Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Y * lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j % Initcpcitiicnf Jkmilj fUtospaptr: Jor ijit ^promotion of % political, Serial, ^gritnlfural anb Commercial Jitftrtsfs of fju Soutjj. j terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 32. YOEKVILLE, S C., THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 1886. ^O. 13. Jo ?rigioal Jtorg. Writtes for the Yorkvilie Enquirer. AMOS BAEfOH, IJY L.. r>. OZMOND. CHAPTER V. Joseph Baker was a young man from the country, fresh and unsophisticated. His visit to San Francisco was an experimental one ; he had an uncle there in business, who had offered to give him a start in life, provided he took kindly to clerking in a merchant's office. But Joseph found this occupation intolerable after the freedom of the country, and decided that he would rather return to his father's ranch. Ra iincrf?rpd in the oitv until near Christ mas, and then took his departure, being I anxious to spend the holiday season with his family. He made his journey by rail until within a short distance of the ranch, and here a team was to meet him and convey him the rest of the way. It was raining when he reached this stopping-place, and the expected conveyance not having arrived, he walked into a rough cabin which was used as a waiting-room, and sat down to exercise his patience in the vicinity of a rusty stove, where a heap of ashes still remained to show that a fire had once burned there. While he waited, there came another traveler upon the scene. This was a respectable-looking man, neatly dresed, but with a sad and rather vacant expression of face; he moved in a lingering, uncertain way, and gazed about him as he entered with a bewildered expression, as if he was not sure of his whereabouts. He stood for ? a moment within the door, looking rather apprehensively at young Baker; then, apparently re-assured, advanced slowly and spoke in a timid, anxious tone? "Can you tell me, sir, if you please, how far I am from Sacramento?" "Sacramento 1" repeated Baker. "Why, you are not in that neighborhood at all. Sacramento must be a hundred miles from here 1" "A hundred miles !?is it possible? Then I have certainly been misdirected," said the stranger. "Did you come by the train?" asked Baker. "No, I walked?that is partly. I have walked perhaps a dozen miles to-day. I am very weary and the rain has impeded my progress; it makes the roads so bad." "Yes. the roads in some places are very bad." The young man as he spoke, looked .. * curiously at the new comer, whose manner was certainly peculiar. Although he did not by any means appear to be an object of charity, yet there was something forlorn and melancholy in his aspect that ^ excited sympathy. "How far are you going to-night?" was Baker's next question. "My dear sir, I don't know. In fact, I do not know where I am, nor how far I have ?,c?raej! Baker informed him of the locality, adding that he supposed he was a stranger in those parts. "Yes, sir. And as I said before, I have been misdirected?purposely, I verily believe." "Why purposely ? It would be a shab by thing to do." "A shabby thing?a villainous thing," rejoined the other with some excitement of manner. "But, sir, there are villains in the I" world and plenty of them?plenty of them, as I know to my cost." ^ "Well, I suppose that's so," said Baker. "Luckily for me, I haven't come in contact with many of them. When I was in San Francisco?" "Hush!?hush !"cried the stranger, starting nervously, and hastily glancing around. "Pray, pray, don't make any allusion to that?to that?" "To what?" asked Baker in surprise, as he paused seemingly for the want of a suitable phrase. "To that den of iniquity," was the emphatic rejoinder. Let me advise you, let me entreat you, as you value your safety, never to trust yourself within its snares. If you have once done so and been fortunate enough to escape unharmed, be thankful for your good luck and don't tempt Providence by another trial!" (I know what's the matter, thought Baker; he's been speculating in stocks and come out at the wrong end. If the brokers have been playing with him, it's no wonder he thinks San Francisco an unrighteous place.) Af loof ,,-ou hunril tlio CMIiml rif U'llPfls. xit mot H?.-7 uvutu VIIV v. and a wagonette (vame in sight, driven by a w stout farmer's boy in a shining oilskin suit. ? "Here's my trap," exclaimed Joseph, ^ starting up joyfully. And taking his valise he was about to depart with an unceremonious "good-bye," when a new idea occurred to him and he paused. "I say," he remarked, "I don't like the notion of driving off comfortably and leaving you here alone at this time of the evening. Can't I take you somewhere? It's dark for walking." "It is dark," assented the stranger. "And it's raining now like bricks." "It is raining pretty hard." "Well, come along with me. If you are not sure of your way, suppose you stop at our place for to-night. It isn't far from here." "Oh! you are very kind," was the rejoinder, "but such an act on my part, would, I fear, prove an intrusion." "Oh! not at all," cheerfully replied Baker. "My father and mother will make you welcome, I know. And we've got lots of room at the ranch." "Really, I am most grateful," said the other, and his pleased, relieved expression confirmed his words. In a minute more they were spinning along the muddy road, the stout horses seeming quite indifferent to wind and wet,and evidently familiarenough with the way to find the darkness no ob" stacle to their speed, while the lad who drove explained elaborately to Baker the cause of his delay in meeting him. A wagon had broken down about a mile from the ranch, and he?the boy?had found it necessary to assist the distressed driver to get it to rights. "It's just as well," replied Baker, "for if you had been on hand when I arrived, I should have missed the opportunity of helping this gentleman a little on his way." "It was, indeed, fortunate for me," added the stranger. At length a light was seen twinkling in the distance, and the ranch was reached. They entered the gate aud drove up to the house, a rambling, low-roofed cottage, built partly of adobe, partly of wood, with a long verandah extending along the front and one side. The door opened as they alighted, and revealed the family grouped within the hall to welcome the son and heir home. There were the parents, a jolly-looking couple not yet showing signs of age, although they had been married twenty-five years; a son younger than Joseph, three daughters between the ages of eighteen and twelve, and an orphan niece of fourteen who lived with them. Much kissing and handshaking now ensued, and this being over, Joseph proceeded to introduce his fellow traveler, who hung modestly back. "Father, this gentleman had missed his road, and was waiting in the station, so I asked hitu to come and spend, the night with us." "You are right welcome, sir," said Mr. Baker hospitably. "We've always a spare | bed and enough to eat. Come, I reckon you're both hungry, and cold as well, eh ? | Come into the sitting-room and warm up a bit, while the old lady gets your supper ready. Henry, put on a fresh log. Girls, i. ? i i-1. you can pull in me snuuers now, mm iet thecurtainsdown. It's a cold, bleak night." Supper was soon ready, and they gathered round the well filled board, where abundance reigned if elegance was wanting. As they drew up their chairs, Mr. Baker remarked, "By-the-by, Joe, you haven't told us your friend's name." Joseph colored, and glanced toward their visitor, who had not enlightened him on the point in question. "I haven't yet learned it myself, sir," he replied. "My name?"said the stranger, seemingly a little confused. "It is?ah?it is?Clarence Daly. Yes, Clarence Daly, of Antwerp." "Antwerp?" Then you're a foreigner?" said Baker, senior, interrogatively. "Oh no. I was merely educated abroad, and resided there for some time afterwards." "Oh, I see," said Mr. Baker. "Well, Mr. Daly, I hope you'll make yourself at home. Jane, give Mr. Daly, a hot biscuit. Joe, pass the ham." These kind people did their best, certainly, to put their guest at his ease and make him comfortable; but it did not seem his nature to be comfortable. He ate in a nervous manner, occasionally glancing about him in an apprehensive way, and starting at any unexpected movement or remark; and once, when a door slammed in the passage, he dropped the spoon which he was conveying to his lips, and spilled his coffee on tne taoie, wnue nan srarung irom his setn. "Dislike noise, sir?" asked his host with an amused look. "I'm afraid you'll get considerable of it here; we're a noisy set, usually. The doors are always banging, too, some way. But I reckon that's the wind's fault as much as ours." "It's the fault of those who leave them open," said Lou, the eldest girl. "I?I confess to being a little nervous," said Mr. Daly in an apologetic tone. "I suppose it is very absurd ; but I hope you won't mind. I can't help it." "Been sick, may be ? You look delicate, if you'll excuse the remark." "Yes, I have been ill?very ill. And iny nerves have been dreadfully shaken. Even now, they are quite unstrung. But don't let us dwell on this subject, please. It is a painful one to me; very painful." He quite trembled with the earnestness of his appeal as he looked around. 31r. Baker, beside whom he sat at table, slapped him on the shoulder with the remark that country air would do him good." "It's the best tonic in the world, sir, for the nerves. There's no medicine equal to it in my judgment. Plenty of wholesome fresh air and new milk?I can assure you that there's?no milk better than ours for miles around. The old lady shall give you all you can drink. And you won't be in a hurry to leave us, I hope; stay right along here until you get toned up a bit. We'll make him welcome, won't we, Bess?" "That we will," said Mrs. Baker kindly. "I'm real glad you happened along, Mr. Daly. It seems quite providential that our Joe met you, for you don't look fit to travel fartherjust yet." Mr. Daly, thus cordially encouraged, expressed his thanks in his faltering way, but with evident and sincere appreciation of the hospitality pressed upon him. Before he was shown to his room, he had promised to make an indefinite stay at the ranch, in order to try its curative powers. When he was out of hearing, the family naturally began to discuss him, and they agreed that he seemed a "little queer." Mrs. Baker thought that sickness had probably shaken his mind, but that rest and change of scene would make him all right. Joe announced his belief that is was stocks that had upset him. The stock fever was running very high at that time, and he had been much impressed during his stay in the city by the universal excitement which it produced, and by the immense failures and successes resulting from speculations in the stock-market. "And those brokers, I tell you they are a sharp lot! You can't trust one of them, sir," he said to his father. "Any greenhorn that falls into their hands is bound to suffer. And this Daly, he don't look very well able to take care of himself. I'd be iu uut uuiiain ilicit uu o been taken in?pinched in some wild-cat or other." "Wild-cat!?do they have wild-cats in San Francisco ?" asked Nannie, the youngest girl. Her brother laughed, and explained that the term was applied to a bogus mine. With a natural satisfaction arising from the consciousness of superior knowledge acquired during his late trip, he continued to entertain his admiring family with an account of his experiences, until the clock warned them that it was time for all to be in bed. The household at the ranch were early I risers, llut early as they were, the first one I up on the following morning found that Mr. I Daly had risen earlier still. Ilenry, going after the cows with a lantern to guide his steps, was amazed at encountering a dark figure wandering in his pathway, and still more amazed to discover that the said figure was none other than that of their guest. "Why, is anything the matter?" he asked, in a tone that betrayed his surprise. "Nothing, my young friend, except that j I could not sleep. Dreams, horrible dreams, i drove me at midnight from my bed. Such dreams as I hoped would not pursue me i here. Such dreams as I trust may never j visit you. Reality could hardly be worse." The young man said he was very sorry to | hear this. He had hoped that Mr. Daly ! would have a comfortable night. "Comfortable?that's a word I have all but forgotten the meaning of," was the gloomy reply. "It is not likely that I shall ever enjoy comfort in this world again. Rut don't let me detain you, I beg. I hope I shall not stand in the way of any of your customary employment." "I would ask you to come on with me and see the cows milked, but I think you will find it pleasanter in-doors," said Henry. "There ought to be a fire in the kitchen by this time." "Thanks, my young friend. Pray do not trouble yourself about me." And the melancholy man walked on, leaving Ilenry to wonder more than ever at his oddity. The more the family saw of their visitor, the more they became convinced thateither some trouble, or the recent illness of which he had spoken, had slightly unsettled his mind. He was gentle and inoffensive, scrupulous in his attention to all the forms of politeness which a well-bred person usually observes, and paternally kind to the younger members of the circle, who soon overcame their shyness and became quite fond of him. But though in these respects he was rational, and though he could converse on many subjects quite pleasantly and clearly, yet there were times when he was undeniably shaken and confused, when a chance word would unexpectedly throw him off his balance and cast him into a tremor of agitation, for which nobody could assign a cause. Fresh air and new milk, Mrs. Baker's sovereign remedies, did not produce as good an effect upon his health as that good lady had predicted for them. Every now and then he would begin to make arrangements for leaving the ranch, but always nrith cn/.h avriflonfc rplnnhinpft and such UI1 certainty of purpose that his kind entertainers would urge him to remain longer, and so the days and weeks slipped by and left him still an inmate of their home. One day he manifested great excitement at the sight of a carriage, containing two men, which drove in at the gate. He rushed into one of the outbuildings where Mrs. Baker was superintending some domestic work, and tremblingly asked if he could hide himself there until these men were gone. "Sakes alive! they won't hurt you, my good man," said the worthy dame. "Why are you afraid of them?" "I cannot tell you ; but indeed, indeed I have cause," he replied in much distress. "I am sure I have seen one of them before. Pray don't say a word to either of them of my presence here." She readily promised that she would not, and told him he was quite safe with her. Fortunately for his peace of mind the visitors soon finished their errand and depart1 ?5 - L ?1 4? tv?r\ KofnrA ho rnon tJU J UUL lit waa 9UUIC lime i/tiuiv lib iv,w> ered from the agitation into which he had been thrown by their approach. Mr. Baker, when his wife related this incident, remarked seriously that he hoped he wasn't doing Daly any wrong, but that it looked very much as if he had done something criminal and was trying to escape detection. "Oh, no, poor fellow, I don't suspect him of anything like that," said kind Mrs. Baker. "Pie's only a bit upset and nervous; he'll come round all right by and by. It's my opinion that he's been frightened some way and can't get over it." Mr. Baker shook his head, but supposed, as usual, his wife knew best. [to be continued.] JOHN E. KENNA. The administration, in its fight against the Senate in demanding the cause of removal of certain officers, has gained another champion in the person of Senator John E. Kenna, of West Virginia. Mr. Kenna is the youngest member of the Senate and hitherto has made but few speeches. In his defense of the administration he showed that John Sherman, when he was Secretary of the Treasury, refused to give the Senate the reason for the removal of Chester A. Arthur from theeolleetorship of New York. Mr. Sherman's refusal was addressed to Senator Conk ling, as chairman of the Senate committee. Mr. Kenna then arraigned Edmunds and Logan. There was a funny scene when the speaker quoted and commented upon the Tenure of Office Act proposed by Mr. Logan in 1809, when he was a Representative, and by which he proposed to legislate out of office, at one stroke, every civil officer, except Judges on the1 hench. who had been annointed nrior to ! the 4th of March, 18(59, so that Grant could have a clear field. Mr. Logan had been I dozing in the cloak room, with no thought of being attacked, and he walked toward his seat, rubbing his eyes just as Mr. Kenna left him to take up Mr. Sherman. The dazed Senator made such a ludicrous appearance that a loud laugh burst out all over the Chamber. John E. Kenna was born at Valcoulon, Virginia, (now \V. Ya.) April 10th, 1848. lie lived and worked on a farm, and at the outbreak of the war entered the Confederate service as a private. Pie was wounded in 1801, and surrendered at Shreveport, Louisiana, in 1865. He afterwards attended St. Vincent's College, Wheeling, W. Va., studied law with Miller and Quatrier, at Charleston, W. Va., and was admitted to the bar June 20th, 1870. lie has continued to practice law since that time. lie was elected Prosecuting Attornev for Kenawha countv. W. Va.. on the Democratic ticket in 1872, and served until January, 1877. In 1875 he was elected by the bar in the respective counties, under statutory provisions to hold the Circuit Court of Lincoln and Wayne, W. Va. He was, as a representative to the Forty-fifth, Forty-sixth, Forty-seventh and had been elected to the Forty-eighth Congress, as a Democrat, when he was chosen United States Senator, to succeed Ilenry G. Davis. He took his seat December 3d, 1883. His term of service expires March 3rd, 1889. Hair As jewels are treasured in the casket to be brought forth on great occasions, so we should preserve the remembrance of our joys, and keep them for seasons when special consolations are wanted to cheer the sou 1 .?Jane Kirkpatrick. g$rThe thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man ; we naturally aim at happiness, and cannot bear to have it confined to our present being.?Dryilen. |psceU?uc0ttS flcatttug. THE RAILWAY MAIL SERVICE. ! THE ARDUOUS DUTIES OF THE RAILWAY POSTAL CLERKS. . Probably the work of no class of public servants is so little understood as that of the United States Railway Postal Clerk. Many people suppose that this class of public employes are furnished a room and free pass on a fast train simply to take on a mail-bag at one station and kick off" one at the next, and that the mail is all "sorted" and made up at general distributing offices in large cities like Detroit, Cleveland or Chicago. Were the public permitted to view the actual work in one of these mail cars it would take but a few minutes to undeceive them. When a person is appointed to a United | States postal clerkship he is first sworn to abide by the rules and regulations of the department, and to support the Constitution of the United States, etc. He is then given a "scheme" and placed in charge of an experienced postal clerk, who takes him out on his "run" and initiates him. lie must first sign the trip "record," giving both the schedule and actual time of his departure, and the failure to sign this upon both arrival and departure forfeits his day's pay. He must accompany the mail wagon to the train, and upon entering the car, if he had any idea that he was to get a "soft job," is soon convinced that here, at least, is business. If he has on his best suit and is unprovided with overalls and "wamus," he will return with ruined clothes and soiled linen. He finds one side of the car covered with from 100 to 500 pigeon holes for letters. At the end forty or 100 larger boxes for papers, and sometimes an iron rack hung full of sacks and pouches. He has, perhaps, previously been given a list of the stations along the route, and now begins his first service as a "news dispenser" by emptying a sack of papers. He must first notice the wooden tag and see if it is labeled for his road, and when done the strings must be taken from these: thev must be counted and a record kept of the number, and they must be returned to Detroit or Syracuse N. Y., or some othe large town by the first mail. The mail car being generally next to the engine, the hiss of escaping steam, and occasional whistle, incessant ringing of the bell, the noise of wagons on the pavement, all tend to make contusion worse confounded, and the novice suddenly finds himself very awkward?he can hardly untie the knot in the string which fastens the sack; the sack is heavy, he can hardly lift it; the papers roll out on the board, some catch in the string and refuse to come out. He begins work by picking up a paper, it is wrong end to; he turns it around, it is wrong side up; he turns it over; perhaps he will read the name written in an imperfect scrawl, to Miss Jemima Jenkins, Jacksonville; he is going to throw it into the Jackson pouch, but the head clerk tells him Jacksonville is not Jackson, gives it a glance and says.Illinois; he then finds he must learn to read up, State at the bottom, then county, then postoffice,' and never mind the individual. This was missent; he will somewhere in the sack find a slip of paper containing the name of the clerk who put up that sack, with the date and postmark of his run; he will check this error by crossing the face and writing on the back the name of the postoffice of the piece missent, the number of such pieces found, and write his own name and postmark it and lay it one side to send with his next trip report. A record of these errors checked against each postal clerk is kept hy the Superintendent of his division, and at the end of the month or oftener, these "checks" or slips are sent to the clerk making the error, whereby he can learn of his own ignorance or carelessness and correct it in the future; a summary of the aggregate he has checked and those against him is also sent him. And now just a word about this checking business. Although it is one of the requirements that every error be checked, I doubt if ten per cent, of them are, and for that reason would not give a fig for the general departmental report of the number of pieces miscarried, neither would we for that of the amount of mail handled, for postal clerks are required to count the tags on the sacks of papers and the slips on the packages of letters handled and report it everyday. The majority of clerks we have come in contact with have advocated the plan of checking but little, if at all, and do not count their slips regularly, some not more than two or three times a month, andguessat it by taking the average, being sure to get it large enough. In justice to these clerks let me say that the time is often so limited and they are so overworked that if they stopped to cheek or count slips they would not have time to do their work and would often carry | mail by its destination. Sill, much more could be done than is toward perfecting the reports else the record is useless and the regulation a dead letter. The man who conscientiously endeavors to check every error is often stamped as a "smeller," and his reputation is widely known. He soon find checks flowing in on him of errors he never made, being paid by unscrupulous and revengeful ones. Disgusted he falls into line, and only checks when he feels like it and has plenty of time. But to return to our new clerk. Ilis awkwardness grows upon him; it is cloudy, the steam from the engine shuts out much of the little light that can find a way in through the dirty windows. Nine out of ten papers he picks up come from the newspaper office, where, for their own interest, one would suppose they would put on legible and secure addresses in order to insure ! prompt and safe delivery; but no?a little yellow slip about an inch long and onei eighth or one-quarter wide, on which is ! name, postoflice, county and State, is only j half pasted on the newspaper used as a I wrapper. By lamplight it is hardly distinguished from the reading matter on the i paper. lie strains his eyes and searches : for the address, loses time, and perhaps can't 1 get through the forty or fifty sack of papers j before he gets to the first station and some j mail is carried by; some one docs not get ! his regular paper; it is delayed a day ; he j cusses at the mail man, when really it is I the fault of the publisher. Perhaps the ! paste was not any too adhesive, and the i little yellow address has come off and been j lost. Ilere is bother, here is loss of time, ! here are papers returned to the chief clerk ! at the main office, aud thence returned to j the publishers, to be relabled and a new | trial given. The subscriber swears at the j poor mail facilities; the publisher at the postal clerk, and whose fault is it? The new clerk is bothered ; he is getting "rattled ;" he can't find the boxes or sacks; he asks the old clerk the same question twenty times over as he picks up piece after piece of mail; he sees the old clerk "throw" letters or papers by the thousand, and almost discouraged, wonders if he can ever attain such marvelous proficiency and rapidity. The whistle blows; the speed on the train is slackening; he tries to get the sack of papers out of the rack, but runs one of the hooks in his hand; it is too full, it won't come out; he lifts and tugs; at last 'tis done; he tries to pull the mail out of the large box; his arm isn't long enough ; he grasps the hoe and rakes it out; he stoops to pick up a mail pouch, but the brakes cause a sudden jerk to the train and he is thrown against the rack, and a severe bruise advises him to be more careful hereafter; he tries to get the letters out of the pigeon-hole and tie them up ; they slip out of his hand ; he can hardly tie a knot; where is his knife to cut the string; he closes the pouch; the iron ^4- Irv^r^AwfAfttltT O V\ A fKo of n flrttl't. (T f\ iiuga i&b iiupci icutij auu kiiv owiu^ ?*/?? v fav/ good; he snaps the lock; runs to the door with the pouch. The transfer man growls because he don't throw it off, but strict regulations forbid his doing so while the train is in motion, for mail bags have fallen under the cars and been cut to pieces or persons have been hurt on the platform. He grasps the leather pouch and finds his finger nails hardly strong enough to cope with bullshide; a half dozen letters are handed him by as many different persons; he closes the door as the car is getting very cold and the wind is blowing his slips all around the room, but someone is hammering on the door and shouting, who has a letter and is too stupid to see the hole in the door made purposely for the accommodation of tardy ones; a timid girl stands back with a letter; a little boy has one bordered in black; the traveling agent hands a score of postal cards and the hotel keeper has a couple which he won't drop in the village office, "just to spite the new incumbent." The clerk hastens to postmark these letters?work which ought to have been done at the office; unlocks the pouch?perhaps the key sticks in the lock, or the lock won't open, or the strap catches in the rings; every moment is precious; he dumps out the mail, cuts the string on the package and commences to distribute, but every other letter is bottom side up or turned around, as the country postmaster can't find time or take the trouble, as is his duty, to arrange them. Here are letters for all over the world. Quick as a flash he throws one into the Canada box, one foreign, a dozen for Detroit; one for a small office just passed he puts into a "return" box, for by and by he will meet the accommodation train going back and he will put this "return" mail into a "return" pouch and send it back in charge of the baggageman, to be delivered to the postal clerk on the next mail train j following, to be distributed by him. Here is a letter for "roilokes," (an actual occurrence); he studies a moment, then throws it to Detroit & Grand Haven Railroad postoffice for the first station out of Detroit. Here is a letter with no State; about one-fourth have counties on ; here is one with no address at all; here is one with no stamp ; here one not postmarked; now one forwarded from one to another place until the face of the envelope is entirely defaced ; here is one which has been to Stock bridge, N. Y., thence to office of same name in Vermont, thence to another in Massachusetts, thence Georgia, thence Michigan, and not for any of these places the stray letter goes on to Wisconsin or some oiner ?taie. now he hates the poetical address. Here is a letter for .Straits Lake and has been marked "no such office in the State named it then went to the Dead Letter Office and was warked "Deficiency in address supplied," and it is once more on its way from Detroit to Orchard Lake, having been traveling for a couple of weeks when it would have reached its destination in the same number of hoursif ithad not been addressed wrongly to a "local" name instead of the postoffice. It is also stamped "Please inform your correspondent of your correct address." People make mistakes in heading their letters with local names instead of their postoffice. It cannot be supposed that postal clerks can learn the million local situations in addition to thousands of regular postoffices. Ilere is a letter marked "missent." Whose fault? Was it "checked?" It is erroneous to charge these missent letters to new clerks, for but a small per centage of the postal clerks have been changed, and although a new man make a few errors on the start, he is generally sonnxious to have aclear record that he is very careful and nervous, looking over his mail several times if he has time, and thereby is not apt to make as many errors as the old hand, who is more confident and careless.?Detroit Free Press. How Many Hours for Sleep??There is an old saying that has frightened a great many people from taking the rest that nature demanded for them, "Nine hours are enough for a fool." They may be; and not too many for a wise man who feels that he needs them. Goethe, when performing his most prodigious literary feats, felt that he needed nine hours; what is better he took them. We presume it is conceded by all thoughtful persons that the brain in very young children, say three or four years of age, requires all of twelve hours in rest, or sleep. This period is shortened gradually until, at fourteen years of age, the boy is found to need only ten hours. When full grown and in a healthy condition, the man may find a night of eight hours sufficient to repair the exhaustion of the day and newcreate him for the morrow. But if he discover that he needs more sleep he should take it. There is surely something wrong about him ; perhaps a forgotten waste must be repaired. His sleep, evidently has not been made up; and until it hasand he can spring to his work with an exhilaration for it, he should sensibly conclude to let his instinct control him and stay in bed.?Margaret Sidney, in Good Housekeeping. Astronomical Events.?The principal astronomical event of 1880 will be the total eclipse ol the sun on the 2!)th of August, j The line of totality in this eclipse will cross ! the Atlantic Ocean, traversing land in the ! West Indies just after sunrise and in Southern Africa toward sunset. On the coast of Benguela the total phase lasts nearly nve minutes, and at Grenada, in the West Indies, the duration will be nearly four minutes. Three comets of known period are expected to return duringthe year. Gibers' comet, with a period of seventy-one and a half years, will probably reach Perihelion | near the close of the year. A small comet discovered by Pons in 1819, and rediscovered by Winnecke in 1858, is due in 1888, as is also the one first seen by Temple in 18G9, and again observed by Swift in 1880. The period of each of these two comets is about five and a half years. ?hc Idle*. MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. She was only sixteen years old when first John brought her to the farm?a dark skinned, velvet eyed girl, with a light step like that of some beautiful panther stealing over the forest leaves. I was preserving grapes in the kitchen, with a big white apron tied around my waist, and my hair tucked away behind the frills of a muslin cap, when John opened the door and said to me : "Mother, dear, here is a daughter for you!" "A daughter!" I echoed, dropping the glass jar to the ground, where it shivered into a score of sparkling pieces. For this was the first I had heard of my son's marriage. "John Murray, what on earth do you mean?" "Didn't you get my letter, mother?" said he. I had received no letter and I told him so. "That's unfortunate," said John gravely. "But I can tell you now what I wrote you last week?that I'm married to Juliet Percy. Have you no welcoming kiss for my wife?" Mechanically I kissed her but there was no heart in the action. "Come into the parlor, my dear, and take off your hat and shawl. I suppose you are very tired with your journey and would like a cup of tea." Juliet did not answer, only looked at me with her dark, solemn eyes. "For mercy's sake, who is she?" I asked John, when he came to me out in the garden, where I was gathering peaches to slice up for tea. "Where did you meet her? And how did you come to marry her in this unexpected way?" "She is the daughter of Percival Percy, the actor. He boarded at the same house where I did aud died suddenly from an i overdose of morphine. She was left utterly alone and unprovided for, and I got interested in her before I knew it." "Humph!" was my comment, t "You will try to love her, mother, for my sake, urged John, laying his hand caressingly on my shoulder. I could feel the sudden tears brimming into my eyes. "John," cried I, "I would try to love a cook-maid or a beggar girl, if you brought her home here, and asked me to love her. But, it may not be such an easy task." Mrs. Deacon Dodley came to tea the next day, and I told her all about it. "She seems a pretty girl enough," said Mrs. Dodley. "But she's such a mere child;" said I, "and as inanimate as a block of wood. And an actor's daughter at that. John has married her merely out of pity, and I hope he won't live to repent his rash Quixotism, that's all." "Do you really mean it?" "Heasgood as told meso himself," said I. When the tea-bell rang, Juliet was noI where to be found. "I suppose she has gone out to the field to meet her husband," said I. "These young married people are so silly. We won't wait tea for them, Mrs. Dodley." The meal, however, was but half over, when John came in, very pale, and with a set look about the muscles of his mouth which I had never before seen there. "Mother," cried he, passionately, "what is this thing: that you have done?" "I?"echoed I, in amazement. "You have driven my wife away from me?" "John!" "I met Juliet just now, hurrying down the road, with a bundle under her arm. She told me you had said to Mrs. Dodley that I had married her merely out of pity. She declared to me that I was free once and forever. I could not stop nor pacify her, poor, tortured child; but I gathered from her incoherent talk that she was going to her friend, Mrs, Bligh, who kept the New York boarding-house. Get me my things, mother. I will follow her there at once." But when he reached Mrs. Bligh's house Juliet had not been there. And no trace could he find of her anywhere. He came back to the farm, looking full ten years older. "Mother," said he, hoarsely "this is your work." "Oh! John! John!" was all that I could say, as I wrung my hands in mute despair. "I didn't mean any harm! I didn't, in deed!" "You have blighted my life!" he said, bitterly. "And poor, poor little Juliet! God only knows what has become of her!" I can hardly remember how that autumn and winter passed away, but it was the next spring, just as the crocuses began to show their emerald points through the vailing snow that covered the March world, when John fell ill of typhoid fever. And in his delirium he kept calling day and night for j "Juliet! Juliet!" He never mentioned his mother's name; he never looked up into my face with eyes of tender recognition; but he fancied himself looking for a lost child in the woods, and the name of that child, repeated ever and anon like a sad refrain, was "Juliet!" "Who is Juliet?" the city doctor we had called in, suddenly asked. "Whoever she is, let her come to him. It may be his salvation." And then I was forced to tell him all. "Put an advertisement in the 'personal' column of the daily paper," said the doctor. "Do you think it will do any good?" I asked, piteously; and he answered : "It is worth the trial, at all events." I was sitting at the kitchen table that very evening, studying out the form of an advertisemeut?I chose the kitchen so that the light of the lamp should not annoy my poor boy?when the curious magnetic thrills which sometimes announce to us the pres! ence of another humanity than our own in : the room, crept through my veins, and looking up with a start I saw?Juliet! Standing on the threshold, dark-skinned and velvet eyed, just as she had stood that radiant September afternoon when first I saw her. "Is it true?" she asked me, with a wild vehemence of manner of which I had scarcely believed her capable, "that he is sick? dying?and I not by his side ?" I ran to her, holding out both my arms. "Stand back!" she cried, passionately, "I have neither pity nor favor to ask of you. But I loved him. Oh, loved him, even though he did not care for me!" I took her by the arm. "Juliet!" cried I, "listen!" And from the sick-room came the pitiful reiteration of the one word : "Juliet! Juliet!" She threw herself upon my bosom, with a burst of sobs and tears which seemed to relieve her poor, overcharged heart. "Tell me," she faltered, "that my ears are not deceiving me! Tell me does he want me?" "He is breaking his heart for you," I answered. "He loves you better than his own life." "May I go to him ?" "Go!" I stood listening while she hurried into the darkened room?listening with one hand pressed over my heart. And still came forth the pleading cry: "Juliet!" Juliet!" Until all of a sudden it paused, and I heard my poor boy say, with an utterance Af innflfo K1q *?ol 5of "She has come back to me, my Juliet, and now I can die in peace!" But he did not die, my only son. He lived, thanks to the tireless nursing and tender devotion of the dark-eyed young wife who had come, like a healing angei, to his side. "Juliet," I said to her, the day that he first sat up in a cushioned chair, "it is you that we have to thank for this." She looked up at me with those great, wistful eyes of hers. "And do you think you can love me now?" said she, imploringly. "My darling! my darling!" was all that I could say, as I clasped the slight, small figure close to my heart. And from that day to this, there has never been the slightest shadow of doubt or dissension between me and my daughter-inlaw.? Amy Randolph. CONCERNING NEWSPAPERS. Sam Small, in a recent sermon in Chicago, said concerning newspapers: "I have been a newspaper man for twelve years, and I will say that if I wanted to get a clear and honest judgment of my work I would rather go into a newspaper office than into a court of justice. The best way to ho ohnvo foar i<j to hp ? trup Christian. The newspaper reporters are the best detective force in the world. They have unearthed more crimes and shams than all other agencies, and my plan is to take the bridles off them and let them go. If you think newspapers give too much space to divorce suits and scandals the-way for you to do is to quit buying them?then they will quit printing them. I beleive newspapers need reforming in some respects, but the way to do that is to reform the people. Papers print what the people want, and from the character of a newspaper I can judge the character of its readers. There would be no scandal if there were no ears craving to hear them." Speaking of the importance to a community of the local newspaper, Hon. David Davis, says: Every year every local paper gives from 500 to 5,000 free lines for the sole benefit of the community in which it is located. No other agency can or will do this. The local editor, in proportion to his means, does more for his town than any other ten men, and in all fairness, man with man, he ought to be supported, not because you may happen to like him or admire his writing, but because a local paper is the best investment a community can make. It may not be brilliant or crowded with mere thoughts, but financially it is more of a benefit to a community than the preacher or teacher. Understand us now, we do not mean morally or intellectually, but financially, and yet on the moral question you will find the majority of the local papers are on the right side of the question. To-day the editors of local papers do the most work for the least money of any men on earth. Subscribe for your local paper, not as a charity, but as an investment. In reference to sensational journalism, the Ellenton, N. Y., Banner of Liberty makes the following timely remarks: The country is cursed at present by one of the worst attacks of sensational journalism with which it has ever been atfiicted. The evil is assuming alarming proportions. It indicates a development of American character in the direction of hearing and telling lies that is in the highest degree discreditable. The sensational press does not mean or care to tell the truth. The best-conducted newspapers find it hard to keep false reports from their columns. The sensational press revels in exaggeration and invention. The worst of it is, that these inventions are told with the air of truth, and are calculated to undermine morals, to give credit to humbug and superstition, and to inculcate a craving for licentious and sensational literature that can be satisfied in the end by nothing short of the most depraved reading Thf? narpnt who admits one of these & r* sensational journals in the family circle nourishes a viper that in the end will sting him with a deadly venom. Let the moral sentiment of the American people arouse itself to crush the sensational press. Unless something is done to check its influence, the next generation will be chiefly noted for licentiousness and falsehood. Waters of Utah.?There is in the extreme north of Utah a magnificent subterranean reservoir of first-class soda water, bubbling and effervescing out of the ground in such quantities that all America might be supplied. In the extreme south, on the road to Ordervllle, is an exquisite circular lakelet that is always just full to the brim with water as clear and as green as beryl. And wherever the water overflows the lake's edge it incrusts the ground and the grass and the fallen leaves upon it with a fine coating of limestone, so that the brim is perpetually growing higher and higher with the imperceptible but certain growth of a coral reef, and in course of generations the lake will become a concreted basin. Between these two points are scattered all over the country springs and pools of the strangest waters. There is one pool only a foot deep, and situated at a high altitude, that refuses to freeze even in the severest winters. There is another that mysteriously replenishes itself with half-grown trout. One stream that I saw, though clear as crystal to the eye and tasteless, stains all the vegetation it flows over a deep brown. A ci-u t riti., ila warm spring near omi ojukp vyit,y 10 wc strongest sulphur in the world. A "hot spring" a few miles off, with waters so hot that you can hardly put your hand into them, and as bright as diamonds, is one of the most remarkable combinations of chemicals ever analyzed. tfaT We must learn by laughter as well as by tears and terrors; explore the whole of nature?the farce and buffoonry in the yard below, as well as the lessons of poets and philosophers up-stairs in the hall?and get the rarest refreshment of the shaking of the sides.?Emerson. IfiyThe student cannot spare Gibbon, with his vast reading?with such wit and continuity of mind, that though never profound, his book is one of the conveniences of civilization, like the railroad from ocean an to ocean.?Emerson on Books.