Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, September 24, 1885, Image 1
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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.