Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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

lewis m. grist, proprietor, j ^ii Jlnkpiknf Jantilg Ucfospjicr: ,for fjjc promotion of tljc ^political, Social, Agricultural aitb Commercial Interests of % Soutjj. |terjis--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 32. YOEKYILLE, S C., THURSDAY, FEBEUARY L 1886. ISTO. 5. JU Original Jtotg. Written for tiie Yorkville Enquirer. AN UNQUIET LIFE. By Stanley StClair. CHAPTER VI. Mr. Charley Scott was by no means the impersonation of Clara's dreams. He had neither fair mustachios nor a fortune, but he was honest and kind, and sincerely attn hi? nrptfcv wife. She. for her part, MIV/11VV4 4V (law ? W ^ really had no serious intention of marrying him, until the sudden interruption of her garden romance brought matters to a climax. Then a few hours' reflection convinced her that she might do worse than take advantage of her opportunity. As time went on, the wisdom of this decision became more clearly evident. And it was not long before she accommodated herself to her matronly duties, and found real pleasure in the cosy little home over which she was called to preside. '* Some years passed uneventfully by. One bleak December night, Mrs. Scott was seated by the fire in her parlor, waitng for her husband's return. She had disposed of her baby boy?her only child?in his crib, and was engaged with one of the novels which she still loved, when a pitiful cry outside attracted her attention. She laid down her book and listened. "That sounded just on our steps," she thought to herself. I wonder what it was F" The silence continued for a little while unbroken, and she resumed her book; but scarcely had she takeu up the interrupted thread of the story, when the cry was repeated, unmistakably one of distress and in a child's voice. "Good gracious! ejaculated Clara, starting up. "I declare, that makes me shiver all over! I must see who it is." She was naturally timid, and it was not without a tremor that she approached the window and cautiously opened an inch or two of the blind. There was thick darkness without and nothing could be gained by her furtive peep. She therefore raised the sash a little way and softly asked, "Who's there." There was no reply, but she distinctly heard a movement, as of some person crouching on the step, and this slight sound was followed by a long quivering sigh, succeeded by a silence as profound as before. "This is dreadful," said Clara, hastily drawing in her head and closing the wi ndow. "I wish to goodness Charley was at home. Wh&t shall I do?" Her hesitation did not last long; curiosity, combined with a natural wish to relieve one who might be in want and distress, overcame her fears, and she went to the front door and looked out. By the light of the hall lamp she discovered a little figure lying prone on the. steps. It was that of a child apparantly not more than five or six years old. An old bonnet, much too large, had fallen off the head, from which ^marl rl mm Thp a mass ui iair imu oucamm uun?. little arms were helplessly outstretched, and as Clara bent anxiously over the prostrate form, she saw that it lay without motion. "Oh, the poor little creature!" she cried. "She must have got lost; she seems frozen ! Oh, here comes Charley at last!?Charley, dear, here's something dreadful happened ; a poor little bit of a girl frozen almost to death on our steps. I believe she is dead, .. isn't she?" *' <= "Mf; Scott; buttoned up to the ears in a thick overcoat, came hurriedly up in answer to this appeal. "Who is she, and where did she come from?" he asked as he stooped to lift the child in his strong arms. "I don't know any more than you do. I heard her cry out, and came to see what was the matter, and found her lying this way. Is she dead, do you think?" "No, I feel her heart beat. I tell you what, though, she doesn't look fur from it," he added as he brought his burden into the lighted room. "Hurry, Clara, and mix a little weak brandy and water, while I rub her here in front of the fire; maybe that will bring her to." Anxiously the necessary restoratives were applied, ana before long the little creature, who had swooned probably from exhaustion, opened a pair of large, lovely blue eyes and fixed them wonderingly on the faces of her preservers. "Oh, the beauty! the little love!" exclaimed Clara. "Charley, isn't she too pretty for anything? just like a picture. What is your name, my darling?" But the great blue eyes closed wearily again. The child was not yet sufficiently revived to understand or reply to her questioning. Under her husband's directions Clara removed the soiled, ragged frock, wjiich in many places was saturated with damp, and the torn and muddy shoesstockings the child had none. Then she bundled the waif up in a warm, wadded - f ' ,x " '1 U r.1 d % ?*/* Kah ? n Knt* wrapper 01 neruwu, uuu nuiumy uci iu j?c? arms in an easy chair on the rug, gently chafed the limp, icy feet and hands until warmth and animation were restored. Then a tinge of color crept into the pretty, pale cheeks, and by and by the pair of nurses were able to obtain intelligible answers to their inquiries. Dolly washer namershe said; she didn't have any other. She hadn't any papa or mamma?indeed she scarcely seemed to know the meaning of the words. She used to live with old John, but he wasn't there any more, and Mrs. Smith had whipped her, and she came away. She didn't know where Mrs. Smith lived. She hadn't eaten any dinner or any breakfast that day, and she was no hungry. A bowl of warm milk and bread was brought, and Clara fed her with a spoon, not too plentifully at first, until the reviving influence of food and fire had sufficient effect to convince them that there was nothing more to be afraid of. "She'll do all right now," observed Mr. Scott with satisfaction, when, the cravings of hunger satisfied, the rescued morsel of humanity sat sleepily winking on his wife's lap. "Fix up a bed for her, Clara, and let her go to sleep; a good night's rest will finish up the cure." After this suggestion had been carried out, the Scotts sat for a long while discussing the best means of disposing of their protegee. Clara was in favor of adopting her as their own, but her hushand demurred. "We're not rich," he said, "and we have one child of our own already, and as likely as not half a dozen or more to come. Besides, it would never be the same as if she was really ours; and I should hate to make a difference, which I couldn't help doing. Why not take her to the asylum? Mrs. Ellery would do as well by her as you could, perhaps better; and she's such a pretty, genteel-looking little thing, I shouldn't wonder if she soon found a good home." "if? hp<?nnse she's so lovelv that I want her," sighed Clara. *'A girl, too! You know how disappointed I was at Cherub's being a boy, though of course I've got reconciled to it by this time. I should dote on a girl." "But you know she would be a great additional charge upon you, and it was only yesterday that you were saying how little time you had for reading." "Oh, I should make time to take care of her. Do, Charley, let her stay, pleaded Clara. "We'll talk it over to morrow," was the prudent Charley's reply. And when tomorrow arrived, Clara came to the conclusion that considering all the trouble of making up a complete set of clothing, and other cares which would result from this addition to her family, it might perhaps be better to apply to Mrs. Kllery. To the asylum, therefore, Dolly was conducted, and there received with acclamation. She immediately conceived a strong liking for Sophy Merton, who was now quite settled in an important position there, and was placed, in consequence, under that capable young woman's especial guardianship. She was soon made a general pet and plaything of the establishment, and became one of the happiest of the many happy little inmates. w hile life flowed gently on at Maysville, events of considerable importace had transpired in the circle of which Mrs. Fairfax was the central figure. About eighteen months after that lady's departure for Europe, Frederick Burton was called abroad on business, and after spending some weeks in England, he directed his course towards a German watering place where his cousin was temporarily sojourning. He arrived there one evening, and was told that the ladies whom he enquired for I had already retired to their apartment. He also learned to his regret that Mrs. Fairfax was quite unwell, and seldom left her room. He lit a cigar and strolled out into the courtyard of the hotel where a brass band was playing. It was a bright moonlight night, and quite a number of people were out of doors. He had not been there long when a messenger came to request his presence in one of the parlors; and obeying the summons without delay, he found himself face to face with Magdalen Frost. She was the same in feature and form, but yet how changed, he thought as he regarded her; though wherein the change lay he could not precisely define. She came forward with easy dignity of manner to meet him, dignity just tempered by a sufficient amount of cordiality in look and tone as she accepted his offered hand. "How glad I am to see you, Mr. Burton ; it is so agreeable to meet a home face in a foreign land. Quite an unlooked for pleasure, too, in this case." "How's that?" asked Burton.. "Didn't you?didn't Mrs. Fairfax receive my letjter?" "I think?in fact, 1 am quite sure, that Mrs. Fairfax has not received any letter from you lately," said Magdalen as they sat down. "I suppose there was some irregularity of the mails. How is ray cousin's health ? is it true that she has been ill ?" Magdalen hesitated a moment before replying; when she did speak, it was with manifest reluctance. "Yes," she said, and then paused again. "I am afraid," she presently continued, "that you will hardly be prepared to learn the nature and extent of Jher sickness. It is more serious than you probably have any idea of." "You alarm me," said Burton. "Is she then dancerouslv ill?" "Her illness," replied Magdalen, speaking in the same unwilling tone, "is of a sort affecting the mind rather than the body, though her bodily health suffers greatly at times. To be plain with you, Mr. Burton, I fear that her reason is becoming impaired ?" "Good heavens!" cried Burton,shocked. "Why was I not notified of this earlier?" "It is only lately that I knew it first myself," said Magdalen. "I have been, as you may imagine, most unwilling to believe it; but the physieion who is treating her fears that scarcely a doubt of the truth remains." "She must leave for home at once?at once;" exclaimed Burton, springing up and beginning to pace the floor iu an excited manner. "These foreign doctors are all confounded humbugs; they don't know what they are about. I'll warrant our own doctor in Maysville, or some other skilful American practitioner, would cure her in a month. She's nervous, I suppose, nervous and delicate, and they try to make out that she's losing her mind ! What confounded folly!" His look and tone were so agitated that, as Magdalen watched him, the idea for the first time occurred to her-that possibly his interest in his cousin was of a warmer nature than she had hitherto suspected, and this idea was not a pleasant one. "Dr. Wimmer is a physican of great repute," she remarked," and has an immense practice. We took care to secure the best." "The best is bad enough," rejoined Burton. He continued to walk angrily up and down for a few minutes, then stopping, asked abruptly, "Can I see my cousin? does she know I am here?" "Mrs. Fairfax has gone to bed," answered Magdalen. "In the morning if she feels well enough, she will be very glad to see you." "If she feels well enough!" Burton repeated the words in a surprised tone. "Do you suppose that she will refuse to see me? even if she were ill?after my coming this i/\n?r wov on nnmosp to visit her? You forget our relationship?our long intimacy." lie looked both vexed and agrieved. "Well, I have no doubt she will see you," said Magdalen as if conceding a point. And Burton, irritated by her tone, brought the interview to a close, and departed with an abrupt "Goodnight," to his own room. In the morning, much to his pleasure and relief, Mrs. Fairfax proved well enough to come down stairs and they had a long and confidential tete a fete. He watched closely for some sign of the mental disorder which Magdalen had spoken of, but could not detect any. lie was concerned, however, to find that she was looking very thin and delicate, and after the first Hush of animation produced by their meeting had died away, : she seemed languid and melancholy, leavj ing most of the conversation to be sustained by him. "When do you think of returning home, Emily?" he asked. "Home? Oh, I don't know?this is my home for the present, I suppose. Isn't eveything going on there as usual? Has my business given you any trouble ?" "Trouble! my dear cousin, none, in the world. It is a pleasure to attend to any of your affairs. But I thought it would be good for you?for your health, I mean?to make another change; and you have been abroad a long while." "Yes; but I like the life here, and so does i Magdalen. She finds the society around us very congenial, god she has so many opportunities for improving herself." "You surely would consult your own wishes first, in a case of this sort?" "Yes, yes, certainly; but I should be very ungrateful if I did not consider hers also. She is everything to me, Frederick? everything. But, for her devotion, I really don't think I should be alive now; you have no idea how ill I have been, at various times." "And this doctor of yours?what's his j name? do you put faith in him ?" "Oh, implicit faith ! lie does me won! derful good; I have entire confidence in ! him, and so lias Magdalen. I should not j employ him otherwise." "And you are really quite satisfied here ?" "Oh, quite! as satisfied, at least, as I I could he anywhere. You know I don't I really expect to be happy again in this world ; my heart is buried in the past." "You are too young to talk in this way, Emily; you have a long life before you." "Oh, I hope not?I hope not!" washer earnest reply. "What have I to live for? My husband and child are both gone; I have no interest, here or at home, sufficiently strong to make me desire to remain long in this world." Burton tried to turn the conversation into a more cheerful channel, and after a while succeeded; but he was troubled to observe her evident despondency, and began to fear '; that, after all, Magdalen's statement might j have some foundation. ; lie decided to prolong his stay in Europe, ( in order to be near Mrs. Fairfax, and render himself useful to her; and he spent some hours of that day in writing home in order ' to make Ids arrangements to that effect. 1 Magdalen's countenance, when she was i informed of his decision, was impenetrable, i As far as his personal feelings went, it mattered little to him whether she was pleased I or not; but he perceived that her influence over his cousin was very strong, and felt that on that account it would be well for i him to secure her as his friend. She had, in fact, rendered herself indispensable to the invalid, whose side she rarely left; and yet Burton fancied that this constant attendance was irksome to his cousin, and that she felt relieved when it was temporarily withdrawn. She was certainly more silent in Magdalen's presence than at other times, seeming constrained even with Burton. The latter had not been with them many days before he began to distrust the girl, though he had no reasonable cause for doing so. And yet notwithstanding this feeling, she possessed the art of attracting and evenfascinating him at her pleasure. It was on the 20th of July that he had arrived at the Baths. August came and went, and found him still lingering there; on the 3rd of September he received a letter imnarotivaliT flomo nrl i nor his nrPSPHCR at ""P1-,"" 'J to i home. [to be continued.] ?m JOHN W. DANIEL. The Virginia election campaign of November, 1885, was one of the most exciting that that State ever passed through. Al tnougn me guoernamnui pusiuuu \>?= ustensibly the bone of contention, the real struggle was for the United States Senatorship, and to gain this position ex-Senator Mahone bent all his energies. Fitz Hugh Lee, the Democratic candidate for governor, had the sympathies of tjie people and he with the entire Legislature was elected by a majority approximating 1G,000. The two most prominent men mentioned to succeed Mahone were John W. Daniel and John S. Barbour. On December 7th, 1885, the Democratic caucus nominated John W. Daniel for senator. This virtually ended the conteat and Daniel was elected U. S. Senator to succeed Mahone. John W. Daniel was born in Lynchburg, Virginia, September 5th, 1842. At the age of 11) he entered the Confederate Army as second lieutenant and was assigned to Stonewall Jackson's brigade. He was three times wounded at the battle of the Henry House and soon after was promoted to adjutant. In the battle of the Wilderness his thigh was crushed by a Minie ball. When he retired from the service it was with the rank of major. He has served in both branches of the Legislature and was twice defeated for the nomination for governor of Virginia. He is an able lawyer and has no superior in his State, as an orator and debater. His oration at the King's Mountain centennial celebration, in 1880, was a masterly effort, adding much to his reputation as an eloquent and effective speaker. In view of these qualities and his life long devotion to the Democratic party his selection as United States Senator is peculiarly i fitting. WHAT CIRCUS PEOPLE EAT. Mr. James M. Nixon, than whom no living man knows more about a circus, said to an interviewer: "There are no people, excepting plainsmen?the skirmishers over the wild country of the west?who livo so hard a life as circus employes, both performers and workingmen. Their life is not as hard now, as it was some years ago, excepting with the small concerns. They are the 'wagon-shows' that travel through the small towns. But even with the big concerns that travel by train it is hard enough now. "Take the case of a wagon-show that has to travel thirty miles after a night performance to get to the next town, where a street procession is to be made in the forenoon. The workmen, canvasmen, and the like have to take breakfast at 11 o'clock at night. Then they get no ineal till dinner, after the procession?say at noon. Wherever they are, the work must be attended to first, and eating is a second consideration. With the performers?gymnasts, riders, clowns, and the like?it is not quite so bad. They get better pay and better food. As a rule they live on the best food there is to be had where they happen to be, and they take a great I deal of it. Most of them are great beef-eat| ers, and are not very particular whether the ; meat is cold or hot, so long as it is good and ! plenty. They are very particular, about \ cleanliness. 1 have seen twenty or thirty of I them get up and leave the table because the I tablecloth was dirty. And when they want ; a meal they want it and will have it. I have | often seen them leave a hotel where they i would have to wait fifteen minutes for din; ner that was paid for, and go to a restaurant ! where they would have to buy another, j They won't eat unless they are hungry; but j they are always hungry after a night perI formance, and will not go to bed without a j hearty supper. They say they can't sleep if : they are empty. "One thing that is peculiar about them is ! that they do not take medicine, and they are j remarkably healthy. When they are out | of sorts they diet themselves, each ore 1 according to his own ideas, but I don't think I ever saw $o<) worth of medicine around a j circus in all the years I have been in the business. Yes, they drink. Not to excess, I but nearly all of them drink when they feel ; like it. They are very careful of them| selves. They have to be or they would not ! last long. "As a matter of course, with their irregu' lar habits, they are in a certain sense extrav1 agant. Their extravagance, however, is j mainly in the matter of eating. Experi: ence teaches them very soon, if their own sense does not at first, that they must take ! the very best possible care of themselves physically, and that good eating is a primary consideration.? The Cook. i IxiiosniTAiu.K, Dksolatk Laijkaimir.? When Jacques C'artier first saw the coast of Labrador?a desert of rock and pine, with a gray sky above and a gray sea beating its shores?he issaid to have exclaimed, "This, indeed, is the land given to Cain." Since then it has changed little?an outcrop of j wretched hovels has sprung up on its | shores, a dingy fleet of sealing boats rock in its bays, a haggard race of half-fed, halfi savage creatures struggle with its en; compassing seas for a livelihood, but with ! these exceptions it is as bleak, as cold, as ut| terly inhospitable and desolate as when the | French explorer first skirted its coast. Its history is a record of the terrors of the sea, ! of priates, of hurricanes and of shipwreck. On the sunken rocks on its shores, ships have foundered by hundreds; from its villages, fathers, husbands and brothers have i sailed forth never to return. - A Cask ok Rotation of Crops.?The j agricultural editor, ordinarily alert, has ; rn issed an item in a Georgia newspaper, ! having an important bearing on the subject ! of rotation of crops. The newspaper rei ferred to says: "On the acre of ground surrounding where Tom Retts was hanged, in Clayton county, Mr. J. J). Graves has made fifty-two bushels of corn, 7f>0 bundles of fodder, and 2,">74 pounds of pumpkins." Evidently corn should follow hemp.? Chicago Tribune. I Miscellaneous fkatlitti). THE SEVERED HAND. On the 2Dth of December, 18:io, I was trav-' eling through the southeastern part of Vir-1 ginia, and owing to the violence of a sud-' den snow storm, was belated and forced to | stop for the night at a little wayside tavern remote from the ordinary routes of travel. I can't say I was much pleased by the looks of things, for a more desolate and lonesome place I never beheld; nor were nnno r\f mi tin hnef onrl tfiA tall ! lilt; UUUlilCimilt\/0 v> * uuuv in/Ob wuu ?*IV ?Mit) | bony virago he called his wife more prepossessing. I had some valuable goods in! jny wagon, and a good horse, besides some money, so I was worth robbing, and perhaps, murdering. It was Hobson's choice, ! however, so I decided to make the best of j it; and, after a tolerable supper of fried bacon and eggs and corn breau, I asked to be ; shown to my room, for I was dead beat out I with driving so far in the cold, and over ; the vilest roads that ever mortal traveled. I It was truly a wretched affair, that room, ; being nothing lnor^hap a shed attached to j the rough boarded cabin, dignified by the i title of tavern, with a single unglazed win- j dow closed by a heavy wooden shutter. I soon fell asleep and must have slept for j some time, for when I awoke I found all the lights in the house out and everything i profoundly quiet. What had awakened me , I could not tell; but all of a sudden I found myself sitting up in bed with my eyes star-1 ing wildly, and my hair stirring and lifting : on my head. A strange feeling possessed j me that something uncanny, something j dreadful, perhaps deadly, was near me, but I could neither hear nor see anything. Af-' ter waiting for some mome ts in that state of intense suspense which follows a sudden shock from sleep, I regained sufficient self-1 possession to remember that I had a box of matches in my pocket, and I reached out j my hand for my clothes lying on a chair by j I the bed. Something warm and moist touch- j | ed it, licking it like the tongue of a dog. I : felt immensely relieved. Of course, it was ! a dog; a dog which had been asleep under the bed, and had crawled out to make ac3uaintance with the new inmate. I lay own, drew the bed-clothes over me and j tried to sleep again, but I could not. That strange eerie feeling grew stronger every moment. I could not persuade myself that it was a dog in the room. A dog would have made some noise; I should have heard it scratching or walking about, but every- ; thing was deadly still. While I lay, vain-1 ly trying to reason myself into going to I clonn n ?nff. vvnrm tnneh nnsspd over mv i face. What was it? What could it be? i Nothing human, I was sure. Now I really must strike a light and see what was in the j room. With desperate determination, I | grabbed my clothes, got the matches and ! struck one. As it blazed out I cast a fur-! tive, frightened glance around. What I j feared to see I can't tell, but something frightful. The match lasted so short a time, it was necessarily a brief and imperfect survey, and I struck another and another, but j could see nothing. There was an end of tallow candle on the unpainted wooden table that did duty for a wash stand, but that was at the other side of the room, and to save my life I could not summon up courage enough to get out of bed. I am ashamed to confess it, but an ! absolutely paralyzing terror had mastered j me. I literally could not stir. I lay still j with closed eyes, and tried desperately hard ! to go to sleep, but try as hard as I would that touch roused me again and again. What was it? I asked again. I could not be dreaming?I knew I was not asleep. I was broad awake, and with every nerve in me twitching and quivering with excitement. And now as 1 lay with my eyes wide open and looking nervously about at the dark corners of the room, trying to pierce their shadows, as people will do when they j are badly scared in the dark, astrange thing j happened, which I don't suppose any one will believe, but it as true as I am here. The room was intensely dark; but as I ! glanced at the outside door it seemed to me j it was not so dark there as elsewhere. A faint luminous haze seemed to grow out of the darkness, and as I gazed breathlessly at j it, it gradually took form and substance, and ; grew into the pale resemblance of a human : figure with something crouching at its feet, i but what I could not distinguish. I rubbed ! my eyes hard, and stared through the darkness at these strange appearances, until Ij seemed dimly to perceive that the crouching figure was that of a dog. At the mo-1 rnent I fancied I had made this discovery, i a long, low, melancholy howl echoed j through the room; the most mournful and | lugubrious sound I ever heard. At the same i instant a shadowy hand from the human j fitrnrp sepmed to noint to a snot on the floor over which it hovered. Then the apportion vanished and all was again darkness. As will sometimes happen, extremity of terror now gave me courage. With adesperate determination to fathom these mys-1 teries, if possible, I leaped from the bed, huddled on my clothes, and lighting the j candle I approached the spot where I had seen, or fancied I had seen these strange j things. After as close scrutiny as the wretched light would allow, I found something which looked suspicious. In the floor, close | to the outside wall, a space had been sawed 1 large enough to admit the body of a man, j and the planks had been fitted in again ! closely enough to avoid attracting observa- j tion from any but a very suspicious person, yet so as to be easily raised from beneath. Locks and bars were useless with such means of ingress as this, and my late supernatural terrors were now succeeded by more reasonable bodily fears. I recalled the villainous countenance of the landlord and the still more repulsive look of his wife, thought j of my valuable possessions, and decided that | I was fairly trapped in a murderous den j where, probably, many an unfortunate trav- i eler had perished before me. And just as I I made this pleasing discovery, the wretch- j ed remnant of a candle expired and I was left in total darkness. I am not a coward, though 1 don't set up for a hero, and like many others who find themselves in a strait from which nothing but courage and presence of mind can de-1 liver them, I suddenly developed hitherto ! unknown reserves of those admirable qualities. I resolved that if I must be robbed and murdered I would at least diehard and , do as much damage to my assassins as pos-; sible. I listened intently, but could hear no sound. I could form no idea what time of night it was, dut decided that it must be j after midnight, and that the worthy cou- j pie who kept these human shambles were biding their time until they could be reason- j ably certain of finding me sound asleep. | Among the goods purchased in Norfolk was a hunting knife bought on commission for a planter near Staunton. It was asplen-j did weapon, with richly carved hilt and sheath and a short strong blade, sharp and true as Toledo steel. Luckily for me I had not packed it in my bales, but had placed it in the valise which contained my clothes, j I stole like a shadow across the room, trem-' J bling lest a loose plank in the crazy floor should betray me, opened the bag and seizI ed the knife. With this in my hand I felt I I was not entirely defenseless, and with j renewed hope and confidence I took my place close by the trap, intending, if my room were entered, to do my best in dej fense of my life and property, and devoutly j hoping the number of assailants might be i limited to the landlord and his wife. i waueu minuic mi*.*i iiiiuuic, uiiin ni^ blood, so lately stirred by a sense of desperate peril, grew chilled in my veins from the extreme cold. Suddenly I heard what seemed a stealthy step crunching the snow without; directly after the trap was very slowly and softly raised, a long bony hand holding a tallow candle protruded through the opening, and a gray withered face appeared below with widely staring eyes following the light of the candle round the room. I pressed as close against the wall as , I could, but I knew I could|not long remain ! undiscovered, and as the light and the eyes 1 approached me I started forward and struck with all my force on the wrist that upheld the candle. The keen blade shone through bone and muscle and hand and candle fell with a sickening thud on the floor, while a single shrill agonizing shriek without told that my victim was a woman. I shivered through all my body, and breathless with terror waited in the darkness for an instant attack. I heard nothing, however, except a stifled moan or two which gradually died away. I waited and waited, half frozen and shivering with cold and fear. Nothing happened. At last I could stand it no longer and determined to risk going to bed at all hazards, and having managed to pile all my heaviest bales on the trap, so that no one could enter without my knowledge, I sat down on the bed, and wrapping the bedclothes around me to keep from freezing, determined to watch till morning. 1 thought that night of horror would npvpr pnH lint sit Inst trrnv streaks of dawn crept through the cracks in the doors and window shutters, and I devoutly thanked God it was over, and that I lived to see daylight again. As soon as J could see clearly, I got up and cautiously moved iny bales,' shuddering in anticipation of finding the hand I had severed from the wrist i last night. But what was my astonishment! on removing the last package to find no trace I of hand or candle, not even a trace of blood, upon the floor; nothing, absolutely noth-1 ing, to tell of last night's horror. Had it then really been but a dream after all? Ah! the knife! I turned and snatched it up. Yes, there was the red witness plain enough, still wet, and crimsoning the blade from point to handle. Yet, on turning again to the floor there was no stain, and on close inspection it was solid plank from end to end. "Well," thought I, "of all queer places that ever I saw, this one takes the lead. But for this knife I should be almost tempt- i ed to believe the events of last night but I a vivid dream. This, however is indisputable evidence of what happened, and of one thing I am very certain : the sooner 1 get away from here the better for my health." I wiped the knife on the skirt of my coat and placed it in my bosom, taking very good care to have the handle convenient to lay hold of. I then opened the door and called the landlord, not without many inward misgivings, to bring out my wagon and load it. He soon appeared, sullen and dogged as ever, but I saw no change in him since last night. He offered me breakfast, which I at once declined; not for worlds would I have eaten or drank in that house. I was in a fever of impatience to be off, and after paying his bill in the smallest change I had, and without any unnecessary display of wealth, I stood by and watched him replace my packages in the wagon and harness the horse. I did not offer to assist him, I was too much afraid of being taken at a disadvantage, but kept my hand on my trusty weapon, and never took my eyes off the surly villain. His amiable'helpmate did net make her appearance, and I thought I could give a pretty shrewd guess at the cause. I made no inquiriesafter her health, i i ? 1 DUl jumped in my wagon stuu uruve uh, desperately afraid even yet that something would be done to prevent uny departure. To this day I cannot account satisfactorily for my escape. The fellow must have seen that I suspected him, and must have guessed at the witness to his attempted crime, which I carried with me, yet he made no attempt to hinder me from going, I can only suppose he was an arrant coward, with all his brutality, and dared not attack me, knowing me to be armed and on my guard, especially after his accomplice was disabled. It was nearly two years after that I was traveling the same road again, and passed by the scene of my memorable adventure. I had, I assure you, no intention of calling, but I found the appearance of the place so changed that I made sure it no longer belonged to any former friends, and curiosity tempted me to stop and inquire what j had become of them. Everything wore a H thrifty and cheerful look, and so did the comely dame who answered my knock. Upon inquiry after the former occupants, I heard without either surprise or regret that they had at last received the punishment they so richly merited. The disappearance of a traveler who was expected in the neighboring town led to suspicion, suspicion to search. "And would you believe it, sir" continued the good woman, "they found a trap door, in that shed room there was a false floor, and under it a deep hole with the traveler's body in it, and a skeleton of another man, and of a dog,too, poor thing! They must have killed him for trying to help his master, I suppose. And the horrid, wicked wretches were put in jail and hung, so they ought to have been long ago, and we bought the place dirt cheap, because it had such a bad name. Indeed, some folks says it's haunted ; but, la ! I ain't never seed nothin, and I ain't scared about ghosts, nohow." in i r i of T?m niELi; iiniiir, . "Speaking of snow," said Dick Sellers to a Denver, Col., reporter, "reminds nie of a trip in May, 1880, when I and my friend, the "doctor," were going over Marshall Pass from South Arkansas to Gunnison City. "Early one evening, after a long day's journey through the snow, we selected a place to pitch our tent among a lot of sage brush, as a convenience for fuel, not having seen any trees since we left the top of the range. We tied the tent ropes securely to the brush, set up oursheet-iron stove in one corner and lay out our blankets in the other. "During the day it had been unusually warm, and shortly after supper began raining, so that we retired early and were soon dreaming of the pies and cakes we had when boys far away back in Ohio. "So fatigued were we that we neither awoke until late next morning, when I became sensitive to a cramping sensation in my neck. On opening my eyes the tent seemed to be six or eight feet above me. My feet were propped up at an angle of about forty degrees, while my neck was lodged between the limbs of a huge tree. I extricated myself the best 1 could, and, straddling a limb, fully realized for the first time just where I was. An immense thaw had set in during the night, and assisted by the heavy rains, had gradually melted the snow and left us forty feet above terra firma, in the top branches of a tree, which we had the evening before mistaken for sage brush. How to wake the "doctor" was a conundrum. He was suspended a little to my left, still holding the blanket close to his chin. A limb had fortunately caught under each arm, leaving his feet hanging straight down. Our stove sat smoking in the tent directly over us on the | very top branches. Crawfing out to the { "doctor" I awoke him, assisted him to a stouter limb, and, taking a bird's-eye view of the situation, began to draw conclusions as to the best way of getting our things down, fearing to go any higher up the tree. We finally slid down to the ground, where we fortunately found our axe, which had fallen through. With this we chopped down the tree, secured our things, somewhat damaged by the fall, and continued our journey without encountering any mnrn cnnvv + Packing the Lungs With Aiii.?Deep breathing and holding the breath is an item of importance. Persons of week vitality find an uninterrupted succession of deep* and rapid respiration so distressing that they are discouraged from persevering in the exercise. Let such persons take into the lungs as much air as they can at a breath and hold it as long as they can, they will find a grateful sense of relief in the whole abdominal region. Practice will increase the ability to hold the breath and the capacity of the lungs. After a time the art may be learned of packing the lungs. This is done by taking and holding the long breath and then forcing more air down the trachea by swallows ' of air. The operation may be described by that of a fish's mouth in water. To those who have never learned it, it will be surprising to what an extent the lungs may be packed. Caution at first is needful, but later practice will warrant large use of the treatment. The whole thoracic and abdominal cavities will receive immediate benefit, and continuance, with temperance in eating, good air and right exercise, will bring welcome improvement. | ? Duration of Love in Men and Women.?Somebody who didn't spend all his time sitting around the house growling at flies and raising blue chaos whenever dinner wasn't ready to the minute, has placed the opinion on record that with a woman love is an absolute reality, while with a man it is little more than the commonest kind of side show. When you behold a damsel with eyes like those of a damaged mackerel, whose "kli?rt <* f 4!rv ovinrr* rvAi nforl uu^u Ji3 uiuc <11/ uiu up auu oiiaip-puxiucu from much weeping, shuffling around the house in an old dress that makes a man feel like fleeing to the mountuins, you can salt it down for a certainty that she wants to marry a man too worthless to make good fish bait. Some night when least expected, she will skip out by the light of the moon to escape with the scalawag, leaving more love in the home from which she steals away than she will ever find in his bosom, and from that time on she is his to command under all circumstances, no matter whether he steals a horse or goes to Congress, and so long as he treats her half white, nothing but the discovery that he has got mashed on some other woman can ever change her feelings towards him. A man falls in love the same as a mule goes down with a sinking bridge. Simply because he can't help it, but it seldom does him any permanent injury. The shape of a nose, the sweep of an eye or the wave of a curl trips him up and settles his hash without an instant of warning, and there he is, the bluest kind of captive, until marriage or some new fascination breaks the charm that binds him. He is pretty sure to love like a burning brush heap while he is about it, but the trouble is, his flame is too ardent to be durable. lie will swear to a blueeyed sprite that he loves her for all eternity, and within three months after marriage will go to howling about the cooking, and make her life a purgatory without a streak of light. If she breaks down and dies of discouragement, as not infrequently happens, he will slide up to some other houri before the daises bloom again, in total forgetfulness that he ever lost a wink of sleep by being in love before.? Chicago Ledger. Fortunes in Printer's Ink.?Don't expect an advertisement to bear fruit in one week. Bread is the staff of human life, and advertising is the staff of business. Ynn put. pnoiie-h in a week to last a year, anil you can't advertise on that plan, either. A thing worth doing is worth doing well. A thing worth advertising is worth advertising well. The enterprising advertiser proves that he understands how to buy because in advertising he knows how to sell. If you can arouse curiosity by an advertisement it is a great point gained. The fair sex don't holdall the curiosity in the world. People who advertise only once in three months forget that most people cannot remember anything longer than about seven days. Quitting advertising in dull times is like tearing out a dam because the water is low. Either plan will prevent good times from coming. A constant dropping will wear a rock. Keep dropping your advertisements on the public and they will soon melt under it like rock salt. Trying to do business without advertising is like winking at a pretty girl through ji pair of green goggles. You may know what you are doing, but no one else does. It is a mistaken notion that a tine store in an eligible location, surrounded by attractive signs, is a superior advertisement; for the experience of most enterprising merchants is that it pays better to spend less in rent and more in advertising. Enterprising people are beginning to learn the value of advertising the year round. The persistency of those who are not intimidated by the cry of "dull times," but keep their names ever before the public, will surely place them on the right side in the end. A man's sign offers a mute invitation to those who pass his place of business; his circular can only reach those to whom personal attention is given; but his announcement in a newspaper goes into the highways and by-ways, finding customers and compelling them to consider his arguments. Curious Names.?"What a name that man has," said a clergyman recently to a JYews gatherer as the person indicated left his presence. "What is it?" "E. P. Baxter, he writes it. Nothing reremarkable about that, but what an amount of foolish patriotism is concealed in those initials. The young man was born on January 3, 1803, and his parents named him Emancipation Proclamation Baxter, in honor of the occasion." "That's pretty bad." "Yes, but there are some parents with cranky ideas on the subject of naming children. One boy I christened Perseverance Jones. I endeavored to dissuade the father, but he said the child's mother was called Patience, and he saw no reason why the boy should not be called Perseverance, because the two always went together. Within a few paces of the grave of Benjamin and Deborah Franklin, in the old cemetery at Fifth and Arch streets, there is a headstone bearing the inscription : '.Sacred to the memory of S. L. L\ Lloyd.' If the owner of the name were living now his friends would probably call him 'Celuloid.' I had a colored man named Alexander doing some work around here once. I used to hear the other workmen call him 'Trib' and 'Hole,' and it struck me one day to ask him what his name was. " 'Tribulation Wholesome Alexander, sah,' he replied. "It may have been some relative of his who came to me with twins to have baptized. "'What names will you call them?' I asked. " 'Cherubim and Seraphim,' replied the mother. " 'Why?' I asked in astonisment. " 'Because,' she replied, 'de pra'r book says "de cherubim and seraphm continual- j ly do cry," and dese yere chil'en do nuffin' else.'" A Young Wife's Solicitude.?-Young Wife?"There's a gentleman in the parlor, j dear, who wishes to see you." He?"Do j you know who it is?" Y. W.?"You must! forgive me, dear, but that cough of yours. has worried me so of late, and you take' r..w,U rxnAf Oil i~\f VAIir !1 fl fl ft fl (1 ! aui'll UWUl *.tuc XJI J uui iivun.il) ...IV., j you don't know how anxious I've been, and?and oh, if I were to lose you, my darling!" (Bursts into tears.) lie?"There, there, dear, Your fondness for me has in-; spired foolish and unnecessary fears. I'm i all right; you musn't be alarmed. But I'll | see the physician, of course, just to satisfy i you. Is it Dr. Pellet?" Y. W.?"N-no,' It is not a doctor, it is not a doctor, it's a? ! a?life insurance agent."?Life. Hottest Part of the Country.?Excluding Key West, where southern Florida reaches into the tropics, the hottest part of the United .States is the lower Rio Grande valley. The hottest point where regular data are kept is Fort Ringgold, which has a mean annual temperature of 77.4degrees.i Next to Iiiggold comes Laredo with 72.6! degrees, Brownsville 72.42 degrees, and j Fort Yuma, at the mouth of the Rio Colo- j rado, 72.3 degrees. FANCY SHOOTING ON THE STAGE. A noted professional shot, who, with his wife traveled with a wild west show, thus explained to a party of acquaintances how the fancy rifle-shooting is done on the stage. One of the oldest is the bell trick. This is done by having a target placed on the stage with a very small quarter inch hole as a centre, through which the marksman is i supposed to put his bullet. Surrounding this is a piece of black cloth, and back of the cloth a saw plate. If the marksman hits within eight or twelve inches of the centre, the bell, or rather the plate, which is set loosely, will ring, and the audience will naturally suppose the bullet or bullets penetrated the bull's-eye. This explains now stage shots placed lrom twenty to twentyfive^ shots in the bull's-eye (?) in so many seuuuus. The next trick is the match trick. This is done by placing a number of parlor matches in a circle, with the heads of the same pointing inwardly. If the marksman hits, or rather puts his bullet, which is not difficult to do, any place in the circle, he must light one of the matches, and thus lighting the circle. This trick is always done at the back of the stage, and the audience cannot see any of the matches, and suppose, naturally, it is but a single match. Another is to fasten a single match on an iron plate, and if the marksman shoots any reasonable distance near it, it will light from the splash of the lead on the solid plate. In the cigar trick, the marksman is supposed to shoot the ashes off a cigar held in the mouth of an assistant. This trick is generally a bona-fide one, but can be done by having a wire run through the cigar to the ashes, and at the report of the gun have the assistant touch the wire with his tongue, and so knock the ashes off. Shooting a silver dime from the mouth, and be- * tween the teeth, of an assistant is done by having one marked with a bullet, and showing one not marked to the audience; the assitant changes at the report of the gun and spits out the marked one and shows it to the audience. The thimble trick is done by placing a thimble on the assistant's head with a thin string attached, and at thereportof the gun it is pulled off by another assistant behind the scenes. Shooting through the ring of a watch is done by shooting over the ring, and then, before showing to the audience, placing the ring of the watch over the hole made, and on a nail placed there beforehand. Snuffing the candle, which looks so difficult, is done by having the candle close to a solid block of wood. The concussion of the bullet hits within three inches of the candle proper. The professional gave an exhibition at one time in a Pennsylvania town where the authorities strictly forbade the firing of solid bullets, and gave as good satisfaction as though he were firing and doing the tricks bona fide. So much for stage rifle shooting.?Cincinnati Comerciai Gazette. LIFE BEHIND THE BAHS. There is no State prison in the United States that contains among its convicts so many defaulters and embezzlers of trusts as the old stone prison down along the canal bank in Trenton, writes a correspondent to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. The defaulters and embezzlers that have defied the law in New Jersey are not common villains as men who had previously been guilty of crime. They all came from respectable families. They were nearly all hard-working, self-made men. They all stood high in their communities, and were implicitly trusted by hundreds of people. The knowledge of their crime came like a thunderclap out of a cloudless sky?nobody suspected such a thing, and everybody was loath to believe the report when it was first announced. Neither are these men coarse or repulsive in appearance. There is nothing of the criminal in their features or forms. On the contrary they all bear the marks of virtue and gentility, of refinement and the utmost culture. Watching them to-day as they go about their allotted tasks in the prison, any one would suppose them to be men of business ability and honest purpose. They look like kind fathers and Moving husbands. Take from them the striped convict garb and|they would pass anywhere for the best in the land. There are eighteen of these defaulters at present in the prison. The stories of their evil-doings were the sensations of the day. Out of all their number there are less than half a dozen whose history and character are not fit themes for the novelist's pen. 'While it was pretty much the same temptation that caused them all to fall, each downfall had a peculiar feature of its own that rendered it particularly interesting and decidedly startling. For some months ten of these embezzlers of banks and public trusts have been confined in cells adioininer and on the same tier in one of the corridors. Because of this arrangement the corridor has been known as the Bankers' Bow. But lately these prominent convicts have been separated and removed to different corridors; This was done by Prison Keeper Laverty because he found these men, by their shrewdness and power over others, were ruling the rest of the prisoners completely?none of the other convicts dare refuse any request made by any of the members of Bankers' Row. As there was no telling when this rule might work ruin, Mr. Laverty concluded to keep the exbankers apart for a while and show them less privileges. The effect will doubtless be beneficial. A Bandit Dog.?Dogs may be trained' by rogues or honest men, and in either case they obey their training, and with equal j readiness. They know nothing of the right or wrong, but only follow orders. Here is a case of a dog taught to be very cunning by brigands : A troop of soldiers, under the command of the Neapolitan Government, was marching at night toward a little wood, which was supposed to be the lurking place of a horde, of banditti. Just at daybreak, when the soldiers had almost reached the I wood, they saw a little dog, who had been lying down and keeping watch, rise and j begin to bark at the top of his voice. The j soldiers followed him thinking that he would give the alarm; and indeed, when ; they had reached the middle of the wood, they found that the brigands had fled. The I officer in command, in his anger, shot the dog who had just made him lose his prey. The animal howled fearfully, and fell, to all appearances dead. The soldiers went on their way, but in a few minutes saw the very dog w;ho had just been "killed" stealing behind the trees, tacking like a ship, and intently watching the direction which they had taken. They ran after him, and caught him, and saw that he had not been in the least hurt. His instinct had taught him to feign death, that he might be able to keep at his sentinel's post. His remarkable intelligence and cunning air won the love of the soldiers, who adopted him and trained him to hunt the banditti, for whom he had been so faithful a watchman. A Merry Funeral.?The grandfather of Lord Prone-ham died in Rrouerham. in Westmoreland, when the future great reformer and statesman was only five years of age. The funeral feast which preceded the carrying of the corpse to the grave was presided over by a neighbor, the Duke of Norfolk. This Duke was witty and convivial, could make a joke and tell a story with the best. At the close of the funeral banquet his grace rose and delivered himself after this fashion: "Friends and neighbors?before I give you the toast of the occasion, 'The memory of the deceased,' I ask you to drink the health of the family physician, Dr. Harrison, the founder of the feast.'" Such hard drinking followed this facetious toast that when the mourners reached the grave the coffin was missing. It was ultimately found at the bottom of a river over which the cortege had passed. Into this stream it had been jolted out of the hearse, without the drunken driver or merry mourners becoming aware of the accident.