Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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rs;... - - lewis m. grist, proprietor. J % fttbcjpbtnf Jfaimlj) $f etospapcr: J;or % promotion of % |)oIititaI, Social, 3.?ritttlfttral anb Conimcrrial Jntmsts of % South. j terms--$2.oo a year, in advance. VOL. 32. YOBKYILLE, S C. WEDNESDAY, JIJ^TE 3Q, 1886. ISTO. 26. FORCED APART By W. CLARK RUSSELL. Author of the "Wreck of the Grosvenor,n "A Sailor's SweetheartEtc. CHAPTER L GREY8TONE-ON-SEA. JENNY. In the embrace of a curvature of this noble Island of Britain, where the coast beheld by the passing mariner shines before his eyes with the pearly gloss and delicate shimmer of marble; where the land shoots out into the sea, scorning, with its iron heel stanchlj planted, the thunderous shocks of the hurricane or the more deadly tooth of the lipping calm, and bearing on high at night its darning beacon, like the fabled giant defying the stars with uplifted torch, stands a town whereon no man with a mind into which soft thoughts may enter readily can gaze without stopping to reflect. In this little town, time and the handiwork of man have wrought lovingly together. And generous nature has backed them, glorifying the land around with calm enrichment of intermingling trees, and broad fields which pour their green or golden fruits down the hillsides and along the vigorous plains. Beheld from a distance, this little town seems to dwell with something of the shadowiness of an ancient picture upon the English seashore. J ! ? ?-? ?? ?? olAmAwf in nirt. oaauuwiuuss UIIO cw ou cicwcav Ui |/4V tures of a day which time has made dim. Greystone, in our own age, has this artistic condition in perfection. It is a ready made vignette to adorn the little social legend which the gossips have handed down through the century. As this little town is now, I say, so, with scarcely a change of note to name?counting the laying of gas pipes and the ejectment, in 1844, of Tobias Pipes, the town crier, as nothing?was it in that year of grace, war, rapine and high prices?to wit, Anno 1806. There goes now, and there went then, a narrow pass up to the westward of the town, out of the waste of silver sand which the water ne*?r covered, unless driven to it by a conspiracy of moon and gale. By two walls of rock, spanned for the footpath along the cliffs edge by a rude bridge, looking from below, to rule the sky with a slim and giddy filament; by great protuberances of stone and rugged hunches of chalk intermitting a sandy, rushy herbage, with yellow grass in places and a moist, faint colored moss of the hue of the jelly fish when it slowly oozes to the surface of green salt water?you passed into a verdant lane, and the moan of the surf sounded hoi? fVift QoVi^infr rflin'no * wn uiuuiujuu uuvu6u & Along this lane, that broadened presently j out of the shadow of trees and the interception of hedgerows into a fair open road, you wound your steps toward the town, in the ripe summer time always losing the track a hundred yards ahead of you behind the tall crops of the fields; and when the roofs and chimneys of the town were showing over harvest crops to the right, and the square turret of Holy Trinity, with its gilt cross standing like a flame of fire against the sky levelled its gray top with the green swell of the adjacent cliff?until you came to a house. CHAPTER II. DR. SHAW AND HIS SON. On a certain Wednesday afternoon, the walled inelosure of the back of this house presented an agreeable scene of boys at play. There were not less than fort)' of them, with just half an acre of ground for their feet to measure. Now, the whole circumference of the horizon might truly seem narrow scope for the impetuosities of their leap-frog, their "horses," and other extremely animated pastimes. Among the shadows under the chestnuts a young man was seated on a bench. He held a book in his hand, over which he pored. Never was attitude of wrapt studiousness j so intently expressed. In all the shouting and leaping of the boys, there was nothing to provoke a single impatient lifting of the head of this figure. But he never turned a page. He was of a slender build, yet with shoulders broad enough to warrant him a man. j His feet were such compact curves as a woman's eye would love to dwell on, for the mere sake ot the breeding and prettiuees of them. His bountiful auburn hair fell curling to his shoulders, as the fashion then was among men who were forswearing the wig, yet sticking to the traditions of luxuriant bead clothing. This was all of him now visible. Yet enough to make a picture of gentle masculine grace, and a shape of strong and nervous beauty. He paid no more heed to the boys than they to him, though he was there to keep them in ord r. While he thus sat, there came briskly on to a platform (whence a flight of steps led to the playground) a short, plump old man in black stockings and tail coat, and frill Catching hold of the rail he ran his small, brilliant black eyes (taking a power of illumination from shaggy white eyebrows and a dusky skin) over the tumbling figures of the boys, and then looked steadfastly at the young man whose back was toward him. By degrees the boys grew aware of his presence. Their shouts slackened, their mirth grew constrained, their antics got flatter. Still the befrilled figure stood staring on the young man, and the young man sat bending over his book, lost, in some deep kind of contemplation, to all external change. "Cuthbert!'' shouted the old man. The young fellow looked around quickly, as though alarmed by the voice, or rather by the meditations which the voice had disturbed. He arose and went toward the house. "What book is that in your hand?" inquired the old gentleman, with his eyebrows knitted, and the hair of them glittering like frost in the beam of sunshine that fell straight on his face through the trees. "Juvenal, sir." And as the young man spoke he glanced upward with a pair of blue eyes, and disclosed a beautiful and winning countenance "Juvenal, indeed! Much of Juvenal have you read since I have stood here with my eyes upon you." "Really " "No. no: that's not vour task. And give me leave to say that while you are wool gathering Batemen, senior, and Francis Tremaine have earned a flogging for using their fists. That was proceeding in a true liue with your nose, and all the waggeries of the poet should not keep you from noting misconduct, if your mind was not elsewhere than in your head.' This was spoken in a low tone, not wanting in sharp distinctness. The young fellow addressed as Cuthbert made no reply. He stood in passive posture with no more than a little deepening of the expression of thoughtfulness on his face, and his eyes bent down upon the ground. The old gentleman, having made an end of his rebuke, gazed at him fixedly for several moments, and then, bidding him "step with J him into his study," wheeled about and went into the house. The boys, left to themselves, fell to their sports again with an uproar that took a new edge from its short suppression. The doctor seated himself in a crimson velvet armchair, and motioned to the other to sit. Then, crossing his legs, and nursing his knee with plump hands, on the forefinger of one of which was a great signet, ring, he fixed his eyes on his companion with a gaze which, for severity and keenness, should have bored his mind through and through. "Cuthbert," said he, speaking in a clear, firm voice, not, perhaps, destitute of a touch of suavity, "I have long had it on iny mind to bring you to book with a plain question. Living under my eye as you do, do you conceive it possible, sir, that the remarkable change your character has undergone should have escaped me? Come,-1 will speak intelligibly. It strikes me that you grow weary of your apprenticeship. Understand me. You would rather not be a schoolmaster. Is that it? Look at me full in the eyes, man, and remember that your father abhors a lie." Cuthbert raised his eyes, but they fell instantly. Still he answered quickly: "I don't grow weary of it Why do you challenge me? Has a single murmur t er escaped me?" ? >/ "What! Is discontent to be expressed by nothing but groans? Give me leave to tell you that a man can murmur with his face, sir, without opening his mouth. Pray, understand that?murmur with his face, sir." "Well," said Cuthbert, with a little drooping of the head and a reluctant manner, "I | will say that if I did not know how near your wishes concerning me lay to your heart, I? I " Here he shrugged his shoulders, smiled faintly and fell silent, beating the ground softly with his foot "Pray finish your sentence. You would correct a pupil, I hope, for stammering," broke in the irritable doctor. With an expression in his eyes which made it very difficult to tell whether he was quite as much in earnest as his speech represented him, Cuthbert exclaimed, with a certain fastidious emphasis: "I think no young Englishman who reads the papers but must sometimes feel a generous ambition to share in the glories and perils of the deeds which British soldiers and sailors are enacting in all parts of the world." The doctor stared; his face hung between a scowl and a grin; then he burst out sharply: "The world is before you! It is only your own legs hinder your generous ambition. What else stays you?" "Your wishes." The doctor sneered. "Or I had better say my duty," said the connor follow, in a soft voice, looking for a J ? "? ? - ? w moment at his father, and then turning his eyes aside and biting his lip. "Duty!" cried the doctor, sarcastically. "Are you stopped by the duty you owe me, or the duty you owe yourelf? If you want to illustrate fine thoughts, give me something better than brave words lor proof. If your father's calling is too low a pursuit " "Low, sir!" "I said low." "Indeed, then " "Hold your prate! How dare you interrupt me, sir! I say that if your father's calling is too low a pursuit to satisfy your vaulting mind, why, shake off the mean burden, loosen your wings, and leave your duty behind you. Tut! tut!" he cried, motioning with his hand; "if those are your fancies, I'll not balk your gratification of them, trust me! It is nothing, of course," he continued with a bitterness he could not conceal, though he would imagine his satirical smile a good mask, "that for twenty years I should have been sturdily plodding on in hope of leaving you an established man of sound report and name, narrowly holding my earnings, with the blessed help of your dead and sacred mother, that I might give you an Oxford training; nothing my vigorous toil, my slow and painful reaches to competency, of which what should you know beyond what you have gleaned from your poor mother's tales of our early struggles? Pshaw! get you gone, my dear! There is glory abroad, indeed!?murder, lust and firel Now go and add your mite to the general destruction, by the demolition of your father's hopes!" This was high tragedy rant Something to make a modern laugh. But old gentlemen used to spout somewhat in this way in those days; and sons who called papas "sir" listened respectfully to stronger stuff than this, as 3'ou may see in the comedies of the age and looi-n from t.h? talps of vour grandfather. "Father," cried Cuthbert?and there shot into his face a sudden expression of deep appeal that made its beauty as touching and as soft as a woman's?"you are not just to me. I do not wish to leave you. I glanced very lightly at my fancies. Fancies they are? most trifling; without influence, indeed. If there is anything in my manner that causes you uneasiness, I will reform it." But once more his keen glance went downward, and the keen gaze of his father's black eyes assuredly belied their owner's sagacity if he did not detect that something stood between him and his son's honesty. Yet, divining no other reason that his son Bhould not be honest with him than that he was smarting unaer youtuiui liupaiaeuro ui dull routine, he stuck like a man to the skirts of Cuthbert's own suggestions. "I don't say," he remarked, in a softened manner, ''that the business of educating boys is not tedious. But after all, name me the calling that has not something objectionable." "I have said that I am content to remain as lam." "Is that really so?" "Truly so." "Yet you are not yourself," said the doctor, gazing doubtfully at his son; "something is amiss. Just now Juvenal was under your nose and?let me see the book." Cuthbert handed him the volume. "Well, it is Juvenal; but that is mere luck, for you never looked at it. What distracts you?" The young fellow folded his arms and remained silent, slowly swaying his foot. "I date this change in you from the day of your return from London," continued Dr. Shaw, drawing from his pocket a small gilt snuff box, and taking a pinch ready to apply when anger should set him sniffling. "I put money into your hand for the holiday, and trusted to your discretion to make it a cheap purchase of enlarged views. What did you do in London? I need not ask you. You have told me?you went sightseeing?and I believe you." Cuthbert bit his lip. "mat is enough, sir?1 oecieve j-ou,' continued the doctor, answering with emphasis the brief glance that Cuthbert threw at him. ''Now, am I to suppose that this holiday upset you? Come, come, you are not a yokel, that you cannot walk Ixmdon streets without your ambition taking fire from every print shop." He paused, his hand with the pinch of snuff in it suspended, and a light of angry triumph in his eyes, as though ho should say, "The secret cannot elude me, but I hate the discovery." Cuthbert rose and walked to the window, and looked out upon the green swell of cliff and the blue faint space of sea beyond. That there was a secret in his mind might be known by the pain in his eyes and a contraction of brow which told of a sudden inward wrestle. But these signs faded, leaving him not paler than he was before, and with a tranquil smile, sweet with the melancholy and docility in it, he turned to his father and said: "Nothing is amiss with mo in the way you suppose. Give me a day or two for reflection. I shall then have something to tell you, and Got! knows what indulgence you shall show me." The doctor arched his eyebrsws, and. with a stiffening of his hack, made his frill project fiercely. "I don't like your strong expressions, sir. And pray, what have you done, that you should hesitate to avow it?" And hu stuck his head back until the hollow of his throat showed above his white neckerchief. But if Dr. Shaw could be angry, so, too, could Cuthbert, his son, be obstinate; and the touch of the mulo that is in the composition of most men shows nowhere more transparently than in a handsome face. "Give me your permission to leave you, sir," said Cuthbert. The doctor waived his hand, and Cuthbert walked out. Isaac Shaw was doctor of laws; and this much could l>e said of him?that better blood than his did not flow in any man's veins in all that town of Greystone, and that more of the learning which is not so much wisdom as scholarship thickened no man's wits within the municipal area. But Isaac Shaw's learning was more to his profit than honor, as it brought him pupils but gave him no social advance beyond fellow townsmen, inasmuch as not the rector, even, had weight of erudition enough to sink to the depths of his knowledge. On the other hand, his blood was more to ! his honor than profit, as it made him haughty and exclusive, with a rattle of insolence sometimes so that he was an unpopular man at Greystone, which supplied him with one only of the forty pupils who studied and struggled on his premises. This Dr. Isaac Shaw loved his son Cuthbert with that kind of love which makes a man unkindly critical, vicious in perception of small weaknesses, and a very strait-jacket unto the object of its affections, that it may walk with moral erectness all the days of its life. For many a year the current of the boy's existence had flowed gently down the channel of academic routine, with never a break of froth in it, nor sudden hasting, nor sharp divergence. CUTHBERT AND Da SHAW. Until [suddenly?but tbe heavens know not without cause?there foil upon his moods a shadow so like melancholy that the doctor took counsel with himself and reasoned thus: "He is mewed up here, and we take few holidays. Every man requires now and again a change of scene Ergo, Cuthbert requires a change of scene. Ho has asked for such a change of scene, and he shall have it I will furnish him with twenty guineas, and he shall go to London and see life for a fortnight." But lo! concession, instead of casting out the one devil from his son's mind, merely liberated the imp to return with seven worse imps than itself. "What is on his mind I cannot conjecture," the doctor mused, looking at the door which Cuthbert had closed. "Ho says he is not weary of this life." With a gloomy brow and a puzzled wrinkle of the nose, he snuffed up the pinch he had held throughout the interview, and muttered: "But then he may lie." Now, Dr. Isaac Shaw hated strong expressions. CHAPTER IIL cuthbert's secret. Utter silence falls never on a boys' school Not even on the dormitories, wherein the snoring of dull stomachs and mutterings of young slumber, and the restless sprawling of limbs that makes the bedsteads creak and the bed clothes slide, are sounds audible throughout the night But there should be peace at prayer time. That hour is arrived, and now we certainly find a tolerable stillness on the benches, young knees and fitful tendency toward laughter notwithstanding. The resident ushers at the comer of each form, their fingers to their eyes, stand erect. Outhbert kneels near his father. A breeze from the sea keeps the chestnut leaves at the windows shivering, and through the twink ling of thera the faint gold-shine in the west comes and goes, with the large stars in the nearer sky and the growing whiteness of moonlight on the fields. Then to bed decorously, as becomes the recipients of the benediction. As the boys file out through one door, Cuthbert walks out behind his father through another door. Though watched on the whole by his father more closely than he merited, seeing that ho had long ago abandoned petticoats, Cuthbert enjoyed every evening an hour and a half of liberty, what time the doctor, having dismissed his scholars to bed, withdrew to his study to relax his mind in all ways that pleased him after the tension of the day. His little, spell of evening holiday was come, and as the tails of his father's coat fluttered through the study door, Cuthbert swung down his hat and left the house. In the young moonlight, and the glimmering memories of crimson over the dark line of the cliff, the ocean breeze, snatching land fragrance from the nestling crops, was sweet as honey. Down the broad white road Cuthbert went swiftlv. nausinc once to Dull a watch from his fob. The road led straight to the town. Coining presently to the brow of the western slope, the town lay in a fog of moonlight at his feet, the lamps threading it in veins of fire sparks, and the sea creaming a wash of white foam on the semicircle of beach. And so forward and downward, his shadow growing smaller in his wake, and the dusky crops on either band rippling their ears on a level with his shoulders, until a row of noble wayside elms bury him in their heavy gloom. Here he halts. It is a weak-hearted lovo that Is not punctual in its promises; and what should excuse delay, when the lover waits and the summer moon shines out her sweet invitation, and the soft wind sets the trees bending stately heads to behold the coming of the tardy one? Butlo! a figuro steals around the bend of the road from behind the plumage of the fields, and in a moment lips are meetirj^. The embrace is a warm one, wanting in coyness, and the richer in tenderness for the want Something to stiffen Dr. Shaw's frill into ferocity, and to rob the finest Scotch of all flavor in his nose. "It is barely the quarter," the girl said in a low voice; and she clasped her hands upon his arm and strained her eyes at his faco. "tVe are both before our time." "Both impatient, Jenny." "Ay; but I will take most credit, for the way is all up hill for me, dear." "How long can you give me, pretty?" aoove live uimuies. "Indeed; then those minutes shall be long ones." "Not above five minutes I say, Cuthbert; and I feel the pity of it this lovely night, when the moon is so pretty, that I shall cry to go to bed." He kissed her hand. "Mother thinks I am gone to see Kate Oliver," she went on. "So I must not stay, for fear she should ask father to fetch me. There are troops of fishermen in the market place, and the streets are full of people, and mother does not like me to walk alone." "Would she think you safe with your husHnnfl %" "Ah, would not she! If father had her heart " "Put away your hat that you may lay your soft hair on my shoulder. Here is a dry cushion of grass with a streak of moonlight on it for me to see you in. Have a little patience while I talk to you. Mother will not be wondering yet" So thej' seated themselves on the verdure, where the moonlight fell in a lance of tremulous silver, and she, dutifully removing her hat, bent her cheek to his shoulder. Thus they sat, with no other sound to disturb them than the moaning of the sea and the rustling of the leaves over their heads. Iu the moonlight a lovely woman's face takes a sad and moving beauty. Not a sweeter face ever smiled in the love of man's eyes than Jenny's, though marred by the moonlight as a mirror for the emotions, which, in the glory of the day, gave it color and archness, and a hundred turns of grace. "My little wife," said he in his gentle voice, "I have l>een closely pressed to-day by my father. I put him on a scent that puzzled him; and really he went down to it greedily, for his anxiety to find out the meaning of what he chooses to call my altered behavior is perfectly wonderful. I hinted?merely hinted?that the news of our sea fights, and our battles ashore, had set my heart beating for higher feast than cramming boys with learning. Well, it was time he noticed some change in me." Jenny counted with her fingers upon his shoulder, softly smiling and listening to him the while. "He said to me," Cuthbert went on, " 'I date the alteration in you from the day of your return from Loudon.' Ho draws near, you see, dear. He is dreadfully close at my heels. Still his notion is odd, seeing that I have not moped since as I moped before I went that trip." "How like our adventures at home are? Only to-day mother came up to me and took my ear in her hand, and said, 'Jenny, Jenny, I will squeeze hard, if thou art not honest. I hear you sighing in your sleep just like my old schoolmate Sally Mattocks did when the Siuy wencil Drougnt WUUUie upun ueiscii UJ listening to a gypsy woman's lies. Father watches you closely, and I know him very well as a man who never troubles himself to stare, unless there bo something to see. What is it, silly?' I pulled my ear away and made it burn to run from her, and I laughed that she might think her talk nonsense. But oh, my dear, I could not help crying just two or three team. I do not fear mother?indeed, she would be very proud of my own, and love him for his own sweet sake and make him her boast, as I know she would; for often father tells her that she has made her god-mothers sad fibbers, though what he means by that you shall tell me, as I have not one little bit of thy cleverness in my head, sweet?but father's eyes when he is angry make me shiver. What bold things a girl will do for love. And yet it does not make her brave." She put her hand over her eyes and peeped at him through her fingers; not for the coquetry of it, but that she might not lose sight of him for a moment "Jenny, I will tell you what it is?there is no help for it but honesty. And that we need not be afraid of." "Oh, no, indeed! The Lord forbid. We are both truly honest., I thank God." "I will begin with your father, Jenny. That is my resolve; and one's own wishes are the easiest way, love. To-morrow evening I wijl see Mr. Strangfield and tell him we are married." "To-morrow evening!" It was a long way off for their i?jsct meeting, but very close for bitter business. "It is not too soon?" he said, soothingly. "No, it is not too soon," she answered, with a little shudder. "But I wish it were over?I wish be knew." nf rlnlnv " tin nan t inilivl "is a new wrong to J'ou, my pet; and surely I am no loving husband, Jenny, if I wrong you. What exeus9 have I for delay? So far it has been cowardice. But I can end it if I choose, and to-morrow night it is done. Will your father bo at honnf" "I dread to say yes. I shall not dare to fa-e him." "Jenny, you must not be so timid. You are not alone." "But I can hear him crying, 'Jenny, Jenny, come down from your room!' with his face like wood, and the angry stoop of his head, which ho will lift in flames, as I saw him on< e when he charged his niece Martha, who is dead, with an evil deed." "This is no evil deed, my pretty." "Did not I just now say we were honest? In my heart 1 feel we are; yet what should my conscience answer if father calls me deceit ful?" "But. you see, there are so many kinds of deceit There is one kind that inju~es people and another kind that injures 110 one. Whom have we injured? Dearest, there is nothing ;< fear." "1 cannot neip tearing my iaacer," she continued, in a trembling voice, "for though he is very stern, he loves me; and I dread the thoughts his love will fill him with when he hears that I have deceived him and mother." "The worst is not so bad as the dread of it, dear." "He is so terribly religious." "Ay, a Baptist; and my papa is a Tcry Churchman! And we are to bo impaled on their r>rr.-liidir>PBt Thank the Lord, old men are scant of breath, and when their lungs are empty, young men may " "Hark! here are the coast guards." The trump of men, deadened by the smothering dust of the road, fell upon their ears; and soon a little company of dark figures, with the moonshine kindling silver stars in the polished points of their weapons, turned the corner and strode sturdily, in silence, up the hilL "It should be hnlf-past eight," said Jenny. "I must be going, Bertie. I must be going, indeed. Good-night; say good-night to me, Bertie." They both rose, their hands clasped. "To-morrow night, at half-past eight, watch for me at your window, Jenny. My mind is resolved. I will speak to your father first, and then tell mine the story. Wo shall sleep the sweeter for it. A clear coascience before all things, and that will come by honoring ourselves." "Yes, it i4 right," she whispered with a little shiver. "Kiss me, and say good-night." He strained her in his arms, and she went away, but slackened her pace and fled back to him out of the moonlight. Then, slipping from his lips, she ran across the road and was gone. CHAPTER IV. BREAKFAST TIME. UUl Ol ois oeu rose c^uiuueri, t-o iuu luuc ui i the school bell, swung by the man who cleaned the boots and thrived on pocket money errands to the destruction of youthful digestions. His own mild hint yesterday, by which he bad hoped to put his father oil from grappling questions, had stirred him into perception of new sympathies in his nature. With thoughts of his wife, and the secret to be divulge:! before another night should come, had mingled impulses of freedom, a yearning for the shows and struggles of an outer world, and a placid weariness of spirit, when the school room rose in his eyes, with the tasks to bo set and the ignorance to be corrected. His resolution to proclaim his secret was a quickening spirit in the soil of his mind, germinating seeds there which he himself knew not of. "Why need I fear my father's anger!" he thought, as he threw open his bedroom window, and stood in a stream of sweet warm wind, fresh from the blue water; "I have served him dutifully, and will yet justify all his fine thoughts of his calling by sticking to it, if he will love Jenny, and bear with me for marrying her. If not, the world is big enough to find me work, surely! What I am fitted for shall not trouble me; but what I can get to do, 111 do." This honest soliloquy done, he betook himself to dressing. Never a looking glass gave back a handsomer face than that into which ho glanced Such a picture of dark auburn hair, white brow and blue eyes, bright with mind, as would set a heartless beauty dreaming like a faithful sweetheart. And now for the day's dry work, the first stage of which was the meeting of the boys in the schoolroom, to await, amid crackling of yawns and restless shuffling of feet, tho arrival of Dr. Shaw in that academic gown of his, which ho donned only to read the j morning prayers in or iu oircn a ooy. Between prayer time and breakfast time I there was a half hour, to employ which I profitably to his spirits, that stood sorely in need of regenerating influences, and also to escape his father's eyes, the twist of which, when they all got off their knees, ho did not relish, Cuthbert went into the fields before tho house; and so, through the glorifying sunshine and the narrow footway in the barley, down to the short grass of the cliff edge, on the swell of which he stood within a fathom of the sheer fall. A scene of summer beauty and, morning splendor was this he overlooked. But Cuthbert was toiling with a giant in his mind, and nature was only bluo and green to him; for there is nothing dainty to a troubled mind but ease, and this our young friend could not get, neither by sitting nor by standing. But no use standing moodily conjecturing trouble. So back again ito the school house through the crops, which went whispering to the passage of the wind, as though they had snatched a secret from it To the ushers?this old-fashioned term is very meaning?was conceded tho privilege of breakfasting with the boys. But Cuthbert would have been glad to exchange places with any one of them that morning, so little funey had he for a tete-a-tete with his father. It was his duty, however, to be in the room when the boys assembled, and observo that grace was duly said by one of tho masters, urn" deliver the order for the boys to fall to. Under the clock ho stood, punctual to the hour, and in a hungry swarm tho boys tumbled in. Grace having l>een said by a bachelor of arts, and the order to begin given, out sprang forty hands from under the tables, and tho pyramids lost their form and substance. Then Master Cuthbert, with a pleasant smile around him, left the room. Old Dr. Shaw, with his legs crossod, and showing no prodigy of calf, bent an eye upon his son as he entered the room that seemed to twist round and round into him. Cuthbert took a chair and waited, with his father, for the servant to bring in the ham and teapot Until these things were forthcoming the doctor held his tongue. Then, wheeling round, cup in hand and the saucer poised on thumb and forefinger, after an old-fashioned habit of drinking tea, he looked hard at Cuthbert "I have no right yet, I suppose," said he, in a level voice, "to ask you to explain your mysterious hints of yesterday i" "It was understood, sir, that I should have a day or two for reflection." "For reflection on what?" demanded the doctor, sharply. "In asking that, you ask all, father." "All!" The doctor uttered the exclamation with a most embracing emphasis. Cuthbert made no answer. "I should be glad to have my doubts set at rest," continued the doctor, with a gloomy nod 01 cne neau, intenaeu wj servo us u tumlenge. Still no reply from Cuthbert "Indeed!" exclaimed Dr. Shaw, with a great deal of the schoolmaster in his face and a flourish of the saucer, "I have a right to demand an answer from you." "So you have, sir, unquestionably." "Then give me, in a few words, the meaning of this change in your behavior." "A few words will convey nothing." "Then," shouted the doctor, "be elaborate. Give me prolixity if you will, so that you explain." "Pray, sir. moderate your impatience. I pledge myself to be open with you shortly." Dr. Shaw grew red in the face, and doposited his cup and saucer, that he might gesticulate unconstrainedly. "What," said he, subduing the passion in his voice, "who* I desire to know, is this matter?in your mind, that is?not yet ripe for confession?" "I have promised to tell you." "When, sir?" "Possibly to-morrow." "So, sir, it is a secret?" said the doctor, with his eyes full of exasperation. "So you will have it," replied Cuthbert, scarcely smothering a smile. This was stubbornness dreadfully mortifying to the doctor. But, in any case, the best compromise to justify present anxiety and preserve his dignity in the future, was a dark brow and a chilly demeanor. These were not hard to come at, and under their shadow breakfast ended. CHAPTER V. IMPRESSED. Cuthbert might well be thankful that there would be no need for him to meet his father again that day in privacy unless summoned. It was not quite clear to himself why he should choose to make his'and Jenny's secret known to old Strangfield before he spoke to his father; but men in mental straits yield often to inclination without much inquiry; and that his father, to his way of thinking, was, of the two doses to be swallowed, the more ill-favored for his honesty to gulp at, was the only reason he could have given you for carrying his bit of news to Strangfield first. into the school room ne went, wicn nis nervous brooding and face of unpeaceful thought, and mounted his stool, loathing the pantomime of his actions. At ten o'clock, with the punctuality that invites awe, entered Dr. Shaw; up rose the forms and the desks to salute this head, as wigs in the law courts spring into a flourish of vegetation when "my lord" comes rustling to tho judgment seat With a short bow? for pomp is difficult to five foot six of stocking and tail, though swelling with frill?the doctor took his seat, and with a smart rap on his desk summoned the Grecians to their labors. Noon was tho hour for a frisk in the playground. To escape his father, Cuthbert joined tho boys, but had no heart to mingle in their sports, though invited by some of the elder lads. The English master, a cautious, reddishhaired son of the Borderland, but of speech untainted by Erse, unhaunted by Runic germs, came to him with a trim politeness of air and extolled the sky. "Sir," said tho English master, clapping some book under his arm, "this is weather to make boys fat with pleasure." Cuthbert smiled. "When I was a Lad I ran most nimbly when the sun was hottest. It must please your father's son, Mr. Cuthliert, to see these boys so hearty and spirited." "No doubt he is pleased," rejoined Cuthbei*t, listlessly. "You will observe, sir, that health is a larger condition in tho eyes of parents than education." "It should lie so." "One should be a boy to lead boys, M:\ Cuthbert." "Sometime? one gets tired of boys, though." "It is plain, Mr. Shaw, that you find this business of teaching hoys irksome." "I need not deny it," replied Cuthbert, candidly, with a glance round the playground. "But?pray pardon my freedom?you are a younger man than I, of bright promise, Mr. Shaw?forgive me?and ardent, as I may fairly presume from your abilities. I sometimes respectfully wonder that your fatlie-does not give scope to your nmbitions, and deliver you, with such opportunities as Imposition warrants, to thj world you could not fail to grace." "Ah, Mr. Saunderson, there is much to wonder at," replied Cuthbert, gently. "Time squares everything, if we have patience for the routine of phases. There is the little baronet crying?who lias been bullying him?" ?with which excuse ho left the Engli-h master. So the day wore away and the evening came, and when the boys had trooped to the dormitories Cuthbert went to his room to prepare his mind and person for the beginning of a difficulty. He had no acquaintance with Mr. Strangfiell, but knew him well by sight, of course, as Jenny's father, niul by hearsuy as a mule of a man in prejudice, rancorous as a moslem in his manner of lielief, and with those disdains of blood precedence and factitious rights which filled th" pot-houses of the time with eloquence, and gave a strut to the low man's stride. So, as a tactician should who knows that big ends aro often compassed by small provisions, Cuthbert dressed himself in his soberest Apparel?a well-worn monkey jacket nu I dark small clolhes?resolved, at least, with true world cunning, that the hard-eyed Baptist should find nothing foppish in his dress to smell rankly to prepare prejudice. Then, with his lips twitching to tin strength of his silent arguments, our lie o went lightly down the staircase, and softly passed his father's study, and out by the house door. He had hoped to get away unseen; but lo! in front of the garden gate stood Mr. Saunderson, smoking a pipe and contemplatively enjoying the strong evening breez -. The twilight was small, and the moon reddening ln-hind the glowing foreland lamp. Had Cuthbert chosen to walk on Mr. Saunderson would not have recognized bim: but in his embarrassment he must nei d-s stop and speak, whereat tho master whipped his pipe out of his mouth and stared ceremoniously. "A fresh evening, Mr. Saunderson. Pray continue to smoke." "It is, I may truly say, my only indulgence," replied Mr. Saunderson, giving his pipe a loving shake. "There is less chance of my being observed here by tho boys, than were I to light my pipe at the back of tin house. You are going for a stroll, sir." "Ay; one cannot do without exercise." And with a nod Cuthbert went ou his way. \fr Xnnndfirsrxi Innlrml after him earnesth . mid when the young fellow had vanished in the folding shadows, shook his head and b took himself to his pipe again, sucking strongly. Mr. StrangGeld's house was a long twenty minutes' walk from Greystone school, stepping it briskly; but even if the dust, when the curve was compassed, that drove full in his face had proved no hindrance to Cuthbcs t, the obnoxiousness of his mission, and the thoughts that it bred tweaking savagely at his nerves, would account for the frequent drag of his pace. Ho had passed his trysting-place, and hud turned the elbow of the road which laid the town broad under his eye,when the sounds of men's voices came up with the wind, and. in a few moments, he perceived a crowd of persons approaching him. The moon, stooping clear of a pillow-shaped cloud, threw out a full radiance, by which he saw that the crowd was a company of sailors?some ten of them at least?and that they walked in two gangs, one 0:1 either side three men, who strode abrmfst with heads dejectedly hung and their hands pinioned behind them. "Deserters," thought Cuthbcrt, stepping aside. "Stand!" shouted a youthful voice, "in the king's name! Thompson, here is a toe-andheel >r for ik He'll make the complement, i and no more sweethearts to break our heads wi:h frying pans." The word "Standi" though very forcibly I delivered, produced no effect on Cuthbert, ! who could scarcely credit, indeed, that it was meant for him; and he was passing on when a young man in a cloak stepped in front of him. "Now, my bantam, turn about! You're | wanted." "Do you address me?" exclaimed Cuthbert bo much amaze 1 that he looked behind him, half }>ersuaded that there must be some one i there for whom the accost was intended. | "You or the man in the moon, my hearty; i whoever is the nearest" "Suffer me to pass you, sir." "Now, this is too bad," cried the young fel low, in a mock voice of consolation. " Uatbs | we are used to, but politeness in a son of a quid is fit for nothing but to get lush on tick I with. Stand, I tell you! Damn it, don't you understand king's English!" for Cuthbert was pushing past. "Make way for me. You are overstepping your duty, or laboring under an error." "Ay, ay, we always do that Thompson, give him a sheer to port. We'll argue as we walk." A Lushy-whiskered fellow approached Cutjibirt, who sprang back a yard before the outstretched arm. "Touch me at your peril!" he shouted. "Come, come, take it coolly, man. All the arguflcation in the world '11 do no good. The sarvice wants ye, so give us your hand upon it!" With a bound the bushy-whiskered man grasped Cuthbert's arm. The three pinioned men looked on with a dull interest; the sailors turned their tobacco junks unconcernedly, glancing back at the town or up at the moon, muttering over the wet pull before them. Cuthbert had one of those nervous systems which, in a fury, make steel of the hand and steam engines of the muscles. His white fist sped, like a snow flake on a rush of wind, right into the bend of the man Thompson's brow, and a pigtail wriggled in the dust, and a pair of boots tried to hit the moon. j|| A pigtail wriggled in the dust. Now, having done this, had he used his heels, he would have saved himself, for he was of the build for swift running; whereas sailors are bad runners, though decent dancers. But his chivalrous courage, not disdaining flight, for the honorable reason that it never thought of flight, held him rooted, with nostrils quivering and gleaming eyes. Thompson of the bushy whiskers, gathered himself off the road, and rubbing the bridge of his nose, looked with a cast in his eye at the gentleman in the cloak. "We want no bloodshed," exclaimed that worthy. "Thompson, Jenkins, hero, three of you make his hands fast and bring him | along." This was an order not to be disobeyed under ! pain of a whipping; willing backs must not be bloodily plowed for boyish obstinacy. So they went with a rush; the dust soared in a cloud as from under the heels of a flying horse. It was a wild fight, a mad resistance, with the hardhitting which the age of Mendoza and the slogster Crabbe made free with. But a sudden blow must end the unfair contest. Down went Cuthbert like a snuff seller's Scotchman under the lurch of a drunken man. In a moment his hands were bound; but his legs declining to exert themselves, he was hoisted on to the shoulders of a couple of stout seamen and the party proceeded smartly up the hill toward the gorge that led to the sea. [TO HK CONTINUED.] Effect of Word-Painting.? Dr. Guthrie, visiting an artist's studio, ventured to criticise an unfinished picture. The artist, with some little warmth, remarked, "Dr. Guthrie, remember you are a preacher, not a painter." "Beg your pardon, mv trood friend," replied the clergy man ; "I am a painter; only I paint in words, while you use brush and colors." Two anecdotes illustrate the effect of Dr. Guthrie's pulpit pictures. One Sunday afternoon, there stood in the dense crowd, a few yards from the pulpit of Free St. John's Church, Edinburgh, a rough, shortman, a Highland cattle drover, lie was evidently a stranger, both to the city and Dr. Guthrie. The drover was, save now and then he took a pinch of snuff, rivited by the preacher's eloquence. Towards the end of the sermon, just as Dr. Guthrie commenced a prolonged illustration, the Highlander took out his snuff-mull, arrested by some picturesque word, he stood motionless, his hand raised with the snuff between his fingers, his head thrown back, his eyes and mouth wide open. The instant the preacher had completed the passage, the drover, applying the snuff with gusto to his nostrils, turned to the crowd behind, and exclaimed, "Na sir! but I never heard the like o' that!" On another occasion, Dr. Guthrie described a shipwreck and the launching of the lifeboat to save the perishing crew. So vivid were the colors of the picture, that the appal ing scene appeared to take place before the eyes of the audience. A young naval officer sitting in the gallery, spring to his feet and began taking off his coat, when his mother pulled him down. So carried away | was he by the scene, that he was I ready to man the liie-ooar, ana it was some time before bis mother, 'could make him realize where he | was.? Youth's Companion. ...? IIow a Boy Led a Ciiauge.?In an interesting sketch of a campaign in the West in 18G.J, a writer in a Memphis paper says: Officers and j men vied with each other in deedsof j daring. One especial case deserves i mention. Accompanying Gen. For! rest was a little boy, scarcely 12years old, who was serving as a courier. ! This little boy had, a day or two be- i fore, dropped into a Tennessee bat talion commanded by a major, j Shortly after the tight began the ma; jor was killed and the command rej treated in confusion, lint this little i i boy rallied the battalion, and led I them three times to the charge upon [ the enemy's lines, but without dislodging them. Heroic boy! I shall never forget the scene of a little midgit,scarcely large enough to guide a horse, leading a battalion of brave and dauntless men right up to the enemy's ranks! He came out un-j scathed. jgpK cUimc0M5 ?eafliug. INHABITANTS OF THE BLOOl). One of the grout facts of the outer world is the perpetual circulation of water, and !" the absolute dependence on it of every living thing. This water passes up from the vast invisible ocean below to the vaster invisible ocean above, thence down in showers and back in rivers, brooks and rills to whence it came. So the whole animate world is equally dependent on an analaegous circulation of blood from the heart, through large streams and the microscopic, to every point of the body, and back again to the ever-heaving heart through similar streams or rills. This blood is the water of life to the body, containing within itself, in due proportion, all the elements of the latter for its upbuilding, with power to rid itself of all " - i li.? 1 C 4 ?.t 1 waste mailer arm renew nseu pcrjjemai-1 lv. Yet, as the ocean and rivers support a life of their own in the fishes that swarm them, and in the plants that grow on their beds, so in some sort, it is with the circulating vital fluids. Countless microscopic plants live, multiply and die within its endless succession, without disturbing the health of the body; while others may from time to lime gain admittance, bringing disease with them. Even the former, j it is now believed, may lose their harm- i less character in certain morbid changes i of the blood. The great life currents may also become "stocked"?as we say of rivers and lakes?with microscopic animals. Says Dr. Cobbold, F. It. S.: "There is no class of creatures, from the mollusk upward, in which parasites may not be found in the organs of circulation." True luematozoa (blood animals) have been found circulating in the blood of frogs and fishes, and even in the heart of the former. I)r. Manson dissected some thirty to forty magpies, and in every instance found ! quantities of them. The hearts of cetacea (of the whale species,) seals and dogs, are sometimes found stuffed with worms. One-third of the parish dogs of India are believed to contain hcemantozoa; and so, according to Cobbold, do ninety per cent, of all the adult horses of Europe, and probably every full grown ass in Great Britain. One-third of the natives of Egypt are similarly affected. Whether the*health shall be injured by them depends mainly on their number, and the general condition of the health otherwise. It is a singular fact that some of these luematozoa live in circulating blood du' * -- 1 - '-f U rt M/l MAf J HA f A llO. i ring1 tne wnKiiig iiuuis, uuu ictn^ iv ugsues during-sleep.? Vou(/tJs Companion. THE BOYS THAT ARE WANTED. "Distance lends enchantment," and the city looks well from the farm. Perhaps you do not see the thorns and thistles, but they grow in ihe city. Home discipline may be hard to bear, but in it are the germs of all successes. Parents midway in the temple of life, certainly must know more than those standing upon the threshold. It is always safe to listen to the voices of wisdom an affection. You may not be permitted to control all things at home, but please remember before seeking the larger liberty of the city, that you control nothing here. You may wear hi,i- v/ui iriimt hp the servant OIUIC U'/Il.v WW* JW v. ...v... of all. Liberty ami ease are the fruits of I toil. The boy who knows more than his parents and teachers, goes to the wall in the city. Success depends upon industry, obedience, economy, and purity, brown hands clean tongues and pure hearts are in great 1 demand in the city. A country loafer becomes a city loafer, and neither city nor country crowns loafers. The earthquake never breaks the ground so as to leave the gold at their feet. Boys whose noble and manly lives are the guiding impulse of the pastor's hand when writing letters of condemnation received the most cordial welcome from merchants here. There is a famine of boys who feel that God is watching them, and who are true to their employers because of the loyalty -to their heavenly Master. The demand for such is always greater than the supply. In the clay you must begin way down, but smilingly submit to the inevitable, and make each day tell how much, and not how little good work you can do, and you will he in the line ot promotion. Never desire to coin a dollar except around the golden rule. You may not accumulate as rapidly and still love your neighbor as youself, but the smile of God will be upon every dollar. If you are a country boy you will not have so many temp tations, perhaps, but every one 01 "our boys" will find honesty to be the best policy at all times and in all places.?Christian at Work. -? ? . - ? WADE HAMPTON. : T1IE STATESMAN OF SOUTH CAROLINA. The name Wade Hampton is "familiar in our mouths as household words," and 1 has been for many years. No more prominent statesman than he gives distinction to the South in the councils of the nation. I South Carolina is proud of her son, whose : loyalty to her interests, according to that i view of them given by his convictions, | has been invariably devoted and conspie! uous. | Wade Hampton was born in Charleston i South Carolina, in 1818, the son of the i then wealthiest planter in the United ! States and the owner of a large number of I slaves. After hisgraduation at the South j Carolina College, he studied law, was ad- j mitted to the bar and elected to the State j Legislature. Secession and the consequent j outbreak of civil war, gave food to his en-i ergies in the formation of a regiment of i cavalry. He fought gallantly in the Con-! ! federate service, and was speedily made a Brigadier-General. At the battle of Get-; tysburg, July 2, 18G8, he was wounded, j but soon recovered and renewed the activ-1 ities of campaign life. In July, 18G4, he j wna nrnmntpd tn the Rink Of LieUteiUUlt- I " <%? t" - General, and distinguished himself as the ! head of a division ofcavairy on duty in the | | State of Virginia. Sherman's celebrated i march compelled the retreat of the Confed-> erate army in South Carolina, the rearguard of which was under the command | of Lieutenant-General Wade Hampton. Wade Hampton's most prominent action between the close of the war and the year 187(5, was as delegate to the Democratic National Convention at New York City, in 1868, which nominated Seymour and Blair for the Presidency and Vice-Presidency respectively. In the Presidential election in 1876, while the vote of South Carolina was given Mr. Hayes, the Republican candidate, Wade Hampton, the Democratic candidate for Governor, was elected, Ilis incumbency of this oftice proved recuperative to the State and reflects great honor upon him. While serving his second term as Govern ot he was elected United States Senator, to which position he was since re-elected, serving with distinction to himself and credit to his State. ? Young Girls Should Teacii.?What can a girl do to help the community in some way? Teaching at present is the greatest and noblest profession open to women. If that is entered upon direct from school, there is little fear of life being wasted in an idle desultory way. To many a girl, teaching, I know, seems dreadful drudgery, but then with it there comes sooner or later, the satisfaction of having been a laborer in the grandest work "of all life?the spreading of knowledge. Teaching, however, is not for every girl. With some, circumstances do not require it, and social position does not admitof it. To such I would say do not give it up altogether; if you cannot make a profession ~r :a. ..? i.1-.4. ? i. Ai.~ c oi ii yuu cau ai icasi leucn me pour ui your neighborhood in the Sunday school, etc. Let not this branch of the work be despised, for it is one of the most difficult, and to it properly requires much preparation. Then there is parish work of other kinds, such as district visiting, all of which, if engaged in, keeps a girl's life from being a failure. Supposing none of these works are possible to a girl, there is always in these days, when good classical literature is so cheap, the possibility of forming a regular plan of study at home?down right earnest reading for a certain space of each day. However small this is, if is done with a definite aim in view, and not merely for selfish enjoyment, great good will come into a girl's life from it. There is always natural bent in every one's mind?a natural genius for one kind of work more than for others; let a girl then, not try to do a little of everything, but work steadily at that in which she has put her heart, so that when the time comes for her to render account for her talent there may be saici to ner, as to eacn 01 inose in xne parable: "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'CcisselVs Magazine. - - ? Peculiar Suicides.?One of the evils inseperable from the modern general diffusion of all sorts of news is the encouragement of criminal imitation. It was long ago noticed that peuliar crimes are apt to be copied, and that this is especially the case in regard to suicide. Most readers probably remember the story of the grove of trees that Napoleon caused to be burned because it was found impossible to prevent the soldiers from hanging themselves in it. A similar story is told of a military sentry-box. It was found necessary to build a cage over the gallery at the top of the London monument, because it had become a favorite place for suicidal plunges. A similar reputation attached for many years to Waterloo Bridge in London. In France, some years ago, a foolish young couple, saturated with Itosseauism, fastened themselves with gay colored ribbons, and threw themselves into the Seine. The idea took, and fora time this mode of suicide was quite the fashion. Statistics show that the average number of suicides remains tolerably constant in proportion to population, though it no doubt rises when some widespread convulsion disorganizes society. But the way3 of committing suicide change, and people not only exercise choice in the matter, but are influenced in selecting the mode by the recent occurrence of any striking events of the kind.?New York Tribune. Jube Early's Nigger Joe.?One of the best known characters in Lynchburg, Va., is Jube Early's nigger "Joe." Joe is an old negro with all the dignity of a body servant of the slavery days, and his affection for the General amounts to worship. Jube owned Joe before the war," and owns him still, Joe having never been freed, scorning to accept what he says does not belong to him, and saying as long as Mass Jube was alive Joe is his slave. Early is very fond of his slave, and would shoot quicker in defence of the negro than anybody else. He has given Joe carte blanche*to buy what he likes in the town, and has instructed storekeepers, no matter what Joe wants, or how much it will cost, to give it to him and send the bill to his master. Sometimes Early gets rather worse for whiskey and then a comical sight is seen. Joe follows him like a dog, and when the General gets very drunk Joe will say: "Mass Jube, you mus' come home." "Why you black rascal, what do you mean? I'm your master." "Yes, Mass Jube, when you'sesober; when you'se drunk l'se massa." "Well, I reckon you are right, old man. I'll go with you." Vagaries of Feminine Fashion.?It is hazardous to criticise woman's dress. Fashion has nothing to do with fitness, and woman's dress is governed by fashion alone. Men groan over the terrors of trains, and will continue to groan until trains give place to the still greater absurdity of crinolines. There is barbaric splendor in a great lady sweeping through palatial rooms, with her train flowing in graceful curves behind her; but the sight of Mrs. Jones gathering up her long ol-J-f.. orwl fArv.imr tlium into the small space allowed to her in a crowded suburban drawing-room, is painful to those whose sense of humor is not of that robust kind that rejoices in the ludicrous. Chaucer declaimed against trains, and our great-grandsons will no doubt continue to do the like. A few years ago some women made a feeble attempt to popularize a pretier style of dress, but the female sesthete took the idea and burlesqued it to death. The vagaries of female fashion are among the things that men have to bear as best they can. We can at least be thankful that we have not as yet returned to the crinoline age. ???? ? "What is Life?"?"What is Life?" some one asked Montford, and he beautifully replied: "The present life is sleeping and waking; it is 'good night' on going to bed, and 'good morning'on getting up ; it is to wonder what the day will bring forth ; it is rain on the window as one sits by the lire; it is to walk in the garden and see the liowers and to hear the birds sing; it is to have news from the east, west, north and south, it is to see pictures and hear music; it is to have Sundays; it is to pray with a family morning and evening; it is to set in twilight and meditate; it is to have breakfast dinner and tea; it is to belong to a town and have neighbors, and to become one in a circle of acquaintances; it is to have friends and love ; it is to have sight of dear old faces, and with some menit is to he kissed by the same loving, lips for fifty years, and it is to know themselves thought of many times a day, in many places by children, grandchildren and many friends." ??? ? Man Eaters.?Conscious canibalism is by no means confined to the Feejee islands. The Rio Virgin tribes of the Aracanos Indians, on the northern coast of Chili, do not hesitate, in hard winter, to keep the pot boiling by slicing up a few of their supurfiuous relatives; and Dr. Xatehtigal is positive that the country north and east of the Congo is swarming with two-legged man eaters. The Dyaks of Borneo, who gather skulls as our red men used to gainer soups, nu>v and then eat a personal enemy as a matter of hygienic precaution, on the theory that the wizard spells of the dead man's relatives can thus be rendered ineffectual. Sporodic cases of canabalism occur in every East Indian famine. The nations of Europe alone are in that respect total abstainers, at present, at least, for Roman traditions date back to a time when the Liestrygones of Southern Italy kept special stock yards for fattening their prisoners of war.?Dr. O.vcakl.