Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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. ?? T lewis m. grist, proprietor. | % Inbcgtitbenf Jfamilg ftefospapcr: <Jfor % promotion of t|c political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of fjje Soutjj. | TERMS?$2.50 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 32. YOEKYILLE, S. P.. WEDNESDAY, NOYEMBEB 3, 1886. NO. 44. ? jserial Stag. mmillion pools By T. WKMY8S KEID. CHAPTER XIIL THE VERDICT. It is not necessary to weary my reader! with the whole of the evidence which wa given in support of Hawk's statement. Thi counsel for the crown had recapitulated the facts only too faithfully, and all that he hac told the jury was borne out by the witnesses, The first to be examined was Green, the valet, who told the story of how he hac assisted Mr. Mauleverer to undress, and had seen him get into bed on the night of the murder. In the course of cross-examination ha swnm that. thonah nnrwrflntl^ somewhat weak, was cheerful and composed when he left him. He was theu questioned as follows by Belmo'?: "Did you see any medicine or any bottle that might have contained medicine of any kind near his bed when you left him!" "No." "What medicine win in his room, as far as you know, that night?" "On the table in the dressing room there was a box containing 'the powders which ho occasionally took." "Nothing else?no liottle, no powder of any kind?' "Certainlynot" Mr. Hawk, Q.C., here said that the prosecution produced the box of powders, and . that evidence would be given regarding it. Cross-examination continued: "You havs * described the condition of Mr. Mauleverer and of his bed when yon enteral his room next morniag. Did anything else in ths apartment attract your attention?' "No: everything was as I had left it on the pre vions night" "Was there a table near the bed?" "Yes; there was one within reach of my master's arm." "What was on it when you left him at night?" "A copy of the Bible and a bottle ol water with a glass" "What did yon find there in the morning?" "The Bible and the water bottle and glass." "Had the glass been used?" "No; it was turned up ou the top of the bottle. I particularly observed that it was quite dry, and ttiat the water "in the bottle bad not been fconr-hwf " "In what glass was Mr. Mauleverer in the habit of taking his medicine?" "Miss Stan< cliffe always used a particular glass which was kept on his drawing room table." I "Had that glass been ussd on the night ol October 24?" "I think sa We found that there was a little water and a slight sediment at the bottom of the glans when we examined the room the next day." "Was any care taken of it!" "No, sir. Miss Stancliffe told me that she had given her uncle one of his powders before she left him, and 1 concluded that the glass had been used for that purponG." "And it was washed!-' "Tee; by Mist Stancliffe's orders." (Sensation in court) "I did not ask by whose orders it wai done; but I should be glad to know what were the exact words Miss Stancliffe used when she gave yon these directions?" "Shi said. 'Have everything tidy in the bedroom and dressing room.'" "And when was that?" "Some time on thi morning of the 25th." , "Before or after Dr. Carrlck had seen the deceased?" "I am not quite certain; aftet Dr. Carrick's visit, I belibve." "Now, sir. on your oath, was not everything left untouched until after the doctor'i visit?" "I believe so." "And he might have examined anything and everything in the room if he had wished to do so?" "Oh, certainly." \ "By the way, there is one other question. * Are yon troubled with rats at Great Lor ton?" Oh, the rats is awful, sir." (Laughtei .In court) Mary Taylor, the maid, deposed to the time at which Miss Stancliffe retired to resl on the night of the 24th. She was thee quite calm and composed. She was dressing in the morning when witness took her the news of Mr. Manleverer's death. She seemed greatly distressed and gave orders that the doctor was to be sent for immediately. She went to her uncle's room instantly npot hearing of what had happened. Cross-examined?"Have you ever heard Miss Stancliffp ax-ress any ill will towards ber uncle r 'Never, sir." "You are quite sure of that?" "Certainly, sir. So far a* I cou'd s?e she was very fond of him, even at the time when ho was nol very kind to her." "Was she in the habit of praying before she retired so rest?-' "Yes, sir. Sho alway read a little in the Bible and prayed. I was often in the room when she dil so." "Did she read and pray on that particulai night!" "She did, sir." (Sensation.) "Now, Miss Taylor, be g.xsl enough to tel if you have ever known Miss Stancliffe t< possess any poison?"' "Yes, sir; about twe weeks before Mr. Mauleverer's death sh< showed me a small packet one night anc said that it was poison which she had pro cured that day at Littb Lorton and that il was to be used for the poisoning of rats. Hei uncle, she said, had desired her to procun it" "Anything els9?" "She told me that sh< wa? nervous about having it in her posses sion and that she meant to put it away ii soma very secure place." "Did 8he say why she di l not mean to us< it at once?" "Yes; she told me that she wai afraid to tru*t any of the servants with it, and she would keep it until Dr. Branksom* returned, a3 he would know how it ought t( be used." 'Have you seen that parcel since'" "No, sir." "Would you know it again?" "I think ] should, sir." Dr. Carrick, an amiabb country practi< tioner, was the next witness called. He wa; unmistakab'y nervous, and gave his evidena in so uncertain a manner, that even the good-natured judge lost his patience at last, and told him sharply that he was not serv ing the prisoner by his equivocating answer?. This only made the poor man worse, and 1 saw that Mr. Belmore in his cross-examina tion was terribly bothered by him. H< could not give any reason now for coming to the cone* .sion that Mr. Mauleverer bac died of epilepsy. He was quite satisfied that he bad been mistaken in thinking so. "We have beard, Dr. Carrick," said Bel more, "that Mr. Mauleverer was in th< habit of taking certain powders prescribed by you?" "Yei, sir; bromide of potassium.' "Where were these powders preparedf "In my own surgery, sir." "Is this" (producing box) "one of the boxei in which these powders were contained?' "It is the last box that I supplied to Mr, Mauleverer. He had one before this." "How do you know that this is the lasl box?" "By the date written upon it in mj own handwriting." "Now, how many powder3 would such t box as that contain?" "Eighteen." "Just open the box and tell us how manj you find there now?" "I find there are foui in it" "And how often would Mr. Mauleverer tak< one of these powders?" "When required sir. Perhaps, on an average, one every sec ond or third night" "One every second or third night," saic Belmore. He whispered a word to Harding who forthwith made a calculation on i sheet of papor. "Fourteen powders are gone; that would indicate that the box had been in use, Dr, Carrick, for at least twenty-eight days be fore the death of Mr. Mauleverer. Be goot enough, sir, to tell me what is the date writ ten on the box as that on which it was sup plied from your surgery ?" "September 23 sir." "Ah! that is just thirty-threa days befon Via ntfrht. nf this fat.nl nvent. NOW I mUSl ask you, Dr. Carrick, to pay particular at tention to the questions I am about to put U you, and to remember that the life of a fel low-creature may depend upon your an swera Who prepared thes; powders?" "J did so myself, sir. I have no dispenser." "And where did you prepare them?' "Ir my own dispensary." "The drug, I suppose, is a perfectly simple one?the powders, I mean, had not to be compounded of different drugs?" "No; all 1 had to do was to weigh the bromide of potassium and make each dose up in a separate piece of paper in the usual manner." "Y.'bere do you keep your stock ol bromide?" "Jn a large glass jar on the lower she.'f of the cupboard in my dispensary." "Very good; and now, sir, answer me without hesitation, where do you keep your stock of strychnia?" "In the same cupboard, sir." "Ah 1" Belmore looked up at the jury with 1 a face that spoke volumes. Everybody saw the point at which he was aiming?every* body except my darling, who sat looking i pale and fatigued, and almost listless, aa though the whole thing were a eastly farce which wearied her. At long intervals she raised her eyes and looked at ma It was only then that any sign of life or feeling came Into her dear face Cross-examination continued?"You say the strychnia and bromide of potassium were kept in the same cupboard. Now do yon ever make mistakes, Dr. Carrick, in the compounding of your medicines?" "Well, sir?I should not like to say positively." "Come, come, Dr. Carrick, be frank with ua. Tell me; did yon ever make a mistake in making up your medicines?" Belmore stood like a tower among his seated brethren. His long arm was outstretched, and his forefinger, which was pointed direct at the heart of the witness, almost seemed as though it were a rapier, by which the unhappy man had been transfixed. There was something terrible, too, in the eye of the great advocate as it flashed upon the witness, something merciless in the firmly closed mouth with which he waited for the answer to his question. Everybody in court, I think, was fascinated by the spectacle. There he stood, motionless as a statue, and unrelenting as an inquisitor, while Dr. Carrick writhed visibly before him "You must answer the question, sir," said the judge in peremtory tones. Breathing hard, and pausing a moment to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, the witness spoke: "I have made a mistake once?it was years ago." "What was itP "I used a wrong drug in making up a simple prescription." "The wrong drug! Tell me the name of that drug, sir?" "it was arsenic. My lord, this happened twenty years ago, and I assure your lordship that there has been nothing " "Answer my question, (sir, and don't make speeches," said Belmore. "You tell us that you did make a mistake one?, and that yon put arsenic into your medicine instead of something else. Pray what was the result of that mistake? Did your patient take the medicine?" "He did, sir." [ "And be died?" "Yee, to my lasting pain , and sorrow, he did. It was a baby, sir " "Don't make meeches. Dr. Carrick. You , tell me that once already you have made a mistake in compounding your medicines which cost one of your fellow creatures bis life. Now, will you admit the possibility of > your having made another mistake? You i know your strychnia and your bromide of I potassium were in the same cupboard in i your laboratory ?" "No, sir, I can't admit that I made any mistake on this occasion. I got a terrible lesson twenty years ago." "No doubt you did; tut, excuse me, I did . not ask you whether you had or had not made a mistake on this occasion, but 1 whether it was or was not possible for you . to do sol" "No, sir; it was impossible." < "You are infallible now, ehF' "Yes, sir," i ! blurted out the unhappy man, who evidently 1 s did not know whether he was standing on > his head or his heels. < | "Well, I mean to ask the jury to pronounce an opinion upon that point, Dr. Car- i rick. You can go now." i But before he went he was re-examined i by Hawk. ' | "Do you recollect making up these par- i , ticular powders for Mr. Mauleverer?" "Perfectly well." ] "Are you quite certain you made no mis ( take?" "I am positive I did not." "In what part of your cupboard do you i , keep your strychnia?" "On the top shelf, ] ^ BIT." "Now, there were eighteen powders originally in that box. Were they all made up at \ the same time?" "Undoubtedly, sir." "Prom the same bottle of bromide?" "Cer- J tainly." i , "Were you interrupted while making them 5 up?" "Not that I remember." i "Have you examined the four powders which remain in the box?" "Yes, in company I with my eminent medical colleague, Mr. [ Allgood, I have examined them." > "And do they consist of promide of potas> slum or strychnia?" "Of bromide, of course." i "Then we may take it for granted that Mr. Mauleverer had been using theie pow[ ders without suffering any ill effect from I them down to the day of his death, and that all the powders left in the box after his death are perfectly harmless?" "1 apprehend that is the case." ; Dr. Carrick was followed by Mr. Allgood, F.RC.8., the eminent toxicologist, who , gave convincing evidence of the real cause . of Mr. Mauleverer's death. The unfortunate mil.ionaire bad evidently taken a large dose of strychnia about an hour and a half . before he was heard by the servant maid to cry out He confirmed Carrick's statement I regarding the powders remaining in the box He had not discovered any trace of bromide of potassium in his analysis of the contents of deceased's stomach. After him came the chem'st at Little Lorton, Mr. Smirke, who told how on the i 7th of October the prisoner had driven up to his shop in her uncle's carriage, and had explained that she wished for a quantity of staychn:a, to be employed in poisoning the i rats which abounded in the cellars of the halL He had remarked upon the very dangerous character of the poison, and had recommended some other method of getting rid of the vermin. Miss Btancliffe agreed with him that the poison was an exceedingly dangerous one, and had expressed her regret that her uncle wished her to procure it. She had further requested him to supply it to her in a sealed parcel, so that, in case of its being accidentally found by one of the ' servants, it might not be opened by mistake, r Belmore only put one question to this witness: "Supposing you were to see that . parcel again, would you know it at once and hA Ahl? to sav if it hod been tamoered j with!" "Yes, I could not mistake that , parcel if I saw it again." Then came the evidence of the chief con[ stable, my acquaintance Eastmead. It was terrible to hear him tell how, "in conse[ quence of information he had received," he . had felt it to be his duty to make certain in3 quiries regarding Mr. Mauleverer's death. , At that moment I dared not have faced [ either Daisy or Dr. Branksome. I was I thankful when Eastmead passed on to tell of the result of his search through the house, . when he went there for the purpose of ar3 resting the prisoner. It wa3 a negative ret suit altogether. The only drugs of any kind ? which he coull discover were the box of > powders produced in court, which he found upon the dressing table in Mr. Mauleverer's , room, and some simple medicament for the ? teeth, which was in the bedroom of Mrs. Cawthorne. Nowhere could he find any trace of strychnia or any other poison, t I In the course of his examination he recited r the statement made by the prisoner at the time of her arrest, after she had been duly k cautioned to the effect that anything which she said might be used as evidence against r her. It was as follows: f "I went to my dear uncle's room at about ten o'clock, after being told by his servant I that he was ready to see me. I spoke a few , moments to him, and then, according to our usual custom, I read to him from the Bible for a few minutes. After that I went to his I dressing room and mixed one of his powders, , ; taking it from the box supplied by Dr. Cari i rick. It was one of the ordinary powders. | I am quite certain of that He drank it off L 1 without making any remark, except that I , ; had given him a bitter dose. He then said - ! he was very sleepy, so I kissed him and left I ; his room. I never saw him again alive." - The attention of the prisoner having been - directed to the fact that she was known to , have ptv chased strychnia recently, she said: "I bought the strychnia at my uncle's re3 quest. It was to be used for poisoning the t> ' rats. I was uneasy at having such - | an article in my possession, and I 1 placed the poison in a drawer in my bureau which I always kept locked. It remained there until the day after my uncle's death. I remember entering my i dressing room then, and finding that in my grief and excitement I had left that drawer open. I have a vague recollection of feeling startled at the thought that some l one might have got at the poison, and I rei solved to make it more secure; but whether > I threw it into the fire as I originally intended, or hid it somewhere else, I cannot at | this moment remember. I shall remember all i about it soon, I feel certain; but I was so much confused at the time with grief and j horror oat my mind was in a whirl, and I hardly knew what I was doing. I fear I am not much better yet, but perhaps by and by I shall be all right again." To my surprise the next witness called was Daisy's own familiar friend, Mrs. Cawthorne. Her distress, however, was evident and her testimony did little to strengthen the case of the prosecution. She was asked regarding the conduct of Mr. Mauleverer after he had learned what had passed between Daisy and myself, and she was compelled to say that the millionaire had betrayed very great excitement, and had treated his niece for a few days with extreme harshness. She, however, Mrs. Cawthorne declared, had behaved through it all like an angel?and indeed, my lord, if you knew her vou would know that she is an angel, the best that ever lived," cried the good woman, despite the attempts of Hawk to keep her to the point. I felt as if I could have embraced her on the 8pOt . j Cross-examined by Mr. Belmore?"You 1 said that Mr. Mauleverer showed great ex- j citement and treated the prisoner with harsh- , ness 'for a few days.' How long, Mrs. Cawthorne. was that before his death?" "He changed for the better about a fortnight before his death?about the time when Dr. 1 Branksome and Mr. Fosdyke left the halL " ! "And just before the 34th of October, ) what was the nature of his relations with his niece?" "He was on excellent terms with i her. On the very day on which he died, I ] told her that I felt certain that all would come right between them in the end." "And did she make any reply?" "She said j she hoped it would be so, as it would be j miserable both for her and for her uncle to live in perpetual estrangement." Fosdyke was the next witness. He pro- j duced Mr. Mauleverer s will, and, amid a ' general murmur of excitement, gave some j details as to the amount of his wealth. By the will that had been duly executed in the month of Agust in London the prisoner inherited everything. Early in October he (the witness) had gone down to Great Lorton Hall on business, and bad there received instructions from Mr. Msoleverer to prepare a second will, by which in the event of the prisoner marrying M-. Cyril Fenton, the property, which under the first will was to be vested in trustee* for her benefit, was to be applied to the erection and endowment of public hospitals in the Australian colonies, with the exception of a sum of fifty thousand pounds, which was to be paid to Miss Stancliffe on the day of her marriage. When these details were given I thought that the people in court, and especially the well-dressed women in the galleries, turned to my darling with more kindly looks than those with which they bad hitherto regarded her. Poor fools! | They could look upon that sweet face, and ; not read there the plain signs of purity and : innocence. Yet no sooner did they know of j the wealth which was now hers than they ' began to doubt and hesitate, and allow the strong conviction of her guilt which thoy had previously entertained to be disturbed. : It was incredible to them that a woman who was at this very moment the owner of millions should be a vulgar murderess 1 There was one part of Fosdyke?s evidence, however, which told heavily against us. It was that in which he related how, at the request of Mr. Mauleverer himself, he had made Daisy acquainted with the terms of the new disposition of her uncle's property. "And what did she say in reply?" was the question put by Hawk. Fosdyke adjusted his pince nez, and, with a momentary assumption of that air of pert self-satisfaction which had distinguished him in happier days, but which had undoubtedly been missing of late, said: "Miss Stancliffe is a lady, sir. I did not expect any show of nil gar emotion when I told her of what was practically her disinheritance, and I was not disappointed." "And how comes it, sir," cried Belmore, rising to cross-examine him, "that this will has never yet been executed?" "I was leaving the hall, immediately after taking Mr. Mauleverer's instructions, for Norway, ! where I had business to transact on his behalf. The fair copy of the will had to be made by my clerkB in London, and I myself suggested that the matter might stand over till my return. ^ ^ ^ "How comes it, sirf' cried Belmore. ! "Ah I You were going to Norway, you say; rather a stormy voyage at this time of the year; and you would of necessity be leaving your client, a delicate old man, for several weeks, yet you did not think it necessary to complete his will before your departure?"' "I did not" "Now, sir, are you quite sure that Mr. Mauleverer was in a proper state of mind at that time to execute a will?" "I should certainly 6ay he was; but I am no doctor." "Was he not under the influence of an extraordinary degree of excitement about that period?" "He was certainly very much excited." "Would vou be surnrisel to hear that this excitement was such as to lead him to employ one of his servants to abduct Mr. Fenton, the gentleman towards whom he ap- j peared for some reason or o.her to entertain j so extraordinary an antipathy?" It was Daisy's turn to start and look sur- i prised at this question, as, indeed, most per- ' sons in court d.d. I had never told Daisy the truth about my voyage to the north, nor should I have allowed that truth to be made known now but for the imperative demands of Mr. Bel more. Fosdyke wai manifestly disconcerted by j the question. "Come, sir," cried Belmore, "I must have an answer." "I heard something of it" "Heard somothing of it! Why, were you not aboard the ship in which that gentleman"?pointing to where I sat?"was abducted?" "Yes; I know that such an ab. duction took place by the orders of Mr. Mau- i leverer." "Now, upon your solemn oath, did you not think that the deceased was not in a fit state of mind to manage his own affairs? and was , not that the real reason why you never com- , pleted the execution of the will?" "I certainly thought him very much excited and prejudiced on that particular point, and I felt that on th9 whole it would be better to give him time for reflection before complet- i ing the will?" "In fact, you are prepared to swear that when you left him, two weeks before his death, he was so much excited that his mind was not in its normal coudition?" "I think so." Fosdyke wa* the last witness of any importance. It was now five o'clock, and everybody in court was exhausted. No one, therefore, was surprised when the judge announced that at this point the trial would be adjourned till the next day. Daisy was in- | stantaneously spirited out of the dock; but before she left the waiting room below I was allowed to have a momentary interview with her. She was wan and worn; but her sweet composure enabled me to keep up my courage in her presence, and to assure her that, so far as I knew, all was going welL Alas! any delusions I might have enter- | tained on that point were only too quickly dispelled. I had hardly finished my Bimple dinner at the Station hotel when Harding 1 appeared at the door of my room to tell me that Mr. Be. more desired to have an im- 1 mediate interview with me. I followed my friend to the room of the great advocate, who was also staying at the hotel. I found Mr. Belmore and our solici- ' tor, Mr. Bryce, in serious consulation. "I sent for you, Mr. Fenton," said the famous lawyer, "that I might have a little ' frank talk with you. I understand that you are really the principal friend of Miss Stancliffe, and I have heard of the relationship in which you s:und to each other. Now I want to tell you at once that she is an almost desperate position. We shall do our best for her to-morrow, of course; but I must 6ay cand;dly that I see no hope of avoiding a conviction. 1 have only two points to make?one is the possibility of a blunder on tbo part of the doctor in pre paring Mr. Mauleverers medicine, ana tne other the chance that Mauleverer may have committed suicide. But I do not think I ever had a stronger case to meet, nor have I ever been compelled to trust to more worthless straws than these." I heard him wit a a dread that seemel to render me voiceless. "Yes," he continued, "we must not deceive ourselves. Everything is against us. But I am anxious to save this poor child if I cam I do not believe her to be guilty, and I hope that something may yet turn up to prove her innocence. I heard all that you have told my learned friend here, and I wish to give you some advice. You must move heaven and earth to find out, first, what has become of the strychnia which Miss Stan* cliffe bought?for I do not believe that it has been destroyed?and next where the man Gregson, of whom you have told Mr. Harding, is to be found. In my opinion he possesses the key to this mystery. But the first step you should take is to obtain a power of attornev from Miss Btancliffe, enabling you to act in relation to all her affairs as fully as she herself could da This must be obtained, if possible, before her conviction, and Mr. Bryce, who has an order for an interview with her, will get it from her to-night" Then the great man shook me by the hand, and, expressing his desire to help me in every possible way, politely bowed me from his room. I have no heart to write of the events of the next day. There was again the eager crowd of sightseers in court, and again all the actors in the dismal tragedy appeared in their old places. The jury looked jaded after their night of confinement at a neighboring hotel; and I was conscious that not merely upon myself, but upon my darling, the awful ordeal of the previous day, and of the Bleepless night which followed, had told heavily. But she preserved the same air of sweet serenity which had distinguished her from the first. Mr. Hawk's speech for the prosecution was the coldest, clearest and most merciless exposition of the facts that could by any possibility have been laid before the jury. He was no novice at his work, and I shudderingly felt when he sat down that he had not left a loophole by which Daisy could escape. That Mr. Miuleverer was undoubtedly poisoned by strychnia on the night of October 24, that the prisoner was the person who must have committed the crime, and that she had a strong motive for committing it? these were the three points which he labored to establish beyond the power of refutation, and it was only too clear that he did establish them in the minds of nearly everybody in court Mr. Belmore tcok a very different line. His desire evidently was to get away as far as possible from the evidence, and in a speech which was full of impassioned and eloquent pleading he dwelt upon the difllculty of imagining that a young girl like Daisy could ever have conceived, much less could have carried out so deadly a plot against the life of her relative and benefactor. Nothing but absolutely convincing evidence could justify the jury in finding a verdict against her. But in this case where was there any absolute demonstration of her guilt? Who could say iL.a Knrl rinf infill. bliailJULLl. AU.aUiCIQlVI wuu UVV, ?uv ...MU ence of the excitement from which he was undoubtedly suffering, committed suicide? and in that case everybody knew the proverbial mmning with which a madman sought to hide the traces of his acts; but even if this hypothesis were to be rejected, was it not possible, and even probable, that weak, muddle-headed Dr. Carrick might have made another mistake, and by inadvertence given strycnia instead o'f bromide of potassium to his patient) At all events, with these two possiDilitie3 staring them in the face, the jury would incur a terrible responsibility if they returned a verdict of guilty against the prisoner. 1 think that if the jury bad given their verdict then it would have been in Daisy's favor. But the summing up of the judge, clear, careful and impartial, destroyed the effect of Belmore's eloquent special pleading. I sat as in a dream, while the tedious formalities connected with the retirement of the jury were carried out And then came half an hour of awful supense, during which everybody remained in court save my darling and the jud;a I still recall with a sickening sense of hori or that sudden lull in the hum of general conversation, which told us that the jury were returning to deliver their verdict I see the judge hurrying 1 ack to the bench; I see the twelve men, with their grave, set faces slowly filing into the box; I hear, as though from a vast distance, the calling over of the names, and the demand of the clerk, "How say you, gentlemen; do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?" And then I am on my feet, with arms stretched out to where my love standi, deadly white, but more beautiful than evor, with hands clasped and eyes turned toward heaven, which has jusi heard the monstrous verdict that is to brand her name wi h infamy and cut short her life upon the scaffold. For the jury have returned a verdict of "Guilty," and our last hope has be: n destroyed Some one draws me back into my seat, and implores me, for her sake, to remain calm. I try to obey, and I sit trembling from head to foot, amid the dread silence which now falls upon the crowded court, while, in ihe fewest possible words, the man to whose hand the wielding of the awful sword of justice has been intrusted pronounces my darling's doom. And then I wake as from a trance. Daisy is gone; the judge has departed; counsel and solicitors, jurymen, witnesses and spectators ? ?.1' ? f? ? ? /Mirvli ^I'nm fha are tui uurrjr 111*4 awa^, u? iuuugu nviu vu theatre when the play is ended. Some one takes my arm. It is Harding, who has had time to doff his wig and gown, and who now leads me unresistingly from the hateful spot. CHAPTER XIV. A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS. Two days elapsed before I was allowed to see Daisy after her condemnation. Even then I should hardly have been permitted to have an interview with her but for certain powerful influences, which had been brought to bear on her behalf. Immediately after pronouncing sentence of death the judge had sent for Belmore, and had told him that he was by no means satisfied with the case as it stood, and that he had a strong conviction that the whole truth had not yet been learned. He found that Belmore entirely shared his views, and from him he heard of me and of the efforts which I was making to procure proof of my darling's innocence. It was the good judge who smoothed the way for me with the prison authorities and who made it possible for me to have free communication with Daisy in ber cell. But it must not be supposed that we?for Harding had formally devoted himself to my service in the task in which I was engaged?were idle during the two days of waiting before I was admitted to an interview with Daisy. Idle I how could we be idle? It was now the 6th of December, and I had already been warned that the day on which the martyrdom of my darling was to be carried out was the 28th of the same month. But three weeks were given to us, therefore, in which to establish her innocence. Even Harding?good, kind, neverto-be-forgotten friend?declared that neither for food nor for sleep must one moment of that precious time be wasted unnecessarily. What, then, think you, was my frame of mind? Within a few hours of the passing of the sentence Harding was in London, where he secured roe services 01 me must euiiueitu private detective of the day. The special mission of thW man was to find Gregson. My work on that dark day on which the trial ended was of a different kind. Putting all remembrance of the last few weeks aside, I went to Branksome and Fosdyke'and appealed to them to assist me in the task I had undertaken. Dr. Branksome was just the same as he had ever been. Ye3, I bitterly reflected, he was just the same; as easy, cool, pleasant in his manner, now whoa Daisy was lying under sentence of death, as he had been on that first morning of my acquaintance with him, when he did the honors of the yacht for her and for me. I could not bear the thought of this cynical selfishness. I had been angry against him when I first knew that he believed Daisy to be guilty. Now I despised him for his heartlessness and would willingly have turned my back upon him forever, if it had not been that I felt he might give me help in the work of saving my darling. But very soon I found that this was not to be. I again told him my conviction that Flinter was the real instigator of Mr. Mauleverer's murder, and I repeated the reasons which led nip to think so. It was the first time that Foadyke had heard the story of my finding the book on "Forensic Medicine" on board the yacht, and of the way in which it opened at the pages dealing with poisoning by strychnia. I thought ho seemed startled by my statement, it had no effect upon Branksomo, however. "I see what you wish me to do, Fenton. Tou are anxious that I should find a victim for the gallows in the place of poor Daisy, and you suggest Flinter for the purpose." "And is that the way in which you speak of the girl whom you have known since she left her mother's arms, and whom you profess to love?" I cried, in my indignation. "Dr. Branksome, if anyone hal asked me what I thought of you a few weeks ago, I should have said you were one of the noblest and truest men on the face of the earth; but if anyone were to put the question to me now, 1 should be forced to tell him that I had found you to be false as a friend, and mean ana nearness as a man?one wuu um Bit here in the full enjoyment of every luxury"?I had found the two at dinner?"when the child who has looked up to him aa a father is lyinpj in the condemned celll Aye, and who can even answer the prayer that he would join in the attempt to save her from her doom, with a cold sneer!" He heard me without moving a muscle of his face, and when be replied he spoke in his usualVdfiSe. It was just as pleasant and equable in its tone3 as it had ever been. "I wish you success and Godspeed with all my heart, Mr. Fenton; and for the sake of Daisy I forgive your injustice towards myself. But I te 1 you this, sir, plainly: I have been convinced of her guilt by the evidence laid before the court; and while I am willing to join you in making every effort to obtain for her the mercy of the crown?nay, Mr. Fosdyko will tell you that I am already taking steps for that purpose?I am not prepared to try to save her, whom I believe to be guilty, by throwing her sin upon another whom I know to be innocent" What could I do in appealing to a man whose very cruelty was founded upon his love of what was right) I could not answer his logic, and I saw that it would be useless to upbraid him. But in my heart I hated and detpised him. "Then," I said at last, Beeing that no help could be hoped for here, "I shall act for myself, and if I have to spend every farthing I have in the world and to devot9 every day that remains to me of life to the task, you may depend upon it that I shall yet confound you all by proving her innocence." Of my interview with Daisy, when at last I was admitted to her in the condemned cell at the old Castle, I shall say nothing that does not bear directly upon the subsequent events. She was changed greatly when I saw '?? - ' ? -J-tVio f T riroa #?*? m/\ea co. iier; UU L BUS UO^iat CU buaw A niN 1UI ausss*? sgriously altered than she was. And probably she was right; for I had nothing of that noble courage and resignation which had borne her up through all this time of agony. But I dared not spend the precious minutes in lovers' talk. I had other work to do for her sake. My first business I felt must be to get from her her own theory, if she had one, regarding the murder; and to prepare her way for that, I told her freely all my own suspicions, and the story of my abduction, of which she had only heard for the first time during the course of the trial. "And you really believe that my uncle caused you to be spirited away in that fash* ion? Depend upon it, dearest, you are entirely deceived. My uncle was innocent." "Then who could have originated the plot?" "Fiinter must have done so. Let me tell you all I know about him. He has been employed for nearly eight years at my uncle's chief station at Wangoora?the place where we lived. I am told that he bad been in some serious trouble, and that my uncle, who was usually one of the kindest as well as one of the most simple-hearted men, befriended him. Very soon after he came to the station as an ordinary shepherd he saved my uncle's life when be was nearly drowned in crossing a swollen river on our run. That, you may be sure, was never forgotten by my uncle. He very quickly raised him to one of the chief posts on the estate, and at the time that I came to live at Wangoora, six years ago, he was the constant companion of my uncle in his journeyB, and had evidently secured his confidence." "But you spoke of him to me as dangerous." "Yes; he is dangerous, and bad, too. I very soon discovered that But I cannot for a moment imagine that he would have plotted against his benefactor's life. He had everything to lose and nothing conceivable to gain by my unc'e's death." That was perfectly true, and it was the one great stumbling block in the way of my theory regarding the murder. Fiinter undoubtedly had nothing to gain by it "Daisy," I said, "you must forgive me for questioning you on a subject that has long puzzled me, but about which I saw that you did not wish to tell me anything. I want to know all that you can tell me about that man whom I saw in the railway station here, on the day we first met. It is necessary that you should tell me all, my darling." She blushed slightly, and then a faint smile lighted up her worn face. "Ah, how happy an accident it was that led me to the carriage where you wers seated that day! I should have been with' out a friend now but for that" "But about this man?Gregson?" "1 should have told you all about him if there had been any opportunity of doing so after you spoke to me at the ball. For, do you know, that at one time be had tried to make mo believe that he waa in love with me, and when he found that I cared nothing whatever about him he began to persecute me in a mean, paltry kind of way, till J positively became afraid of him." "Where was it that he first began to annoy you?" "At Wangoora, about three years ago You see, he was my uncle's confidential clerk, and came a great deal to the house. He had not then given way, as I fear he hai done now, to tad habits, and he was a great friend of Dr. Branksome'a. I never cared for him?in the least." Dear heart I she looked up at me with the happy smile of a maiden who tells her story for the first time to the man she loves, and for a moment we forgot all about the prison bars, and the two women who sat mutely watching us at the other end of the cell. "When he found that I did not care for him he became, as I said, very disagreeable. He would try to waylay me and hint dreadful things about having me in his power, and I think that very soon he came to hate me as much as he had once professed to like me. Then he became careless and disobedient in his work, and he quarreled with Flinter and was insolent to Dr. Branksome, and the end of it all was that he was dismissed." "And what happened then?" "Oh, a great deal. He professed to have discovered some dreadful plot in which we were all engaged lor the purpose of imposing upon my uncle, i laughed at him at the time, for I knew of course that there was no plot of any kind, and I little dreamel of what was coming. But the man became hateful both to me and my uncle, especially when we found that he had actually followed us to England. I have never seen him, however. since that day at York." [to bk continued next week.] Girls With Bad Tempers.? Above all things in the world I can tolerate most anything better than I can a girl that is ugly, saucy and unkind to her mother, the best friend she has got on earth. Show me a girl that will fly all to pieces and talk ugly to her mother, and I will show you a girl that is going to make it warm for her own home some of these da vs. Be kind, amiable and gentle, and then whenever unkind words escape your lips run right to mother and say, "Please forgive me, I didn't mean to do that; I know you are the best friend and wish me better than anybody, and I am sorry in my heart that I said those things." If you can keep a girl in a good humor she will do first-rate ; but a mad girl will say almost anything. If your temer fly off go and apologize for what you have done.?Sam Jones. ... fl@-The divine method ot working is commonly not our method. We would have all the way before us flooded with light; but God chooses that there be light for us to take the next step only. i MR. DABNEY H. MAURY. The appointment extended to Mr. Dabney H. Maury by President Cleveland to be United States Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the United States of Columbia, was accepted by that gentleman with many expressions of satisfaction and courtesy. There is at present a great absence of vigor in making satisfactory arrangements with political men to accept some ol the smaller anti-national positions, as the most prominent politicians seem inclined to refuse the out-ofcountry positions offered them, or resign shortly after their acceptance, and the leas prominent classes of political men are olt-times considered incapable of successfully filling the responsibilities and incurring duties thrust upon them through the acceptance of the position. Mr. Maury was nominated to the office during the loot ooooinn nf fYinorppuci hilt sn mnnv of the Senators disfavored the appointment that the Senate failed to act upon his nomination. Mr. Maury has ever been a close adherent to his party, and the President has given him the appointment in recognition of valuable services performed and rendered during the Cleveland and Hendricks campaign. Poor Old Grand Ma.?In many a home grandma is a bright and winning presence, but even where she is the opposite?stiff, unsympathetic and querulous?none the less should she be surrounded by an atmosphere of loving observance, for her failings are the concomitants of old age and impaired faculties. This attention should not be the perfunctory performance of an inculcated duty, but the outflow of a kind heart and generous nature. Sometimes a certain outward respect is shown before strangers, but often the old lady is treated by the juniors as a superfluous member of the family?something like the fifth wheel of a coach? and is shown intentional disrespect. She is made the but of ridicule and the target of scorn; but she is also made use of when there is any service she can render. Disassociated from all the interests and affections from the home?neither consulted, confided in nor referred to?she waits patiently the end. It is sad to see an old person so full of melancholy distrust of the kindly intentions of others as to be uncertain whether her presence at a pleasure party is really desired ; it is the result of the treatment to which she has long been subjected, and which has taught her to feel herself of no value to any one. How eager she is to be loved by the grand-daughter who is like what she was at that age, to know something of her pleasures and her hopes. But the young ladies call this chronic curiosity, and will not gratify her. Senator Gorman's Nutmeg.? Senator Gorman was in the city looking after certain department matters which he desired to arrange preparatory to going away on his summer vacation. Mr. Gorman tells the following story on himself: For many years he has been a sufferer from reg ular attacks of neuralgia. On some occasions he has been confined to his home a day or two, so intense was the pain. An old lady friend once called upon him while he was suffering from one of his attacks. She displayed so much sympathy that she almost forgot to name the requestshe had to make?hutshe did not. Upon learning that the Senator was troubled with neuralgia she volunteered to give him an infallible remedy, provided he would promise not to laugh at her, or accuse her of being a believer in conjuration, spells, etc. The senator, in a good natured way, informed her that he was under the treatment of an eminent physician, who sometimes afforded him temporary relief. The old lady finally prevailed upon the Senator to give her remedy a fair trial, whereupon she suggested that he should get an ordinary nutmeg, such as is used in cooking, drill a hole through it, attach it to a piece of string or ribbon, and wear it around his neck continually. The Senator, while suffering one day, determined to give the nutmeg remedy a trial. He followed the old lady's directions, and in a few hours felt greatly relieved. He has worn the nutmeg ever since, and is seldom troubled with neuralgia. He has consulted several physicians on the subject, and they state that the nutmeg possesses certain virtues which may have effect cn neuralgic pains. Baltimore Sun. Not Necessary to Drown.? Many persons have wondered that all animals seem to possess an instinctive knowledge of swimming, and that man alone lacks this gift. It is not necessary that a person knowing nothing of the art of swimming should drown, if he will depend upon the powers for self-preservation with which nature has endowed him. When one of the inferior animals taKes me waier, 12111s ui is nuuwu <u, it instantly begins to walk as it does when out of water. But when a man who cannot "swim" gets into the water he makes a few spasmodic struggles, throws up his hands and drowns. The brute, on the other hand, treads water, remains on thesurface, and is virtually insubmergible. In order, then, to escape drowning, it is necessary to do as the brute does, and that is tp tread or walk water. The brute has no advantage as to his relative weight, in respect to the water, over man, and yet the man perishes while the brute lives. Nevertheless, any man, any woman, any child, who can walk on the land may also walk in the waterjust as readily as the animal does, and that without any pri . ir? ? or insirucuuu Ul uniuug nuaicvu. Throw a dog into the water and he treads, or walks, the water instantly. The brute, indeed, walks the water instinctively, whereas man has to be told. ' We should not merely think it a duty to give our lives into God's keeping, but we should regard it as a privilege that we can submit ourselves to God for help and guidance day by day. |WisceUiJtte0U5i fading. COMPENSATIONS OP POVERTY. Over against "the pinchings of poverty" may be set many compensations. Some of them, it is true, seem to be rather negative in character, and appear only by contrast with certain conceded disadvantages of the rich. One of the latter is the uncertain tenure by which riches are held. The truth of the proverb that "riches suddenly take to themselves wings and Hy away," is illustrated by the fact that as many fortunes are lost as made, and lost much more quickly than they are made. The burdens and anxieties endured by the rich in the effort to keep their wealth and for fear of losing it, are scarcely less thah are involved in gaining it. The wise man says: "The abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep." The banks where his treasure is hoarded may break; his barns, elevators, and factories may burn down and the insurance companies may fail; his railroad stock may depreciate; and then there is the standing and awful menace to wealth from the hatred of the poor; from labor riots, dynamite and bomb?these will not let him sleep; "he heapeth up riches and knoweth not who shall gather them." The poor man escapes all these troubles, for he who has nothing has no worry about it, and suffers no hatred on account of it. So the same wise man says: "The sleep of the laboring man is sweet whether he eat little or much ;" but he puts it rather strong in that last clause, for the laboring Soor do sometimes lie awake from hunger, lut if he has enough to eat, his plain food tastes better than the viands of the rich, and his fatigue makes rest and sleep a luxury which many of the pampered children of fortune know nothing about. His daughters are not besieged by fortune hunters; his sons escape many temptations to vice to which wealth would expose them. We do not, however, need to depreciate wordly advantages in order to find compensations for the lack of them. Wealth and the position and influence it gives are not evils in themselves, but "real goods," 1_ ?1_ 1 I Ut L 1 M ^ wnicn, ii rignuy useu, may ue uicssiuga to their possessor and his fellow-men. The pretence of despising them is usually insincere and always foolish. Nor should we seek comfort for our lack of these things in the notion that all who have them are thriftily wicked and destined, like those the Psalmist envied, to be "cast down to destruction and utterly consumed with terrors." The road to wealth is beset with great temptations to which many succumb, but all do not. We leave it to anarchists to regard great wealth as prima facie evidence of corruption. One of the positive compensations for poverty is that it makes exertion necessary. This is deplored by many as a misfortune; but it is really a blessing, because it is indispensable to the best self-development. Somebody has said that all men are constitutionally lazy, and require the constant spur of necessity to stimulate them to do their best. Those who are reared in wealth do not have this incentive, and, hence, very few of them achieve distinction. Itiches promote idleness, and idleness is enervating and injurious. Poverty necessitates industry and sobriety, which are conditions of success in every department of human acti vity. This is the simple explanation of the fact, that with but few exceptions, the greatest and best men either are, or have been, poor. Poverty has a great compensation in the fact the children of the poor are bred to useful callings, and taught to make their own way in the world. The discipline of want in which they are reared is a perpetual admonition to exertion and self reliance, which is more effectual than any other lesson can be. It prepares them to meet with fortitude and cheerfulness the reverses of life, which are usually overwhelming to the children of the rich, who have never acquired the ability to support themselves. Happy is the poor man's son who by the hard tuition of want, has become able to defy "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," conscious that he has already seen the worst, and knows how to sustain himself in the lowest condition. But most pitiable is the helplessness of those who have been reared in luxury and idleness, and are suddenly left penniless, without ability to provide for themselves and those dependent on them, and with no schooling in the endurance of hardship. The poor man's keen enjoyment of the common blessings of lile is one of the greatest compensations of poverty. To him who has learned to moderate his desires by his needs, the necessaries of life are luxuries. Toil to supply his wants is the best of appetisers, and the bread he eats is sweeter for the thought that he has earned it. The happiest children at Christmas time are those whose gifts are comparatively meagre, while the chidren of the rich, who have had a surfeit of toys all the year are exceedingly hard to please. It should be ever borne in mind that riches cannot give happiness. "A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things he possesseth." Who are the happiest men we know? If not the poorest, they are certainly not the richest. Indeed, we often observe and hear the remark that the richest men in town seem careworn and unhappy. The chief barriers to happiness are not in poor circumstances, but in ourselves. The simple lines in an old school reader hit the mark exactly: "If happiness have not its seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest." The essential condition of felicity is virtue, and virtue does not depend upon good or bad fortune. With a good conscience and a disposition to make the most of the temporal blessings we have, we can find happiness in any condition. A strong consolation for the poor, if not a compensation for poverty, is the fact fkrtf Pk??iof vi?oo o nnnr man Tf. molroo lliub VllllOU ?T UO (V puvt IAJUUI XV uiivuvw him seem nearer and dearer to the devout poor, that, while he did not neglect the rich, he associated, for the most part, with people of the humblest circumstances, chose his disciples from their number, made them his intimate friends and companions. Another comfort is the assurance that God cares for the poor. His word isfullofexceedinggreatand precious promises that he will provide for those who trust and serve him. "Your heavenly Father knoweth that he have need of all these things." If God feeds the birds and clothes with beauty the lilies of the field, shall he not much more feed and clothe you ? "Trust in the Lord and do good, so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed."?Interior. INTELLIGENCE OF THE APES. The great man-like apes, as well as some of the inferior four-handed brutes, possess intelligence of an order that is higher than that displayed by the dog or elephant. Thus, it is related of one of the long-tailed American monkeys, that, h? vim* put. himself once with a sharp tool. he would not touch it again, or would handle it with the greatest caution. Lumps of sugar were often given him wrapped in paper, but sometimes a live wasp was put into the package. After this he always first held the package to his ear before opening it in order to detect any movement within. An old pigtailed baboon, in captivity had a habit of adopting small cats and dogs, which she carried about. One of her pets, a small kitten, scratched this creature on one occasion. She seemed much astonished and immediately examined, the kitten's feet, and without more ado bit off the claws. In both these instances there was a shaping of actions in accordance with new and strange experience which must have been the result of some sort of reasoning \ process similar to what we ourselves are conscious of performing. They could not have been the outcome of instinct, for that is the product of the experience of the species. The larger apes, the gibbons, chimpanzees, gorillas, and orang, show this same ability to adapt means to ends, and at the same time show affection, sorrow, compassion for a fellow being in distress, and sometimes a consciousness of having done wrong. In the shape of the brain these men-like apes approach more closely to man than any other of the brute creation. It must never be forgotten, however, that although in general shape and in the arrangement of the elevations and furrows upon the surface, so far as they go, there is this striking resemblance, yet in size and weight their brains are widely separated from that of man. The heaviest brain belonging to one of these creatures as yet examined has been found only one-half the weight of the smallest healthy human brain, although the weight of the entire body of a fullgrown male gorilla is nearly double that of an average man. Again, that of the orang seems to be of a higher type than that of the others, still each of them has some one characteristic that makes it resemble that of men more than does that of either of the others. There is a vast difference between individual monkeys regarding the amount of intelligence they are capable of developing under training. This difference seems to lie in the degree each is capable of fixing his attention. If the attention is easily distracted there is little hope of teaching him anything. Their tendency to imitate is another large factor in teaching them new muscular action. The orang has been observed to display wonderful aptness in overcoming difficulties. In fact, it is difficult to deny them the possession of some degree of reason. One of them wishing to open, a door, his keeper gave him a bunch of fifteen keys; the ape tried them in turn until he found the one he wanted.?Cor. Globe-Democrat. SUNSHINE AND GOOD HEALTH. In the first place, for the ordinary purposes of life, lor all people who are well, or nearly well, the full white light as it comes from the sun, is better than any of the colored rays, which are in themselves the constituent part of the light. It is also most vitalizing and toughening to all feeble or negative persons. But the colored ravs of sunlie-ht as seDarated in a solar spectrum, or as strained off by means of colored glass, constitute all the different sides of power from warmth to coldness, consequently in the treatment of disease, which is one-sidedness of physiological action, we sometimes need some special color which develops the other side, and thus brings out the harmony which we call health. I will merely hint at some brief facts with reference to the full sunlight, reminding the reader that there are several times as much sickness on the shady side of a house or the northern slope of a mountain a3 upon the sunny side; that the insane idea of shading all windows, while saving the tints of the carpet slightly, will fade out human cheeks extensively; that there are patients whose cases have baffled the most eminent physicians while in shaded rooms, and yet they have been entirely healed by getting into the sunlight; that the nude nations of the world, who receive the light on their skin, are rarely, if ever, afflicted with scrofula or most of the other diseases, while their physical power is greater than that of the people who wear clothing; that the terrific calamities of idiocy, shocking deformities, goitres, etc., called cretinism, result from dwelling in the sunless valleys of the Alps; that living in cellars and shadowy places induces consumption, anemia, with its ghastly pallor shriveled features, depression of spirits, lifelessness, excitable nerves, tumors, ulcers, stupid ^ mentality and many other perversions. "The only girls with rosy-red cheeks and sweet breath," says Dio Lewis, "the only girls who become fully ripe and sweet, are those who baptize themselves freely in sunshine." And in railroad cars, and all other nlaoes where the blessed sunshine is trying to come in, our ladies usually shut it out in hot haste, for fear of having their complexion spoil- ? ed. It is true that in very hot weather it is best that the upper brain should be protected from full sunlight, and also that a person walk on the shady side of the street; but in all moderately warm or cold weather the sunny side is far better. Half s Journal of Health. A BOY'S AMBITION. Of course he means to do something for himself by and by, but he does not propose to soil his fingers with work. He is going to be a clerk, or a doctor, or a lawyer. My cheerful young man, are you sure you know what you are talking about? What do clerks earn? How much does a young doctor receive ? Oh ! but you don't mean to be a poor clerk. You intend to be a great lawyer, with ten thousand a year, or a doctor with a carriage. Charmed to hear it. It is a noble resolve, but are you sure you will get there?" Really, now, how can a young man tell, how can he be sure he will succeed? In this way. A man succeeds who falls in love with his work. He thinks about it day and night, he studies it; he reads all he can find on the subject. He tries and tries till he can do it well. Then it is he succeeds. You do not care much about medicine; you have no burning desire to study this magnificent machine, the human body. You don't care very much for dreadful work in hospitals, and yet you mean to be a doctor. You would secretly much prefer to have a kit of carver's tools, but, of course, you could never be a carver by trade ? Let us stop here. This ik the summing up of a vast deal of homely wisdom. Do you love any work ? Is there anything that, if you were independent, you would do before anything else! If there is?do that. There is your success; that way lies all the money, the rewards, the respect of others, and all the real honest happiness you will ever find. Boys make a mistake in thinking that only lawyers, doctors and merchants succeed. It is a terrible blunder to 1 4. A ^ UlrxU leave a naue 111 wiuui juu way umiv.ua first-class workman, and have a chance to win a home, comfort and independence, to go into a profession you do not love. There is but one end to that road?a life of ill-paid drudgery and failure after all. Successful Men.?In every class of business the princes of the trade are the men who began with nothing, and who look on all the attainments of their age with the honest gratulation that they have been dependent for their success and prosperity upon their own integrity, fidelity and skill. And the circumstances of the commencement of active business life should not be regarded as a reason for regret or a cause for sorrow, for there is no other progress less painful or harrassing which will so surely stir up the gift that may be in a man, and bring out for circulation and use the veins of gold which may be embedded in his hidden mines. If he be faithful, honest, honorable, his early straitness of condition will be an everlasting blessing. It ?a orti 1 fVinf nrill trifilrl Ia nrvrvvAnwinfA nnHl. io cun iiiab >vni j iviu vv/ appiv/pnaiu v^uivi' vation the richest and most lavish fruit. But it will involve care, thought, labor, purpose and unshrinking honor to prevent its becoming not merely a perplexity in occupation, but a poison to the soil.? U. S. Economist. JJ6T The noblest characters of earth have their success in an unwavering trust in God; and the greatest victory to be achieved in this world is the victory over self, in order that this trust in God may be perfected. /