in. 1883 about 2,000 in the Yakutsk government. About six miles from Yakutsk there is as village built by the Scopci and called Marcha. Upon the inhabitants of this village, and upon exiles belonging to a sect known as the "old believers," who live near by, the Russian residents depend ! for the necessaries ot life. Both of these classes of exiles are industrious, thrifty and scrupulously clean peo- , pie, who have built themselves neat houses und mills driven bv horseDower. A larere ' proportion of them are carpenters, bricklayers, iron workers, etc., and as they are, as a class, honest people, employment is sriven to them in preference to all others in Yakutsk. The Yakuti, who form the principal part of the population ^re called in their own language the tribe of Sacha. Their complexion is a dark yellow, and in their almond shaped eyes, as well as the language, they give incontrovertible evidence of their Mongol descent. Their language belongs to the same family as that of the Turk and Tartar. In fact, the Tartars, of which there are a great many living in Yakutsk as exiles, very quickly learn to speak the Yakuti tongue in consequence of this intimate relation of the languages. The Yakuti are engaged principally in raising horses and cattle, but in villages and towns they are tradesmen, and as such are notoriously tricky, grasping and unreliable. how SPONGE!TaRE caught. A correspondent of the New Haven, Con., Register tells how they fish for sponges in the Bahamas: When a vessel arrives \t the fishing it is anchored and the men in small boats proceed to look for sponges in the water below. The water is a beautiful light blue color, and so clear, a sixpence can ?asily be seen on the white, sandy bottom in thirty-five to forty feet of water. Of course when there is no wind, and the surface water is still, the sponges are easily ! seen, but when a gentle breeze is blowing a 'sea glass" is used. A sea-glass consists of t square pine box about twenty inches in length, a pane of glass about 10x12 placed in me end, water tight. To use it; the glass ?nd is thrust into water, and the face of ho nnorntnr i? nlneerl elose to the other. . By tfiis means the wave motions of the j ivater are overcome, and the bottom , readily seen. Sponges when seen on the \ Dottom attached to rocks, look like a j r>ig black bunch. They are pulled off , ;heir natural beds by forked hooks, which , ire run down under the sponge, which j s formed like the head of a cabbage, and , :he roots pulled from the rocks. When j Drought to the surface it is a mass of soft, , jlutinous stuff, which to the touch feels like ( >oap or thick jelly. When a boat load is Dbtained they are taken to the shore, where i crawl is built in which they are placed to lie, so that the jelly substance will readily , separate from the firm tibre of the sponge. , These crawls are built by sticking pieces of i Drush into the sand out of the water, large ( mough to contain the catch. It takes from t ive to six days for the insect to die, when f he sponges are beaten with small sticks and ? he black glutinous substance falls off, leav- ^ ng the sponge, after a thorough washing, n eady for market. To the fishermen gener- t illy the occupation is not a lucrative one. t [ am told the wages will hardly average j hree dollars per week, besides board. There is but little diving for sponges, ex- L . ept for a particularly fine bunch which :annotbegot with the hook. The sponge j s formed by small insects, and is the hive s n which they live. Different qualities are r ound grownig side by side, although in j :ertain regions the finer and more valuable j; ire found. f t Magnetized Watches.?Some very euions things concerning watches come under e i watchmaker's observation at times. I c emember a Judy who used to bring me ner ; vatch sometimes as often as once a week? s t was either too fast or too slow with he*; | f vhile hung up in the shop it ran as steady ; p is the .State House clock. I studied with 5 hat watch and one day I came across some-1 t hing in an English horological magazine e hat opened my eyes. It was simply a lit-! ^ le item saying that sometimes delicately L, tdjusted watches were affected by the tern-1 ^ >erament of their wearers. Affected by: t >y personal magnetism. The whole thing; j lashed upon me in a moment. The wonan's watch was affected by herself. I ound out that she was of a highly nervous h emperament, but would at times suffer n rom attacks of despondency. The watch >nly recorded her temperament. When he was vivacious it wont fast, but when she t vas in a slow mood it went slow. Very 1 )ften it is impossible to regulate a watch or some men by keeping the timepiece in ;he shop. There is some physical peculiarly about the man; it may be his gait, his < ;emperament, or an excess of bodily elec;ricity. In these cases, I let the man wear ? ;he watch continually, and then regulate it 1 :o his peculiarities. Bodily electricity is 1 irery marked in certain persons. I knew a 1 ^oung watchmaker in whom it became so i strong that he was obliged to give up that ( jranch of the trade because it was found 1 :hat he magnetized the delicate hair- f springs." I A PAWNF.E*"SCALP DANCE. j As I approached the lodge an hour before i sunset, I saw dangling from a lodge pole, \ which rose far above the lodge, the scalp I \round which the dance was to be held, rhe scalp was that of a woman. The hair \ r*1 1 > i m/iI-i Afi 1 rvn n* n nrl r\G n wa/1 i was luujr cigutccu lULiico ?11V* WA ** 1CU J lolor. As I entered the lodge no one was < within except the dancers, ten or twelve 1 in number, who sat in a semi-circle at the < back of the lodge and opposite the entrance, < and two attendants who busied themselves attending the wants of the dancers. All was quiet, not a word being spoken until near the setting sun. Then the drummers beat with all their power, and in came the spectators (mostly men) pell mell, yelling at < tne top of their voices. All seemed con- ; fusion, all were talking at once; but once in, all again became quiet as before. The dancers were painted most fancifully many being covered all over with white or clay paint. Where only the face was ornamented the rare colors were used, such as red, green, blue, yellow, but all were painted beyond recognition. Spotted Horse was the first to balance; he being the one who had cut the scalp from its owner. He came forth with dignified air, first described how he had killed the woman and cut the scalp off before she was dead, even describing how 3he had screamed and pleaded for mercy. By use of the tomahawk he held, he acted out as near as possible the dreadful tragedy in which he had played so important a part. Then came the dance; first the dancer's Uon /I am/1 Ka/1 it r\ t?A 'lnnnnrl frM*iiTOl?rl ucnu auu uuiaic |icaucu ivyi naiu^ inu head reaching very near the ground, next lifting the feet high in the air, he throws himself hack into a sitting posture with such force as to seem to jar the very lodge. A knife was held in one hand, a medicine gourd in the other, the latter of which was shook to the accompaniment of the music of Indian drums. The dance was in exact unison with the music. At intervals he stopped and reviewed the story he had already related or some part of it, then again danced with more energy than before. Thus the dance was kept up for an hour when he was joined by the rest of the dancers. One by one they came forth and related some act of valor, after which the dance was again begun. This dance was kept up until midnight, when the presents were given. Many of the spectators became so excited they took from their own body their wearing apparel and threw it to the dancers. Then came the big smoke. The chiefs pipes were filled by the chief himself with (Isow-eo-cow) Indian tobacco, which is < kept in a buffalo head and is thought to possess spiritual virtue, and sent by the attendant to one of the spectators who is ; known to have made some present. He 3mokes and passes it to such friends as he wishes. After all who have given presents are handed the pipe of sacred tobacco the dance is either ended or they begin anew, and repeat exactly what I have related, dancing around the same scalp, but after that night that scalp is never danced around aga i n ?American Antiquarian. Slow Eating.?The idea of rest and recreation and deliberation in eating no longer occupies the thought of the American boy, much less of the business man. Yet the power of one's life depends as much upon this as upon anyone conduct of life. The relation of the chewing and the juices jf the mouth to the after digestion, all ilong the digestive track, and to that assimilation which is to give force and vigor to work, is such that we cannot afford to forget the essential relationship. The failure jf this part of the apparatus to do its part Joes not involve immediate loss of power Dr bedridden sickness, but it is a more frequent limitation upon forceful life than any me disability. A thorough digestion not 3nly leaves the mind clear and the nervous system placid, but so provides the physical ind mental machinery with its propelling power as to make thought as natural as if it were a physical function. It is not difficult to see in the work as well as the writings of some men, the traces of a bad physical condition. Emerson overstated the :*ase when he stated that the sick man is . >n the road to rascality, but, nevertheless, lid indicate what is true, that a man in a i chronic state of embarrassed digestion is Dut of gear with himself and the rest of mankind. We believe that the foundation of 1 many an incapacity is laid in this want of quiet, deliberate eating. Making Wak Material.?The old man rested his hands on the anvil and looked ibout the shop that employs many people manufacturing implements of war, and < said: "How curious it is, that after the con- ? flict between the nations the preparations for war do not cease. Out here at the : Schuylkill arsenal we manufacture 8,000,000 : rounds of ammunition and 15,000,000 of ri- : He balls each year." < "What do you do with it all?" "Three millions are used for target prac- i :ice by the rank and file of the army. The < ffher is kept in reserve or used in testing < irms. So much each day is used to test :he character of the work produced. The ! pressure, carrying power and the quality of < :ho arms used is "tested every day. The ] ie\v guns are sent out to be tested, and ;housands of rounds of ammunition are used n these experiments for war. The arse- ] lal here at Philadelphia is the only one j vhere ammunition is made in large quanti- < ;ies for the government. Its operations are 1 peculiar and its machinery a study. In 1 Iiese hours of peace, few people can com- I irehend how much is being done in the way 1 )f testing the implements of defence."? ' Ph iladelph ia Ti m e.i. j How Men of Iron are Killed.?Peo>le know nothing about each other. Every nan is a globe, a natural history to himself, g Yhen we have beaten every enemy outside i >f us, there arises unseen enemies within i is. You see the powerful horse go to the i ield every day and take his place at the ( >low, and one day you find him dead, and g ,'ou ask what the trouble might have been. ^ flie horse could not speak, but the doctor g lomes along and tells you that he has had g lie bots. You ask what the bots may be. j lots, you find, are some kind of insect that i ire propagated within the animal, feeding g ipon his health and life. So it is with men \ it work, when they are apparently most i lealthy, some unknown species of thing t eems to want to prey upon them, if for a lothing else than because of such abundant c icalth. We slay the fattest steer; the no- a ilest sheep we want upon our plate. Thereore, strong, sensible men are often the vie- t ims of the commercial necessities of life ] nd wear themselves down and out when t iveryuuuy tfiac i? wuuucuii^ nuw uirj |nu- g ured such an iron fabric.?Gat/i. " i i The "White" House.?The capital was ( irst occupied in 1800. It was built of Yir- t ;inia sandstone which was quarried at Ac- 1 [uia creek. The White House was built of g he same quarry. Neither the capital nor a xecutive mansion was white when origi- i lally built. The burning of the interior of t ?oth buildings blackened the walls so that a hey had to be painted white. The exeeuive mansion has been known as the White louse ever since.?New York Herald. j He that studies books alone will know ? iow things ought to be; and he that studies aen will know how things are. BSr There is not a single moment in life \ hat wo can afford to lose. li THE POWER OF PERSONAL CHARACTER. There is a certain kind of force in simple nuscle common to man and brute, in many )f the brutes much greater than in man. There is another kind of force consisting in simple ideas, peculiar to man, and fitting lim to have influence in the realms of :hought. There is still another and a different power inherent in moral character, ilso distinguishing man from the brute, and qualifying him to be a blessing and honor :o the race. Combine all these forces in the same man; give him a strong and vigorous iody, a clear and comprehensive head, and i pure character, and that man ascends to ;he zenith of his earthly significance. He is then a prince among men, one of the most important and powerful factors of this lower world. Character in the ethnical and spiritual use of this term, consists in what a man w ?nKJ/lirirti ?M?Inomloo Qtl/l <1 ffopfinnQ Ill 111U auiu J/l llivipivo uuu U**VVV?VMW if his heart, considered in the relation to the law of absolute rectitude. What goes out from him is but the expression and sign of what exists in him. Character, too, is not an accidental and transient phenomenon, that shines for a moment and then disappears forever. We do not put it on and take it off as one does the garments he wears. It is something permanent and fixed, seldom changing in kind, though always advancing in degree. What a man is today in his ethnical condition, that, by a strong probability, he will be to-morrow. By a deep and universal law of our nature, character spontaneously propagates itself from mind to mind, amounting, in fact, to a species of social contagion. Thus masses of men beget in each other common qualities. Thus one personality, by simple contact, transfuses itself into another, and there reproduces its own likeness. Thus evil communications corrupt good manners, and thus men contaminate improve or curse each other. National character is the outgrowth and1 expression of this law. Family character is but the inheritance of common qualities upon the same principle. Children feel the power of parental character long before they can understand the meaning of words. It comes to them in tones and looks, which are instinctively interpreted. The process, though gradual and silent, is nevertheless very effective. God uses character in saving men; the Devil uses it in ruining them. It is, moreover, a probable truth in respect to every man that the same influence which he seriously designs and lays himself out to exert. His unconscious influence?that in respect to which he has no specific intention or forecaste, and which naturally flows from him in a steady stream as the direct product of an ethnical state?is probably by far the largest that he wields in this world. It is a constant power, ever throwing off its little sparks, and hence always making the man a felt power wherever he goes. It follows him "as the shadow follows the sun." It is exhaled from him. He cannot disconnect himself from it, or leave it behind him. It is identified with his own presence. Where he speaks or is silent it is with him. The instant it touches others it makes an impression. Prolongthe touch or repeat it often and the impression of character becomes proportionately deep and decisive. The grand condition as to the type of this force is always supplied by the type of the character. The one naturally corresponds with the other. That which is in the man, as it comes out, will be his outer power in social action. The impulses, tones, tempers, principles and affections, habitual to him and dominant within him, are the standard sources of his impression upon others. They constitute the working power of his character in the family, in the Church, in the State, and in every relation of life. If the spirit of Christ dwell in him richly, then his influence in kind will be like that of Christ. If he "has great weight, purity, loveliness and moral elevation of personal character, then he will affect the world in a corresponding manner. Men, both good and bad, are quite sure to be fairly represented by their influence. As a physical uature, no stream ever rises above its fountain, so, in morals, no man's influence can ever ascend above or be essentially diverse from his own ethnical state. The first condition of doing good is to be good. Parents who are themselves godless, sometimes desire piety for their children as a protection against the dangers of this evil world; yet these parents are simply mocking their own ideas, rneirown innuence is practically adverse to the very thing they desire. How important, then, is the question of personal character. It forms one of the gravest problems of existence. It involves a double responsibility: First, that which attaches to personal qualities as such; secondly, that which attaches to these qualities considered in their social effect. It is intrinsically and socially the greatest question of life. Compared with it the parade, drapery, and gewgaws which fascinate so many silly minds, are simply contemptible. Character formed and fashioned into the mold of virtue is a majestic and heavenly presence. It walks the earth arrayed in robes of light. It is a celestial power linking itseif to mortal fellowship. Character, corrupt and corrupting, is simply the spirit of Hell incarnated in the bosoms of men. Until the question of character is settled, and that, too, upon right principles, life is not really begun in any valuable sense. It is the greatest and vital antecedent of all other questions in respect to the practical issues of our earthly sojourn. Splendid talents have their undoubted value; a high degree of intellectual culture is much to be desired ; yet that culture of our moral nature which makes one pure and good in the 3ight of God is worth more tban all the accomplishments of mere intellect. This we must most need. This we must have whatever else we lose or gain. What, then, is the exact status of one's personal character? How much of the power of virtue does it wield ? What is the effect of his existence upon others? When he is dead and gone, how much will the world be indebted to his life? How are :hose affected by contact with him who most feel the moral power of his character? rhese are very pertinent questions for every man to ask and answer. It will do him no larm to consider them. Personality in Handwriting.?Per;ons writing naturally do so without thought egarding the peculiar construction of their writing. The hand operates the pen as if it were automatically through the sheer force )f habit, by which all the innumerable peronalities are unconsciously imparted to vriting. Learners and forgers think rejecting their writing, and hence, the more tiff and formal style of their work ; there s wanting the easy, graceful flow apparent 11 thoughtless or habitual writing. Lines how more of nervousness and hesitancy, vhile the whole construction of the writing s more exact and formal; and, beside, ivery different handwriting abounds in vell-nigh numberless habitual peculiarities, >f which the writer himself is unconscious, md cannot, therefore avoid. Thus, two other insurmountable difficuliesare placed in the way of the forger: ?irst, to observe and imitate all the characerisitics in writing he would imitate ; and, econd, to note and avoid all the habituil characteristics of his own hand. Ilabit n writing becomes so fixed and arbitrary not to mention the great artistic skill retired to exactly imitate an unpracticed land,) that I do not conceive it to be posible for any one to similate the writing of mother, or to so dissemble his own writing, n any considerable quantity, as to defy deection through a really skilled expert eximination.? The Counting Room. BsaiC Let an independent thinker show fearess fidelity to his convictions, and the shafts if bigotry and envy will fall helpless and larmless at his feet. teg"Adversity is the trial of principle; without it a man can hardly know whether 10 is honest or not.