Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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( lewis m. grist, Proprietor. | Utt Jnbepenbenf Jamil]) ftefospapcr: Jor f|je |1rotnofiotT of f|t political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of tjje Soufl;. jTERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL 32. YOBKVILLE, S. P.. WEDNESDAY, JULY 7,1886. ?TO. 87. |?oettg. GOD AND THE RIGHT. Courage, brother do not stumble, Though thy path is dark as night; There's a star to guide tho humble? "Trust in God and do the right." Lot the road bo long and dreary, And its ending out of sight; * Foot it bravely strong or weary; "Trust in God and do the right." Perish "policy" and cunning, Perish all that fears the light; Whether losing, whether winning, itm i. ;_ 3 ik/v >? "j. rust in viuu iiiiu uu tuc ngui. Trust no forms of guilty passion, Fiends can look like angels bright; Trust no custom, school, of fashion; . "Trust in God and do the right." Some will hate thee, some will love thee, Some will flatter, some will slight; Cease from man and look above thee, "Trust in God and do the right." Simple rule and safest guiding; Inward peace and inward light; Star upon our path abiding; "Trust in God and the right." JFerial J>tonr. FORCED APART BY W. CLARK RUSSELL. CHAPTER VL THE STRANGFIELDS. Hard by an open space of yard, rudely railed, stood a house of wood; a fair-sized house, and strong as an oak-built hulL I The yard that adjoined this house was a shipwright's yard, and often as the tar caldron belched its smoky stench in the midst of it, the fumes could never kill the sweetflavored smells that filled the air around from the white deals and shavings of the pine, and the blocks of red-hearted oak and teak from India. And now even at this stagnant season, when the Frenchman's and the Yankee's love of small sweet pickings was so voracious, that the art of the British coasting trade was a plucky coquetting with wind and haven, even now in this yard were the skeletons of two vessels?a lugger and a schooner?to be finished, equipped, and afloat by August, under the signed contract of Michael Strangfiela, who wanted neither pen nor witness to make his word binding. , On this evening of Cuthbert's impressment, the master shipwright sat in the parlor of his wooden home, filling the room with the mist of navy, tobacco. In this matter of the pipe his flesh was weak. Mr. Strangfield sat in a high-backed armchair near the table, and opposite to him was his wife.' Both of them were busy; the one with his pipe and a design on paper of tne nun or ine schooner?a skeleton yet in the yard?and the other with knitting needles. On the table, at Mr. Strangfield's elbow, was a big horn Bible. "I believe," said he, in a slow, hard voice, withdrawing his pipe, and speaking slightly through his nose to retain the flavor of the tobacco, "that the lines here laid down be those that'll give Mr. Wainwright the speed he looks for." He eyed the paper earnestly. And as he said this he laid down the drawing, and looked at his wife through a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles. The spectacles of those days were disfigurements, as all persons know who are familiar with old prints and paintings. But neither the irresistible enlargement of Mr. Strangfield's eyes, nor the goblin circles through which they surveyed Mrs. Strangfield, could deform the stern and worn beauty of his countenance. Fifty-five his age was, and ten years added would still have left his days behind his face ?due to a half-weary expression of asceticism, and the puckering of an over-hanging brow, and an acidulated droop of the under lip. His dark hair, well laced with white, hung in decent profusion over the white collar of his coat, and his attire was gray, coarse stockings, stout broadcloth, furnished with dingy metal buttons, and square-toed boots, with soles thick enough to wan-ant him no skulker. "If the moon wasn't so cieon I should allow there was a gale of wind in the sound of the sea." He yawned loudly. "Wife, I've smoked enough, and enough is contentment to a thankful heart" He rose to place his pipe on the mantel shelf, and reared a figure that brought his head close to the low ceiling. 1 -1 J 4.1 jenny is in ner oeuruuiu, auu wuc sua sits and sits. What ails the girl? Host thee noticed her, Michael?" said Mrs. Strangfleld, who, though she put her questions with a touch of fretfulness in her voice, went on knitting very placidly. This was a wotnan to be admired for her pretty hands, soft eyes, and rich brown hair, neatly smoothed beneath a full cap. Otherwise, her face disarmed criticism by its vacant, gooi-natured and cheerful insipidity. Strangfleld turned to look at her, and resumed his chair. "You have seen me watch her," said he. "Why, therefore, do you say, 'Hast thee noticed her, Michael P You are apt to speak without care, wife. Your lips go one way I and your mind another." "Well, well, I have my faults." "Truly you have, my dear." "As gospel says, 'Who is without sinT Unless it's thee, Michael; and that one should know by your readiness to cast stones." Mr. Strangfleld frowned, but was wise enough to hold his peace. "What ails Jenny, then?"' continued the mother. "You should know. You be a \. man of long sight. I never could hide a secret from thee." Mr. Strangfield sat for a space behind his spectacles, pondering, while his wife laid down her needles to pass her hand over her hair. "What should be the matter with her?" demanded Mr. Strangfield, presently. "Her health is sound?" "I hope so!" cried Mrs. Strangfield, nervously. "No one has been meddling with her heart, to my knowledge." "Meddle! Certainly not Should I not know?" "UWess," continued Mr. Strangfield, "she be fallen into that state against which the Apostle warned the Corinthian damsels, putting it in this way?that the unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord; which was, doubtless, a true thing to say of those ancient people, but will not hold now." Mrs. Strangfield shook her head softly. "If she had a sweetheart she would tell me," said she, looking rather vaguely, however, at her husband, as a woman might whose conscience does not place her perfectly at ease. "I could not imagine that she would not," said the husband, sternly. "As to Mrs. Mead's gossip, it's idler than the wind. Being known to her somehow," continued Mi's. Strangfield, who was not tl" and wliA wKnn eKn VlQ H very eusny icpi oxwu, aim uv, a point to get at, always traveled to it along the most roundabout paths?"for the chit will not explain how their acquaintance began?is it not proper that Mr. Shaw, who is a born gentleman and knows manners, should take off his hat to her and pass a pleasant word when they meet? Now, through some blockhead neighbor, Mother Mead hears of their talking on the beach, whither Jenny had gone for shells for a pin cushion. And to me she comes with a wise tossing of the nose. But, says I, 'Ma'am, I am my daughter's mother, and what concerns me shall be my proper trouble, under Providence, that our neighbors may have full time for their own affairs.' That was well said Michael, dost thee not think?" "Let. Mrs. Mead beware how she meddle with Jenny's name! But there should be no cause, neither for her nor any other gossip, to talk." "Cause!" cried Mrs. Strangfield, opening her mild eyes, with a littlo toss of the knitting needles. "A pretty pass, truly, if Mr. Shaw cannot pull off his bat to Jenny, and praise the weather, without his politeness being called a cause. A cause to set Mrs. Mead's tongue going? You need not stand s on your head to do that." "I'll not have Mr. Shaw's name chimed with my wench's," exclaimed Strangfield. "Beelzebub himself is not harder on us than I the doctor up at the scboolhouse." "Dear heart alive, I know naught of Mr. Shaw," exclaimed Mrs. Strangfleld, with a corner glance at her husband. "If Jenny has set him gaping, his mouth is not the only one her beauty has opened. I like to look at his handsome face in the street when I meet him, and his eyes never were matched for the blue of them. These are the Lord's doings, and a woman may admire the works of creation, I hope. But Jenny would not make a sweetheart of him without opening her heart to I me." "What does Jenny do in her bedroom all | these hours?" said he. "These mopings have come upon her since her return from Sydenham. Did she leave her heart behind her there V' "Now, how you talk! Were that so, would I HOC ruit'liei uavo numui "Jane, Jane, I do not like thy habit of fleeing. It is an old taint of sauciness." "I'll go and call Jenny, and she shall argue with thee herself," said Mrs. Strangfield, quite unruffled by her husband's reprimand. She put down her knitting, and leisurely rising, with a pretty waddle left the room. Up the staircase, wido enough for a big house, she went, and, with a smart turn of the door handle, entered a bedroom. Here all was dark, until a few moments' gazing exposed Jenny's figure seated at the window, with the windy moonlight streaming upon her and the summer gale tossing her hair. "Jenny, Jenny!" exclaimed Mrs. Strangfield, advancing quickly, "what sickness art thou courting at that open window, foolish child??letting the cold wind fill your bones! Come away from the draught, and shut the window. Father wants thee down stairs." ! "It is past nine, mother. What does father J want? I like this cool wind, and the stars are pretty to watch, running among the clouds." "Father does not understand your moping. Here have you been sitting for above an hour. We have been talking about thee, and he has some questions to ask." "What questions?" exclaimed the girl, quickly. "Let me stay here, mother. It will be time for bed soon. What questions has father to ask?" "Why, you speak as if you were scared 1 Jenny, if you would fly in the face of the Lord, the way to do it is to flout thy mother. What ails you? A dozen times I have asked, and you say noiuing aus you. Are you not well.' Ls there some secret to trouble you? Are you weary of home? Come down, come down, and open your heart to your parents."* And saying this she took Jenny's hand, but finding it cold as stone, cried out, "See, now, if this wind will not put thee in a sick bed!" And in a little passion of anxiety and annoyance, she closed the window sharply. The sweet and faithful heart, bidden to watch for her husband's coming, felt the closing of the window to be the true ending of her hopes and fears for that night. It was a reprieve that left deep yearning and faint heartedness and sorrowful wonder. Never had he failed her before. It could not be fear that made him shirk the interview he had himself planned; neither fear of'her father, nor want of passionate love for lier. With ears straining to catch at every sound, the gazed through the closed window at the vision of dancing lights without, and the flare of the moon sweeping beyond the clouds and silvering the tossing tops of the bay trees. "What questions has father to ask, mother.*" "Why, what these mopes signify. He doubts if you brought your heart back with you from Sydenham. But I say it was your spirits you left there." "Mother, let me bo here. I am low in spirits to-night. Father would easily make me cry, and what would he think to see me in tears?" "Jennv, just tell me this, then, that I may an-wi r him when I go downstairs?hath Mr. Shaw talked soft things to thee? Come, co. ?ie, speak up, my child. Surely, I need not Le angrv, if your beauty has pleased him, and he has saddened you with foolish fancies. Is that it? We will make you smile again when we know what troubles you, sweetheart!" "Why do you say I mope and am low hearted, mother? Is not my laugh merry! Am I not a cheerful help to you in the house? One cannot always be glad. The noise of the sea, and the cry of the wind to-night, and the struggling of the sweet moon with the clouds have?have?" She faltered, and continued, in a voice as soft as a flute's?"Sometimes one has pleasant sorrows which one likes to nurse. There is no reason that I should mope. I can feel very happy. Ah, dear Lord! would that he had come and saved me from another day of fear!" And breaking out thus, she threw her head upon her mother's breast and cried. But Jenny wept rarely?at least, in her mother's sight; therefore, the honest bosom on which her face was hidden was rent by the unaccustomed sobs, and anxious, plaintive sympathy speke in the poor woman's vuice, as sa? exciuiiuuu, wiui iici picwwj fingers tenderly kneading the girl's rich hair: "Oh, my child, my dearie! you will break my heart with your misery! What is your fear? Has any one wronged you? Kind Lord, what trouble is this that hath come upon you? Jenny, Jenny, raise up your eyes?see how bright the moon shines in the room; it makes thy hair like yellow silk. Oh, my pretty lamb, who is he that hath not come? and what is thy fear, Jenny?" Now, the door of the bedroom and the door of the parlor both standing open, and the staircase measuring but a small space betwixt the low floor and the passage, it was scarcely possible that Mr. Strangfield, sitting in expectation of his daughter's arrival, should fail to catch his wife's words. When, therefore, in her clear, pained voice, she cried, "Who is he that hath not come?" and "What is thy fear, Jenny?" up rose the master shipwright, and the staircase groaned under his boots. Jenny, hearing him coming, drew away from her mother with a quick movement of terror, and backed through the glare of moonlight into the shadow near the bedstead. "Wife," exclaimed Strangfield, in his strong voice, "how is it that Jenny does not come to me?" To which no reply was vouchsafed. He advanced by a stride and said, "What has the girl been saying, and what is her fear? Jenny, come forth. I can see you standing there. Give me thy hand, foolish wench, and now down stairs with us all If there be aught to fear, pray that the Lord may deliver us from evil." So speaking, he held forth his hand, and the shrinking girl, not daring to disobey, came to him fearfully and dropped fingers of ice into ins palm. "Jenny, will you answer me or not?" As thov went down the stairs there was a lifetime of suffering in Jenny's thoughts. ; For what now was she to do? Must she confess under the crushing gaze of her father's eyes i Beyond her strength of voice, beyond control of passionate weeping, would the confession take her. Cuthbert would be hero anon?to-morrow, surely?and shift the heavy load of her secret upon himself. And with t him at hand those stern eyes would not be terrifying, nor the anger unbearable. "Now, my girl," said he, his voice insenI sibly softening under the beauty of his only j child, "speak boldly, and acknowledge the | trouble that has come to you. I will tell you," laying a forefinger on his thumb, "when this habit of moping first became visible to me; that was a full month before we sent you to your aunt RacheL That visit did not improve thee, but, on the contrary, has made thee worse. Now you have your date, and so you shall not be at a loss for the reason. The girl tried to meet her father's eyes, whereof the severity appeared intensified by the spectacle rings that concentrated their forces of fire and feeling; but to stand to them hardily was an impossible feat; her gaze went downward, and in a scarcely audible tone she replied: "I do not mope, father; sometimes I like to be alone." "Be honest, wench, be honest!" exclaimed Strangfleld, harshly. "What was the meaning of those words your mother was repeating just now?" "Jenny, they were, 'Would that he had come and saved me from another day of fearP" whispered Mi's. Strangfleld. "Have no fear, my pretty. Thy father is stern, but he loves thee." The girl refused to speak. Then Mr. | Strangfleld repeated his question, and her I lips turned pale, as under the pressure and torment of a thousand words which thej would not part to deliver, and one most tearful, wildered, pleading look she cast around Her father watched her steadily, and with aii ever-deepening shadow 011 his face. Her want of speech was want of honesty, he thought, and his mouth took a sullen curve. "Jane, speak to her. She may answer thee/' "I have questioned her, MichaeL Jenny, Jenny, answer thy father, dear heart. Telf him thy trouble!" and she snatched at her breast with both hands, crying: "Oh, Michael, what has come to our child?' "Jenny, will you answer me or not I" "Father, you shall be answered, but not by me." "Who is he that should have come and saved you from another day of fear?" "Oh, father," cried the poor girl, clasping her hands, "have pity on mo?do not question mo now." "Not question you!" returned StrangfleM, in an inexorable tone. "Not question you! What has happened to you, that you are not to be questioned by your father?" She shook her head and sighed, with a low moan in her sigh. Ah, that she had the courage to speak the truth now, and intrepidly make herself known! But it was her husband that should speak for her, and he would be here to-morrow surely! Oh, she might be sure. "Child," he cried, in a grating voice, "I have asked you for the truth. Have it I will, if it cost thee and me our lives!" To say which, and in his bitter energy, he jerked his body forward, whereat the girl shrieked and became hysterical "Oh, mother! Oh, mother! what would he do to me? Oh, mother! Oh, mother! save me irom mm:" ana witn wiia alternate soDDing and laughter she backed away from the table, until she felt her mother's arms ulx ut her, when she fainted, as a person dies, with horrid suddenness, CHAPTER VII. AN ANXIOUS PARENT. Now at that self-same hour, at Greystono school, Dr. Shaw sat alone in his study. TLe boys were long since gone to bed; the ushers were congregated in a living room set apart for them. Closing his book, he drew out his watch?a fat dial that popped like a cork from bis fob ?and sat erect to inspect it. Half-past nine exactly; observing which he pulled the belL A maid servant opened the door. "Has Mr. Cuthbert come in?" "No, sir." Now, the proper hour for Mr. Cuthbert to return from his evening spell of an hour and a half was nine o'clock. Punctual to the moment latterly he never was; but before this night never had he delayed his return by half an hour. This was a liberty. This was a bad example. The doctor's soul rose in resentment How could he reprimand unpunctuality in another, if his son, the school's exemplar, as his father had striven to make him in all things, flagrantly omitted the first of virtues to the disciplinarian? Anger, being excited, must find vent somehow; and Dr. Shaw fell to pacing the room actively, meditating thoughts harsher than reproof, to be delivered when Cuthbert should appear. For a quarter of an hour this idle activity endured, with now and then a pause between, that his ear might strain at the blowing wind. Then he pulled the bell rope again sharply. "No, sir, Mr. Cuthbert ain't come in yet" "How do you know?" "His slippers ain't in the rack, sir." Now passed another short time. The doctor looked at his watch, opened the study door, and listened. Anger was melting into alarm. A tremulous busyness of memory kept him breathing quickly. And, above all things, his heart yearned for his son. As he stood, with head inclined, to bring his ear to full reception of all sound without the house, Mr. Saunderson came from the usher's room, humming a snatch of song. The doctor turned to look at him. IIAL ir? o i j? i ? uu, iur. ouunuersuu, tie c.viiumicii, "will you be pleased to tell me if you have seen my son since he left the house this evening !" "No, sir, not since he left the house." "That is very strange, Mr. Saunderson." "Is not he returned yet, sir?" "He is not It's past ten o'clock, and his usual, I should say his prescribed, hour is nine, as is known to you, Mr. Saunderson." Mr. Saunderson of course looked at his watch. "I am mortified by this unaccountable behavior," continued the doctor. "There is nothing that should detain him. Does it not strike you as very singular, Mr. Saunderson?" "Why, sir, it is somewhat odd, perhaps," rejoined Mr. Saunderson, a little too diplomatic to pledge himself to an emphatic opinion before he had acquired a larger knowledge of the doctor's views of the subject "I repeat," exclaimed Dr. Shaw, "that there is nothing that should detain him. He knows the rules, and this defiance of discipline, this? defiance, I say, Mr. Saunderson, is?is " Well mifrhfc he stammer and ston in such a strain of lip reasoning. He looked eagerly at the door, and drew out his watch for the twentieth time. "Sir, this procrastination cannot be mere unpunctuality?there must be a substantial, a reasonable cause for his delay," observed Mr. Saunderson, rattling his r's. "I think so. sir?I think so." "If agreeable to you, I should be happy to walk to the town and make inquiries." "No, I am obliged to you; not at this hour. I'll not suffer myself to foel anxious. My son has shown himself restless lately. There have been signs of impatience in his behavior, as though our discipline fretted him. This conduct to-night must mean a resolution to?to free himself from the traces?he must think it manly to defy us, sir. But," cried the fiery old man, "my house shall be locked up at the usual hour; the last person in the world to merit my forbearance in a matter of this sort is my son." "Surely, sir," cried Mr. Saunderson, with a rich roll of the "r" in sir, "you do not consider that he has left you.'" "Left me! What has put such a thought into your mind?" said the doctor, in a sharp, febrile whisper, and his eyes shone under his white eyebrows. "Why, sir," stammered Mr. Saunderson, who wanted time to recollect himself and apprehend his own meaning, "it seems to mo a strange thing, sir, that you should l>olt your door upon your son, Dr. Shaw, unless you believe that he does not mean to come home, sir." "I do not understand you, Mr. Saunder- j son. Pray step this way and oblige me with | your meaning," exclaimed the doctor, with j ?.-4 ..4. u?ie I.;.. uau ouppicoocn IU mo uiaiiuci , and, closing the study door, he said in a sharp voice: "Mr. Saunderson, if you can throw any light upon my son's absence I desire?I have to beg you will do so." "I really can throw no light upon it, sir? none whatever," replied Mr. Saunderson. "You may be pretty sure that he will return home presently, sir. That he should bo uneasy under the discipline of this school is a good reason to account for his present loitering. And there is no doubt, Dr. Shaw, that he is uneasy, sir," said Mr. Saunderson, with a nod at the doctor, who, at the first words, had looked up and stood listening, with his head on one side. "You are right, Mr. Saunderson; he is uneasy," replied the doctor. "I believe, sir, your son covets a larger sphere of action, Dr. Shaw." "He has admitted this to you, Mr. Saunderson?" "Well, sir, he lias." "And when, pruy "Well, sir, if the truth must be told, this afternoon." "But if I understand you rightly," said the old man, wfth a pale smile which proclaimed many other things than the ease of mind it ! was intended to depict, "nothing escaped him to warrant you to suppose that he does not mean to return?to-night?" "No, sir; can recall nothing to that effectnothing, Dr. Shaw." "Thank you, Mr. Saunderson. I need keep you no longer. I am obliged to you for your company. Good-night to you, sir." Mr. Saunderson bowed and retired. The doctor looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to eleven. He rang the bell angrily. "Is the house locked up?" "Not yet, sir. We're a-waitin' for Mr. Cuthbert" "Lock up and get to bed, all of you!" cried the doctor, fit rcely. And the bristling of his eyebrows, and the fire in his eyes, dispatched the girl from the room in a bound. He seated himself at the table, with his elbows upon it, and his face in his hands. He heard them bolt and chain the house door, and the slippered tread of the masters as they went whispering upstairs. Now through the silence moaned the wind, with rattle of dry leaves eddying, and the threshing of the chestnut boughs. Presently rose the old man and drew the curtains from the window, whereby the shine il 1 1.1 t._ ui tuo lamp wuuiu uc v uiuitj iu lud iui wnmt bend of tbo glimmeriug road; returned to his chair, and with his watch on the table under his eye began a vigil. This was on only son that had gone forth and not yet returned. CHAPTER VIII. THE "CLEOPATRA." So, with a British will that made the rowlocks creak like an iron door swinging on harsh hinges, the oarsmen in the Cleopatra's boat flung their backs at the facing spray, and drovo the wedge of their boat's bow into the blast of the wind and the ebon hills in their path. Right under the moon, and in the broken shimmer of it on the water, lay the man-ofwar brig bowing to the laud like some restless colt flinging furious heels at the wind. Urged by six heavy blades, the boat ate her way stubbornly; dashing the surging spray in sheets and souses until she was awash, and the backs of the men lustrous for the drenching. Meanwhile Cuthbert had recovered the use of his brain, thanks to copious splashing, soon after the boat shoved off. Beholding the stars and flying clouds, and feeling the jump and wobble of the sea in the strain and ache of his own timbers, he immediately comprehended the dreadful character of the misfortune that had befallen him, and raising his voice attempted to address himself to the young gentleman in the cloak who was steering the boat, but was instantly silenced by a kick and a promise of a flogging if he opened his lips. "You cannot be aware?" began Cuthbert "TTnlH vnnr inw vnu lubber!"?here came tbe kick. "Sir, you're " "By the Lord, you shall be flogged until your back is as green as your brains, you villain, if you move your tongue again!" So there was no help for Cuthbert but to resign himself to broken-hearted contemplation of this bitter divorce from the woman of his love; and with his hands Sound he reclined, knawing his lips with misery, and watching with distracted eyes the land they were leaving, while the foam flew in his face and tbe gale in his ear howled down every movement of hope. In this condition of mind was he when the boat went rolling alongside the brig. It was something to see the big and bristling hull stoop to the upward leap of the boat. It was as though a mother leaned down to embrace her little one. Briskly the crew handed up the prisoners; then sounded the keen pipe of the boatswain; and while the boat soared to the davits the pawls of the capstan jerked out a music on the gale like the hammering on an anvil while the furnace roars. With quick leaps and runs, and the disciplined rush, and the steady pulls of the men-of-war's men, the anchor was cat-headed, the yards dropped their dim spaces of canvas, round swept the shore lights, and down lay the cruiser to the wind. And then you heard the squattering of plowed froth humming at the bows, and shrieking of big sails in the high glooru. The four impressed men were left standing near the foot of the mainmast, under the eye of the marine. The business of getting under way was achieved with the swiftness that war time teaches, and all the wind whistling of a pipe, the brig being snug in less time than a woman takes to brush her hair. While the shore lights were veering into a faint line upon the quarter, and the great foreland lamp was thrusting its red flame among the cloudy stars well to the right, a brawny fellow came to the prisoners with a battle lantern swinging in his grasp, and made them a visible group. Then approached two men from the opposite quarter of the deck, and the lantern flashed in the bullion and buttons of uniforms. Behind them stood others, and forward was a crowd of seamen staring at the four men; and this was the picture of the deck, adding to it the details of a savage row of carronades, black as ink in the watery moonshine. "Are these your men, Mr. Towplankf' said one of the uniform wearers, tho tone of whose voice was as good a warrant of his office as epaulets. "Yes, Sir Peter, four of them, sir," replied the young gentleman who hod done Cuthbert the honor to impress him. "Well, you look likely men, my lads; and I suppose you don't require me to tell you that o M'nntoil tr* eorva tho Irinrr nnrl flcrht. JUU cwo ??u^ o, "O his majesty's enemies? There is glory and prize money to be got if you do your duty; und, as British seamen, you'll never want me to tell you what your duty is, I hope." With which flourish Captain Sir Peter Grahame, Bart., in command of H. M. S. Cleopatra, was about to slew himself round on his heel to go aft, when one of the men spoke up. "If 3'ou plaze, sir, me nam? is Matthew Murphy, and I'm an Imirikin. Yo.ir honor therefore persaves that's not me duty to fight for the king, God bless him!" "Ah, I see?an American, born in Kilkenny." ."Indade, then, your honor, I was born in Gal way," responded Murphy, at which murderous admission there went a smothering of laughter among the men forward Hereupon Cuthbert spoke. "I have to represent to you that I am uot a sailor, sir. My father is Dr. Shaw, of the Grey stone school. Your officer has committed an error in impressing me." This had in it the matter of a rebuke, and was a trifle downright for the quarter-depk hearing; but then it was delivered in a soft and cultured voice, and he who spoke it, with figure lighted up by the flaro of the battle lantern, unu nmrisuiuu i?te suunnig, looked like a gentleman. Sir Peter gazed at him inquisitively. "Mi*. Towplank," said he, "where did you meet this gentleman.'" At the word gentlemmi applied to the man he had kicked, and which same word was a definition he was the last midshipman in the service capable of making with true application, not because his lather was a retired undertaker, but because his father's son was a cad, Mr. Towplank's eves began to roll and the wind to feel chill upon his small clothes. "Meet him, Sir Peter( Why, sir, coming down a hill. He gave us a deal of trouble, sir. He knocked the bo'sun down. 1 never took him to be better than the mate of a coaster, sir." "I can vouch, Sir Peter, that there is a Dr. Shaw living at Greystone, and that he keeps a school there," exclaimed the first lieutenant, who stood near the captain. "I know this to be so, becauso my friend Lord Coagrave told mo that ha has a son with Dp Shaw." "Yes, sir; young Mlddleton is a pupil of my father," said Cuthbert "Quite right; Middleton is the name," returned the lieutenant. A large name helps out a case grandly iu a Briton's ear. Mr. Towplank drew his squat figure out of the glare of the lantern. "Your impressment is a mistake, Mr. Shaw, and I much regret it," said Sir Peter Grahamo in a kind voice. He then held a whispered conversation with the b'eutenant and walked aft. There is poor satisfaction in the apology or regret that does not right a man to his own wishes. With clasped hands and down-bent eyes stood Cuthbert, a bitter mourner; for every burst of foam struck out of the hurrying waves by the vessel's bow was a mark of increasing distance from all he loved in this world; and he was like to go mad when his mind went to Jenny waiting for him to come and speak to father?waiting and marveling, and then sickening for the strangeness of his absence and the cruelty of his silence. His throe companions in misfortune were led forward to be converted into trim men-ofvar's men. "We shall have to treat you as a passenger," said the lieutenant, addressing Cuthbert, "until we can land you. We will swing you a hammock in a spare cabin, and you will mess at our table." "Can you hold out any hope that I shall bo landed shortly f "Why, you see, wo are bound to the chops of the channel Gantheaume is at Brest and there Cornwallis means to keep him. There is talk of the Guerriere being about, and it is Sir Peter's dream to fall in with her, when there'll be tough work for all hands, for she's pierced for thirty-six guns and carries three hundred men. Should a slant of wind serve, Sir Peter might put you ashore off the Start, or he'll turn vou adrift, no doubt, if we fall in with a homeward boundor. But you had better make up your mind for a cruise. It will be a new experience for you, Mr. Shaw, and something to tell the boys about?not to speak of the chance of 3'our seeing a blazing sea fight" "You speak very kindly, and I can see that I am to be well treated. But my absence may break my wife's heart." He covered hlatfaoe with his hands. "Phew! A wife! Lord help you! Is there not always a petticoat to every man's trouble, either causing it, or making it worse? But come below, Mr. Shaw, and try the flavor of our rum. Nothing like honest Jamaica to steady a man's eye for trouble. CHAPTER IX. A SAIL RIGHT AHEAD. Much, undeniably, there was in Cuthbert's position to make him miserable. Could Lieutenant Transom have promised to put him ashore next day, the young fellow would have plucked up heart and swung his glass like a man, but there was a bitter prospect of his detention lasting, with risks of death between, and never a chance (it might be) to Bend his story to Jenny. Scarce could he hold up his head pleasantly as Transom tried to rally him. Indeed, he was no philosopher; or rather, he was a very bad one. Such a night as Cuthbert passed a man had need to commit murder to merit All through il? 1 IV. nocf I LIU ilUUlD LUO bUUilUCi ui o?tup..b was in his ears. The bull's eye over his head had changed from ebony to silver before his pained and heavy eyes closed, and then for a while the poor fellow forgot his sorrows in sleep. The bell on deck was striking when he awoke. While he was dressing a marine presented himself. "The first lieutenant's compliments, sir, and when you are dressed you will breakfast with him?" said the man, as erect as a sentry in his box on the deck that kept Cuthbert staggering. This invitation was, of course, promptly accepted, and in a few minutes Cuthbert followed the marine into a large cabin with a ceiling garnished with small arms, stout lockers around their seats, charts on the walls, and a table laid for breakfast Here he found the first and second lieutenants. Both men were fine specimens of naval officers of those days?the days of Cochrane and Strachan?Transom in middle age, and the other young, but both with hard, stern lines of resolution carved in their embrowned faces, both with the hearty, open look of brave spirits, dressed in uniforms that smelt of gunpowder, and one of them with a cutlass scar behind his ear, and the other of them with two stumps for fingers on his right hand. They saluted Cuthbert with blunt pbliteness, and, breakfast being served, invited him "to fall to at once, for we are rising the royals of a big ship right ahead," says Tran som; "and whenever there's anything visible on the horizon we always accept it as a hint to bear a hand in stowing ballast." "How the deuce came young Towplank to take you for a seaman?" exclaimed the second lieutenant, scrutinizing Cuthbert admiringly. "If there was moon enough to see your hands by they should have satisfied him that you were not his man, supposing him sober." "He was sober enough. J explained to your captain that this midshipman gave nie no chance of representing myself," replied Cuthbert. "I can only trust that Sir Peter Grahame will put me ashore soon?anywhere." Transom looked grave, but said: "Well, well, there's no telling what will turn up. When your people find you missing, be sure they'll start on such a hunt after you as will bring them to the true cause of your disappearance. It will be known throughout Greystone that our press gang took three men last night, and do you suppose your wife and father will not hit upon the Cleopatra as the reason of your sudden vanish"* * "? ,tr> tj,? ingf ' A qUOSLlUU UJUU Ull^uifu.ivu u,. ??? poor fellow wonderfully. Down to the flying wind was the Cleopatra, stooping with a leaning bow, ripping up the breast of the water as a dog slants his head to make a better lever of his jaw. The mighty press of sail filled the blue sky overhead with thunder, and the base of the sweeping tower of canvas was an acre of foam. Sir Peter Grahame paced the deck aft with a telescope, which from time to time ho leveled at some object ahead; ho bowed to Outhbert, but seemed too preoccupied to speak. A crowd of men were on the forecastle, pointing forward and conversing in low voices, some of them looking aloft, or at the water rippling past, with grins of satisfaction. The first lieutenant came to Cuthbert, after exchanging a few words with the captain. "There is a sail yonder," ho said, "which we have reason to believe is the Guerriere. If she shows French colors we shall fight her. We are rising her fast, for nothing can stand against the Cleopatra on a bowline, and Sir Peter has instructed me to request that you will go below and remain there 011 the order being given to clear for action." "Mr. Transom, I hope Sir Peter will not insist on my going below. I may be of use on deck, and am willing to fight with the men." "Well spoken, Mr. Shaw, and a generous offer," replied Transom, glancing with a smile at Cuthbert's hands. "But, my dear fellow, you must think of your wife. However, we'll leave the matter for the present. The ship may prove a non-couibatant?perhaps an East Indian) an. One can't detect nationalities twenty miles off." With which he returned to the captain, and they walked the deck together. An hour went by. Suddenly the men forward heard the first lieutenant, who worked his telescope in the main rigging, sing out: "She has clewed up her royals and topgallant sails, sir, and her mizzen topsailyard is down on the cap. Now she hoists her colors! They are?oh, confound this jogging!?they are?they are " "French!" shouted Sir Peter, and down sprang the first lieutenant, and in a trice there was shrill whistling and quick movement among the men, and a comiug and a going, and then a steady stand. CHAPTER X. THE ACTIOX. At ten of the forenoon the Frenchman lay plain on tho sea, with colors llying, inuskoteers in her tops, and her bulwarks black with the heads of her men. A big frigate she was, of the graceful shape which the British were all too slow to copy in their dockyards; and tho Gallic cocks in her hencoops might well have swelled their throats with derisive screams when they beheld the English sparrow sailing down to grapple with the hawk. The first shot fired came from the frigate, when she was still out of reach of tho Cleopatra's guns. Cutlibert saw the glance of yellow flame and the smother of white smoke; the ball whirled up a little pillar of froth out of tho son close alongside, and then canto the report, dulling its sting against the wind's teeth. "My lads," exclaimed Sir l'ctor Grnhame, standing at the quarter-deck capstan with his hat in his huud, "yonder ship is tho Guerriero. None of tho enemy's ships has done more damage to our peaceful merchantmen thun she. She is a big nut to crack, but our heels are shod with British iron, and we'll grind the kernel out of her yet Hold on all till you get your orders, then make one man of yourselves. Now God be with us!" A cheer like a broadside was given; the helm put over, the loftier sails furled and tho Cleopatra drove on toward her enemy. Tho Cleopatra's flying jibboom pointed due amidships of the Guerriero; then by length of a spoke was the wheel put over, round swept the Guerriere's helm, that she might rake the Cleoputra as she passed under her I a tern. But 161 the Brig, twisting on her keel like a yacht, put her nose at the revolving Frenchman and blaze I blaze! went her two bow chasers, and down came the flag of the republic, along with the gaff and a sputter of canvas shreds. A minute later the vessels lay broadside on to one another, as close as two houses on opposite sides of a street; and simultaneously from both of them leapt out a line of flame, with a roar as of a moun- ! tain rent in twain by an earthquake and the smashing and splintering of woodwork, while all between was smoke. Now bad the action begun in earnest, and i a sight for Cuthbert to remember was the deck of the English brig. Calm as a statue and as steady Sir Peter Grahame stood some fathoms forward of the wheel with powerful voice and slight gesture of the arm giving his 1 orders. You would have said that ho had i eyes all over his body?eyes for the helms- j man at the back of him and the yards and sails above him; for the grimy seamen 1 sweating at the guns and for every toss of j the arm of the gold-laced French commander j shrieking, after the manner of his nation, ! from the raised after-deck of his ship. *V.rx T?n<v1i'ak oorvtoln Karran f/"V cnfl flinf. I iiun tuo ua^iiou uvguu wv uw UUMV he should be overmatched if he did not lay i the Frenchman on board; for his eighteen- j pounders could make no fight with the j enemy's heavy artillery, and there was smail j chance of prize money and the glory of a j gazetting unless the boarding pike and cut- I lass came into play. But 03 he gave the ! order to man the weather braces to sheer the | brig alongside, his foretop mast was carried j away, and all hi3 head sail with it As a running man, shot in the leg, falls a cripple j and slues around in a helpless state, so the i Cleopatra, deprived of her forward canvas, | rounded up into the wind's eye, whereupon j the Frenchman sailed clean round her, drenching her with both broadsides in rota- ; tion. The second discharge was a murderous | volley; for a ball smashed the wheel and killed the men at it, and a bullet hit Sir Peter Grahame under the arm, and he fell, [ mortally wounded. At the beginning of the fight Cuthbert had j stood at the foot of the mainmast, unnoticed by officers and crew?in the furious excitement and spendid horrors of the scone forgetting self?eager to help, but in his ignorance not knowing what to be at, when a cannon ball struck a seaman in the back, and threw him forward with a heavy smash, j where he lay dead as dust, with his face a j mask of blood. This was the first man killed; but scarcely I was he down when a gunner leaped from the j breech he was patting and tumbled backward, j moaning shockingly. "Help me carry him below!" sang out a voice; and, with a sick heart and damp fore- : head, Cuthbert buckled to'the worst bit of I work a sea fight gives. He had returned on deck for the twentieth ! time, and was at his former post, ready to do j what should be wanted, when the foretop- I mast fell, with its heap of sail and rigging, i and the brig shot round; and in a few minutes the Guerriere poured in the first of her two deadly broadsides. He heard the grape screech past him, and beheld the carnage of it; and then he saw Transom, with his hand to his ear, rush forward and call upon the men to clear away the wreck, and "bear a band, or the brig would be taken." And all the while the Frenchman was sneaking round to bring her port broadside to bear, and her small-arras men and topmen were discharging volleys of musketry at the | small band of Englishmen on the brig's forecastle, Then, before the staysail could be hoisted, the Guerriere poured her second tremendous storm of flame and thunder and iron into the devoted brig. Cuthbert saw the captain fall, and sprang aft Ho placed his arm under the dying man's head to raise him. "Too late?I am bleeding inwardly!" he gasped. "Tell Lieutenant Transom to strike? drag my body abaft the skylight?they are too many for us?my poor men!" Then came Transom rushing aft with despair in his face, for he bad seen that the wheel was gone and their case was hopeless. Beholding the dead body of Sir Peter, he cfoo+nsl liool- rrnvoii (losimirinorlv around him. and buried his face in bis bands. "The captain's Inst words to me were that I should tell you to strike," exclaimed Cuthbert "Yes, yes," groaned Transom, "it must be done. God help us! Half our men are killed ?the wheel is gone?I must stop this carnage." And he went aft with a tottering and, grasping the signal halliards, haul.-? i.own ] the colors. The Guerriere, to leeward, was working up to rake the brig again, but when her men saw the English flag hauled down they sent u such a shriek as nothing less than the capture of a line of battle ship could have justified. What! nil this clamorous exultation over the defeat of a little ten-gun cruiser of one hundred and twenty men by a great thirty-six gun frigate of three hundred men I But a shout rarely provoked may well be t loud one. And what was Monsieur's plight! It ia known that the Guerriere had eighty men ,M "? 1 - - * J - J ? -.*-1.4. Kiuea ana one nunureu anu oigut wuuhucu In this action. The sun shona through her sails like a lamp through a sieve; her mizzenCuthbert saw the captain fall. mast, foretopgallantmast and jibbooin were gone; her figurehead smashed, and part of her bulwarks in splinters. She looked to the full as much a wreck as the Cleot atra. And if there is anything certain in naval history, it is that, could Sir Peter Grahamo have put his brig on board the Frenchman, disorganized by havoc, he would have carried her. So let us fling the union jack over the valiant dead, and with reverent gratitude thank God that t hey were our countrymen. Tro 1JK rONTINL'KD.l 8am Jones' Idea of Finance.? To get in debt financially is about the worst tiling a man can do. A man had better die than to get in debt, and I speak that with all the honesty of my nature and out of a deep experience. Death has hurt fewer people than debt has, and Spurgeon said a good thing when he said : "I have fought three enemies, I trust successfully,?dirt and the devil and debt?and by the grace of God I hope to conquer all three and make my way to heaven." And I don't know which is the worst. By soap and water you can run the first off, by prayer and faith you can make the second "git," but this thing of debt is a mighty hard thing to manage. A man that will buy a luxury on credit is a fool, and a man that will buy a luxury when he owes money on an honest debt is a rascal. The same (iod that said, "Thou shalt not steal," said, "Owe no man anything, but to love one another." Don't buy a thing if you can't pay for it. But if you must get into debt the next best thing to do is to settle up the first of every month every dollar you owe. If not oncea month, then have a clear receipt in full every Christinas day, and a man who does not settle at least once a year is on a road to bankruptcy. &3r When sponge cake becomes dry it is nice to cut in thin slices and toast. Miscellaneous gleatliug. For the Yorkville Knqnirrr. THE -MYSTERY7' OF EVOLl'TION. Editor of the Enquirer: Will you j publish the subjoined extract from the Christian Observer, as there was an article in the Enquirer a few weeks since on this subject, purporting to have been written by a lady, under the caption of "The Perplexed Subject of Evolution." I have failed to see any mystery or "perplexity" on this subject?only the blind infatuation of the followers of l)r. Woodrow. In his closing address in the General Assembly, Dr. Woodrow warned the members to be careful oftheiraction on this matter, as he wassustained by one-half of the members of the Sydod in South Carolina. If the .iK/m.q ot.UArtiunt Ilr Wnndrnur iv nor ill/WVC OUllUlIlVliU wi . If v\/\?*vf ? vw. rcct, the sooner Presbyterians know their positions and views, the better for onr church. l)r. Wood row's address to the Alumni, and his article in the Southern Presbyterian Review, published in 1883, is evidence sufficient. His doctrine is more dangerous and more insidious because he asserts that he believes every word of the Bible. Is this assertion intended to be paradoxical? A Presbyterian. evolution in the uiiuruh. J/aw. EditorsIt is no doubt remembered that the Memphis Appeal is the organ chosen by the trio of Presbyterian preachers who represent the Woodrow side of the Evolution controversy, at this point, for the diffusion of their views. The very able editors of that paper, in the course of the discussion, in answer to the inquiry whether, in their opinion, "the Darwinian theory of the evolution of man, by generation and descent from the lower animals, is the true theory of the origin of the human race," responded frankly in the affirmative, saying, "We believe the Darwinian theory to be the true theory of the origin of man." The editors of the Appeal being not only able, but also thoughtful and candid men, and, moreover, having at least the quasi indorsement of the leading advocates of Woodrowism, their testimony as to the relation between Evolution and Christianity, and as to the probable influence of the former, if accepted, upon the Christian Church, must tie interesting ana vaiuaoie. In this view I send you an editorial, clipped from yesterday's Appeal, in reference to the proceedings had in the General Assembly, on Saturday, on thissubject: "The Presbyterian General Assembly, in its inquiry into Evolution has reached the conclusion that it is a dangerous theory. The good preachers are right. A torch in a powder factory would not be any more dangerous than Evolution in the Christian Church. Its acceptance would invalidate the whole superstructure of Christianity." Memphis, Term., Map 24, 18SG. [The article referred to above by "A Presbyterian," was written by a lady, as it purported. She, however, is not responsible for the caption, which, as is the custom, except in rare instances, with all newspapers, was written by the Editor.] 71 AVID DAVIS. David Davis, the old leader of the Labor Reform party, died at his home in Bloomington, Illinois, on the morning of the 2Gth ultimo. His death occurred just as I labor seems to he asserting its rights. I Way back in 1872, David Davis was the I Labor candidate for the Presidency, but | although he advocated the cause of the I laboring men he would never tolerate ' such a course as has been pursued by the I so-called laboring class during the last few | months. There is no doubt but labor has i its grievances, but entertaining or even ! tolerating the anarchist idea, promulgated 1 by such men as Most, Spies and Fielding, will never set them right. Judge Davis was born in Cecil county, j Maryland, March 9, 181o ; received a clasI sical education, graduating at Kenyon ! College, Ohio, in 1832; studied law at Lenox, Massachusetts, and at the New Haven Law School; was admitted to the bar and commenced practice in Illinois in | the fall of 183-3, locating in 183(5 at Bloomington ; was a member of the State House j of Representatives in 1844; was a Delegate to the State Constitutional Convention in 1847; was elected in 1848 a Judge of one of j the Circuit Courts of Illinois, and held the office by repeated elections until he resigned in October, 1SG2; was a delegate to the National Republican Convention at Chicago in 18(50; was appointed by President Lincoln a Judge of the Supreme Court of i the United States in October, 18G2, and served until March 5, 1877, when he rei signed to take his seat as United States Senator from Illinois, having been elected j the previous January, by the votes of Independants and Democrats, to succeed John A Logan, Republican. His term expired March 3, 1883. lie was elected President pro tempore of the Senate October 13, 1881. His obsequies occurred at Bloomington on the afternoon of the 29th ultimo. The services were arranged by the family in accord with thequiet, modest tastes of the deceased. Nevertheless, so general was the mourning and so universal the desire to accord the distinguished dead the last honors, that the funeral assumed imposing proportions. At 3 o'clock services were had at the house. The officiating clergyman was Rev. W. (4. Pierce, a relative of the family, who read the Episcopal burial service. The procession which followed the remains to the grave was of unusual length. Fault Finding at Tahle.?Woe be 11C1C A woman uutrricu iu a mmi ? uu ojo- i tematieally growls at the table ! Life brings her neither peace nor happiness.) Three times a day her tyrant growls and ! snarls like any other wild animal over his ' food. I knew a man of this kind once, and how I pitied his wife and daughters.; One of the latter married in haste one day,I joined her fortunes with those of a com-j ; paratively poor man not exactly in the ; same set as she was accustomed to live in,: I simply to have her meals in peace. It is j said that she made her future husband i swear that he would never make a fuss over his dinner, and I understand that they are to-day the happiesteouple living. Reconciliation took place before they were married, but they left before the nuptial ! breakfast?we all remarked that?and though of course she visits the house, noth! ing could induce her to take a meal there, i She is a woman of spirit. As for the man's j wife?poor woman! May be in younger ! days she might have thought of possible ! relief by means of divorce, and they do j say?mind you I do not assert it though it ) did come from a distinguished Jurist? that something of the kind was entertained ; but such a plea of mental insanity, when only food was placed before him, could not be advanced, for in every other relation of life?that is to say, save when at the table?he was amiability itself. If he were only younger, the habit might be whipped out of him. As it is, it can only be borne with patience. The President of Mexico's Palace. A recent letter says: "President Diaz and his family are now installed in the Mexican White House, the castle of Chaputlepee. Such a palatial residence is difficult to surpass in intrinsic beauty and historic associations. The woodwork and uphostering of the east wing alone cost *200,OIK). The palace is a marvel of coloring and skillful decoration. The frescoing and painting was executed by Casarin, a disciple of Meissonier. The roof is a beautiful garden of flowers and fountains. The gates of oak anil walnut giving access to uie paiuce are curiously carved and ornamented in bronze. The wood-work in the President's room is in ebony and gold, and the ceiling is an exquisite fresco of the Bucher school from the brush ot Casarin. The bed is of ebonized cherry with gold and metal marqueterie and domed with a canopy. The bathroom is a grotto with u floor of marble mosaics and walls of French tiles. The floor of the card-room is a parquet of rare woods, and the walls Cardova leather, with gold and satin panels and red Genoa velvet borders. The parlor is like a fairy creation. The woodwork is in satin panels, maple borders and gold flowers, and the walls are covered with satin damask, relieved by blue and gold Aubosson border. The carpet alone cost $2,000. A private walnut stairway for the family leads to the second floor, the suit of unfinished rooms opening on the tropical garden of the first floor. Only the first ? floor is completed. When the palace is wholly finished it will be of a character that would have excited the envy of even King Louis of Bavaria." Concerning Tea.?It requires about four pounds of fresh leaves to make ouc pound of dried tea, and the yield is three f 1?"'1-^1 nor unro to jour iiuuuieu I'uuiiu.i |jvi u\.iv> is the coarsest of the Chinese teas. Tlie best quality of black tea is pekoe, which consists of the very youngest leaves while they are still clothed with down. The finest teas, both green and black, are rarely seen in this country, because, if packed in large lots and conveyed in the hold of a ship, fermentation takes place, which destroys their quality. It is mostly consumed by the the wealthy Chinese or finds its way overland to Russia. It may be added here for the benefit of the many who know not how to make good tea that the quality of the infusion is greatly influenced by the character of the water with which it is made, hard water never producing the best effect in teamaking. The wealthy Chinese make their tea in the cup from which it is to be drunk. The proper quantity of leaves is put in the cup, boiling water poured over them, and the cup covered with the saucer for a while. A perforated bit of silver made for the purpose is fitted over the leaves in the bottom of the cup to prevent them from rising to the surtaee. lea snoum never be boiled.? Toledolilade. How It Warms.?It is a scientific fact that stimulants debilitate the human system. The man who indulges in alcoholic drinks is more susceptible to disease, and when contracted, the disease is more liable to terminate fatally, than if he did not use such drinks. The following illustrates the point, and if every physician would be as candid and sensible as this one was, no patients would recover, after a course of medicine, cursed with an incurable appetite for alcoholic drinks. The doctor's argument was direct and to the point. "But, doctor, I must have some kind of stimulant!" cried the invalid, earnestly; "I am cold, and an alcoholic stimulant warms me." "Precisely," came the doctor's crusty answer. "See here, this stick is cold, beside the hearth," and tossing it into the fire; "now it is warm, but is the stick benefitted?" The sick man watched ; the wood sent out little puffs of smoke, and then burst into flame, and he replied, "Of course not, it is burning itself." "And so are you when you warm your self with alcohol; you are literally burning up the delicate tissues of your stomach and brain."?Youth's Companion. How He Found a Mink.?Some of the best mines known have been discovered as before remarked merely by accident, while others again are the result of years of toil and labor. Then others again have been run across when thelucky individual whom fortune favored was thinking of anything but falling into a gold mine. John Quiney Adams, a namesake of the great John Q., struck a rich mine somewhere down in New Mexico in this way: While prospecting he found his haversack on fire, his prospector's glass having focused the sun's rays upon it. As the haversack contained about a do/.un pounds of powder he dropped it and got out of the way in a hurry. It fell into a crevice and a large mass of rock was thrown up. Adams returned mournfully to gather up what. mifrht he left of his effects, and found an exceedingly rich vein of ore which the explosion had exposed to view. He sold a third interest in his find for $16,000, and very consistently named the mine "The Nick of time."? Globe-Democrat. Wiikkk Water Becomes the Sport ok Wind.?The sad situation of Galveston?not by any means unfamiliar to her? atfords a vivid illustration of the wonderful power which a whirling body of wind may have on a large body of water. It picks it up and throws it in the direction of its movement. Time and again has it lifted up vast bodies of water from the Gulf of Mexico and almost submerged the coast towns, especially Galveston. But perhaps the most singular freak of the kind was that of a few years ago, when a similar storm moved up the Niagara River, going toward Lake Erie. It trolled the waters back so that Tor half a day a man miirht walk dry shod across the most dangerous portion of the Niagara rapids. It was thus that the bridges were thrown over to the Three Sisters, upon which the foot of man had never before trodden. A Land op Coldless Cold.?On the island of Chiloe, on the southwest coast of South America, they have 290 cold, rainy days in the year, four-tifthsof the rain being mixed with sleet. Yet the natives of that remarkableclimeenjoy an equally remarkable immunity from pulmonary disorders. Catarrhs are so nearly unknown that our current theories on the origin of "colds" seem in urgent need of a revision. The latter fact appears to have been recognized now and then. "I shall not attempt to explain," says Benjamin Franklin, "why damp clothes occasion colds rather than wet ones, because I doubt the fact. The cause of'colds,' I believe, is totally independent of wetness, and even of cold." Ed?' A man who was on his weary journey to Wisconsin, came upon a crowd one day, and observed a sadness on all faces. "Why this gloom ?" queried the old man as he laid down his bundle and felt for the front end of his plug of tobacco. "O, Sage, we mourn the loss of a good man," was the reply. "Washe honored?" "He was." "Who of you praised and encouraged him in life?" asked the old man as he looked around him. A hush fell upon the crowd, and no one replied. "Praise that comes after death," whispered the Sage, "does not even cut down the undertaker's bills. Better squander your time sawing wood for the widow." ... . <> ? ? gjaT Thebestpreparation for the future is to drain the present of every good thing in it.