Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | ^tt |itt>ep?iti>ent Jfanulj; ^ttfosjjapfr: jfor % ^promotion of % |)oIitttaI, Social, ^gridtltaral anb Commercial Interests of t|e Sont|. j TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 32. 7 ^YOEKYILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1886. 3STO. 46. ? jSttiai ftorj. : FIVE MILLION PODiS.: I By T. WKMYSS REII>. ] CHAPTER XVI. THE SECRET OP THE CIPHER. "Gentlemen," said Bielski, when we were | alone, "I think I have something to say that will surprise you. He held in his hand the little memorandum book, the mysterious i contents of which he had been studying while we had been engaged with Gregson. < "Have you discovered the ciDherf Does it betray anything of the fellow's secrets!" I asked with eagerness. * ] "Yes, sir; 1 have found the clew to the 1 cipher. Do you know what it is! It is an old-fashioned system of short hand, with some new abbreviation) end arbitrary signs i Yon see 1 had to learn short band for my own purposes, so I know all about it" j "And do you mean to say you know this ] system?" i "Oh, dear, nol We are going a little too < fast, if youH excuse me, sir. It may take weeks to unrTddle this; for at the best of j times it is not always easy to decipher short , hand. All the same, I hope we may pick l the lock in a Shorter time than that I have t a friend in London who will h?lp me." 1 "And this is the surprising news you have to tell us, Bielski?" interjec:ed Harding. "No, sir, no. It is something more than ] that You gave me th s book as Fiinter's. j But I find that it is not his at alL It is writ- ; ten by "Francis Branksome, M. D.' Here's j his name upon the first page." He pointed ( to some hieroglyphics that to Harding and ] myself were quite unintelligible. "And have you read that already?" j "Yes, that is quite easy to understand. It ] is written in a system that I know something ] of myself. What makes me most suspicious < about this book is that the cipher has been ^ altered in many ways as the writer has gOD 3 , on with his entries. It is tolerably clear and simple at first, but it becomes mon 1 difficult and complicated as we proceed, j That shows that the man was determined to j hide from everybody what he was writing. ] Why should Dr. Branksome be so anxious 1 to do that?" f "We have beard something about Dr. j Branksome this morning which may per- j haps throw light upon that question," said t Harding. 1 "From the young man outside there?" j "Yes;" and then I related to the detective ( the strange story which bad been told by j Gregson. 1 "By Jove! gentlemen," he cried, slapping his thigh in his exultation, "this is really , magnificent What a case I'll have when I | get that in band! It'll mean a trip to Australia for me,- though; and I don't care so 1 much about that." ! "But what light will it throw on Miss Stancliife's rase? How will it assist her?" ] "How will it assist her? I should say 1 nothing could assist her more. It is the very 1 evidence we have been wanting to weaken 1 the motive for the murder. You must hand < * ' this young man over to me now, gentlemen. < I must get that story of hi< down in ship ^ shape.".. t Bielski was quite excited over the pro)- ( pect of the task, which be bad apparently | ; already allotted to himself, of unraveling the whole mystery of which Gregson professed to have given us the outlines. For my part, I care 1 little or nothing about that mystery in itself. All that 1 wanted was evidence which would deliver my darling, not only from a shameful death, but from that siain of criminality which the verdict of the jury had cast upon her. We had gone far, I felt, towards arriving at the truth; but nothing short of the complete exoneration of Diisy would satisfy me, and that, alas} was apparently still remote. When the detective had taken Gregson off to his own hotel to cross-examine him at his leisure regarding the story he had told us, Harding and I sat together discussing all that had now come to light. Our chief feeling?or mine at any rate?was one of wonder at the fact that Dr. Branksome should be such a villain as Gregson represented. Never, surely, was there a man in this world who looked less like a villain, who bore himself less like one, who seemed to all around him to be more completely above suspicion. I recalled all my dealings with him from that first day when we met in the Grand hotel at Scarborough, and I could not remember a single incident, a look or a tone of the voice, that had been calculated to awaken suspicion in my mind. He was always the same?cool, self-possessed, gentlemanly, frank in manner, brilliant in talk. He had never played the part of Joseph Surface and assumed the functions of a champion of morality; but I remember no one whom I had met in the course of my life who had made a deeper impression on me, or who had more completely won my confidence and regard. Even now I could hardly bring myself to believe that he was a villain ?much le$s a villain of the cold, cruel, calculating type depicted by Gregson. I remembered, however, that my first A quarrel with him had arisen when he dropped to me a hint of his belief that < Daisy was guilty. It was only then that, in j my overpowering love for her, I had broken *? ? 1 1 L.'i.! i covered, but I did not venture to speak of those other discoveries for which we were indebted to Gregson. And yet I could not leave her without some ray of hope to lighten her miserable cell I am afraid that, ere I quitted her side, I had imparted to her a share of the agitation by which I myself was possessed. And yet I could not be sorry, when that brief Interview of mingled bliss and agony came to an end, to think that her dear face no longer wore that sad look of pathetic apathy and resignation which bad distinguished it when we met. It was on my return to the hotel that I found a telegram from Bielski: "Cipher discovered. Most important." The detective evidently did not waste words in telegraphing. I was consumed with eagerness to learn what the important news might be to which we had now got the key. "A gentleman to see you. sir." It was the evening of this same day, and I was sitting by myself in my room. The waiter held the door open, and Dr. Branksome, who mu3t have adopted some special means thu3 to insure his admission to my apartment, entered. "Dr. Branksome!" I said, in astonishment. "Yon here!" He smiled with the grave air that I knew ao well, and, removing bi3 glove, offered his hand to me. What was the magnetic influence which the man exercised over all whe same in contact with him? I cannot tell. I only know that, while 1 cursed myself for my weakness, I dii not refuse his outstretched hand. He Beated himself with great composure, and said: "I must apologize for my untimely intrusion, but I think you will forgive me wb9n you know the purpose of my visit You have seen Daisy, I understand, to-day. I have not bad that privilege myself. I want you to tell me how the poor child is." Daisy's name acted as a spell to save me from the 'strange influence of the maa "Yes," I replied, "I have seen Daisy, Dr. Branksome, I ut I can say nothing to you about her." He arched bis eyebrows in mute surprise. "I think you carry your resentment too far. I admire it but it is unjust" "Hypocrite!" I cried, my impetnous temper once more breaking down all self-erected barriers of prudence. "Hypocrite and liar, 1 know you now. Why do you come to me with your smiling face, and your simulated tenderness for the girl whom you have made your victim?the girl whose very life you have been ready to sacrifice to your devilish plans? Go to somebody else, and smile, and smile, aud play the villain with tbem. Don't :ome to me. J tell you, I know you." ~ - '1 - /..a u:s "Mr. ten ton," ne saia, rising tu ui? icon, n grief bas distempered your imagination you aught at least be able to put some check apon your tongue when you receive a gentleman who has come to you in a spirit of the purest friendship." I )au hed bitterly. "Friendship, purity 1" I cried. "Don't I tell you, sir, that I have found you cut?that I know now for what purpose this sweet girl whom you have made your unconscious too', and whom you have aow abandoned to a shameful death, was adopted by you, given a name to which she aad no right, and palmed off upon a man with whom she had no relationship. I know it all, sir, and the meaning and end of it alt Everything has been done on a grand scale, [ confess. Nobody thought that the magnificent Dr. Branksome was a vulgar scoundrel, plotting by day and night to obtain possession }f Mauleverer's millions!" "Ah! I see it all!" he replied, in tones in which there was veiled irony, that I found it very hard to bear. "I thought that it was grief for Daisy that had turned your brain, [see now that you have'been.listening to the danders of a convicted thief, a discharged servant, a would-be assassin, and that, influenced by his malignant fables, you are inclined to mourn rather Mr. Mauleverer's money than the fate of his niece. If that be so, Mr. Fenton, I must wish you good evening. I can bear a great deal for Daisy's =ake, but I decline to keep any terms with a man who really believes such slanders as ihose which Gregson has imparted to you." He turned to go. A sudden thought struck me. I went forward and laid my hand upon His arm. "Dr. Branksome," I said, trying to keep down the surging emotion which seemed to stifle my utterance, "I may have wronged you. I don't know. All I know is that you ire a wonderful man, and that, in spite of the hideous crimes of which I cannot help feeling that you are guilty, I am drawn towards you in a way that I cannot explain, even to myself. Will you hear me when I ay to you for mercy for Daisy? See, I will grovel at your feet if you will but promise to save her! Take all the accursed money !hat Mauleverer possessed, do with it what you will, but save ber! As you hope for sternal happiness hereafter, as you dread toe punishment wh ch sooner or later falls jpon every wrong-doer, be merciful, and let tnrougu iqo glamour wuitu uou uinutuLu m- i yes ted him. I believe that even now, when I had heard Gregson's story, I should have ] rejected it with my whole heart if it had not been for Branksome's desertion of Daisy. That offense I had never forgiven; and the*' fact that he had been guilty of it enabled me at this moment, despite all my experience in my personal relations with him, to accept the apparently incredible story of his crime which 1 had received from the lips of Gregson. I saw, too, quite clearly, the strong confirmation of that story, which was to be found in the fact that he had acted just as Gregson bad pre iicted that he would act. In the event of the sentence of the law being carried out upon Daisy, he would step into undisputed possession of Mauleverer's millions. Yes; I felt convinced, in spite of all my prepossessions, that I had indeed been, as Gregson had declared, the veriest dupe throughout this business?but the dupe whncn t?ll loinV WflQ QlloVl AS tn HpfV all ordinary sagacity. Bielski, with his usual rapidity of movement. darted off t hat very night to London, hauling the uufortunate Greg>on along with him. It was on the following morning that I had my second interview with my darl-ng. I found her more altered than I had anticipated. The strain upon her mind had evidently been terrible during that week which she had passed in the grim solitude of the condemed cell, with nothing lut a shameful death staring her in the fac3. How my heart overflowed with love and sympathy, when I saw her, pale and worn,, standing upright in the gloomy cell, awaiting me witn a pathetic smile upon her white lips! It was long, long before I could murmur even the first words of greeting. And even then, when I had found my voice, and when I had answered some of the many questions she addressed to me, I labored under serious embarrassment I dared not tell her how I had been engaged during those days which had passed since we met before. I had written to her immediately upon my return from the hall to let ho* tmnur tho* iV>? utrvohnia ha/1 been dis ;he poor child escape irom me net mat nas jeen woven around her." As I live, when 1 looked up into that handlome face, I saw tears in the man's eyes. My own were dim enough, but they were lot mistaken in what they told me they saw. Be grasped my hand with the warmth and irmness of a brother's greeting, and for rnce his measured tones were broken as he \ ins we red me. Teuton, you are an honest man! Forgive ne if I used rough language just now. On ny part I forgive you all your suspicions of ne. You. shall hear from me again, and >erhaps then you will not think so hardly of ne as you do at present" His hand was on the door when he turned ind 8?id; "I think my memory is failing, t had clean forgotten one ot the objects of ny coming to see you. It was to ask whether, >n the occasion of your visit to Great Lorton, rou by any chance took away with you a imall pocketbook belonging to me?a little liary in which I make memoranda, in sboit land, of things which happen to interest ne, but which are of no importance to any jody else." If he had put this question to me two minites before I should openly have exulted jver him. As it was, so great was the power which this extraordinary man was abl9 to wield over those around him. that I answered him now in a manner that might almost have led a bystander to imagine that [regretted the fact which I had to communicate to him. "Yes," 1 said gravely "J took possession af the bock you mention. I did not know that it was yours; I imagined that it belonged to Fiimer. It is not in my possession dow. Bielski. the detective wbom I employed to discover Gregson, took it to London with him yesterday, and 1 received this message from him to-day." 1 banded to Branksome the telegram which announced that the secret of the cipher had been discovered. He glanced at it, and as be did so 1 fancied that a slight pallor passed over his face. But he returned the paper to me with a steady hand, and it was in a voice which showed no traces even of the emotion be bad displayed when he responded to my appeal on behalf of Daisy that he said: "It is curious that they should think they have di>covered my cipher. The very fact that they talk of the contents of the book as important, tells me that they are utterly wrong. Eut I must not detain you longer, Mr. Fenton. I promise you that you shall bear from me within the next twenty-four hours." In another moment he had silently quitted the room. The "newspaper train," as it is called, reaches York from London shortly before ten in the morning. It brought with it Bielski, who bad telegraphed to appriso me of his coming, and whom I accordingly awaited on the platform. The detective lookr 1 somewhat haggard and excited when he greeted mo. "Mr. Harding here'" he said. "I am glad -?!i 1 i. 1..1L T 1 Ul JU X WQ1H jrUU uutu. X UttVO auuiciuui^ very important to lay before you." We hurried to my room, where Harding awaited us. Breakfast was on the table; but Bielskl seemed little disposed to eat or drink until ha made his great communication to us. The instant the waiter had left the room be addressed us. "Gentlemen, it is all right. The young lady is as innocent as a dove, and in fortyeight hours she'll be as free as we are. You were right, Mr. Fenton, in your guess at the way it was done; and now I can prove it." What was it that made the little detective, with his shrewd, keen face, stop suddenly in the middle of what was evidently meant to be a long harangue! It was simply the sudden springing to his feet of Harding, whose hands the next moment held mine, and were violently shaking them, while, with a voice curiously unlike his usual one, be gasped out; "Old fellow?so glad?God bless you!" And I? But I shall not weary the reader with any analysis of my emotions. It was a dark December morning; ah, how unlike that bright sraimer weather in which Daisy and I had first met and learned to love each other! But when these words fell from the detective's lips, the summer sun shone out again, and the birds sang in my heart, and the very heavens seemed lo be opened above me. "I don't wonder at your being upset, gentlemen. I feel a bit queer myself; but you must really compose yourselves and listen to what I have to tell you. I never bad such a story to tell before. Lor bless me! I'll never believe in clever men again. Every one of tbem is alike. They play their game so beautifully tbat you think there can be no catching'em; and then, lo and behold! you find that all the time they have been playing your game, 100, ana 111 iue way uat juu least of all expected." Having doliverel himself of this exordium, Bielski took from his pocket a small parcel, from which he duly extracted the little memorandum book I had found at Great Lorton Hall. "This book, gentlemen, is neither more nor less than the diary of Francis Branksome. Esquire, M. D., for nearly the whole of tb9 present year. And in it Dr. Branksome has set down, all as plain as a pikestaff, the whole history of his own proceedings durjng that time, and of the crimes which he has r committed, inclnding the murder of Mr. t Mauleverer, and the plan by which the fus- J1 picion of that murder was to be thrown upon Miss Stancliffe." v A cry of horror broke from the lips of I Warding. For my part, I sat spellbound n and silent t "I never saw anything in my life before to '' compare with this, gentlemen," continued I the detective, shaking his head emphatically. "I have seen a many queer things in my time; but never anything like this. Here's a clever man, an educated man, a man who j thinks that he can take in everybody around ^ him, and that we are all nothing more than ^ chessmen to be moved about by him at bis pleasure?aye, and a man who does move ? people about just as be pleases for year J after year; and yet this clever man is sucb a . fool that be thinks be can put his secrets into writing, and prevent anybody discovering 'em, simply because he mixes up two syg(emt of short hand, and makes one of bis #J - * ? > i v;_u i.AAR u.'o ,mo?,t ? 1 OWQ out Ol CUi, III HUIVU LU acc|/ uu Ul?ll J. ^ Bielski looked round as though to ask our opinion on the subject. * . "I remember," said Harding, "a ease of a . murderer in Paris who was convicted , through a diary in which he left a record of . all his Crimea " v "Do you indeed, sir! Well, all I can say is that it is the first time Pve come across such . a case. But now, gentlemen, I must tell you what the diary says. It took me and my mate all day yesterday and down to three o'clock this morning to translate it; J5 and we shouldn't have got done with it yet . if it hadn't been that luckily this clever Dr. Branksonie had chosen for his cipher two 0 systems, both of which my friend happened . to know." . Thereupon Bielski produced a large batch of manuscript, and he began to turn over ? the pages, most of which I saw were covered with his handwriting. J "My friend deciphered, and I wrote down . as he read it," be explained to us. "I am . not going to trouble you with the early part of the story, though there is plenty that I . 6ball have to deal with afterwards. I'll keep straight to what concerns this case. Here is the first extract after he has seen you, Mr. ^ Fenton: 'Arrived Scarborough six a. m. Went ashore at eight, and joined the boss and r Daisy at Grand hotel. The old man very _ well; appfears to have got over the attack of bronchitis. Looks as if he might live twenty ^ years yet Had the usual business talk with J him, and settled everything satisfactorily. . No suspicion of Fosdyke's game.' Fos- ' dyke's game," said the detective, breaking off suddenly, "was to transfer an immense fl number of Mauleverer's bonds into portable 11 and transferable securities. The rogues ? were determined, whether the man lived or " died, to dip their hands into his pockets. . 'Found to my disgust that Daisy has made the acquaintance of a young man named ^ Fenton. I suspected something from her a manner of speaking of him. It seems that n he Drotected her from that brute Gregson at ^ York railway station, and she repays him ? by falling in love with him. I made an . opportunity of observing th^m both closely. . There is no doubt that be is fond of her, and 1 I And that he has got an influence over ber . which I must destroy as speedily as possible. A commonplace, inoffensive young man, but f in my way. and therefore to le got out of it'" ? This extract affords a fair sample of the ' pirfect frankness with which Branksome 1 had committed his thoughts to paper There t was not the faintest attempt In the diary at I self-deception. If he told a lie, he said so i straight out; if he committed any crime, I trivial or great, it-was described with cynical ? plainness of speech. If the whole of that t extra ordinary volume were to be published I it would be one of the most interesting psy- ? etiological revelations ever given to the world. ' But it must suffice for my purpose here to E give but a bi ief series of extracts from the c diary. The entry referring to my visit to t the ball was as follows: ' "September 20.?This morning I procured E from London my old medicine chest. Found a 1 good supply of strychnia. Ascertained that 1 the boss had got a new box of pills from ' Carrick yesterday. Have been busy expjri- ' menting ali the morning, making up pow. t ders in imitation cf Carrick's. Fenton catne 1 od a visit just before dinner hour?more des- I perately in love than ever. After dinner he ' and Daisy went into the garden together, * and 1 set Flinter to watch them. He was c the witness of a very pretty love 6cer.e? < Daisy and her young gentlemen billing and i cooine in the most approved style. When I 1 got the boss away from his guest at night I told him the whole story in my own fashion and let him know that I hat ascertained quite enough to prove that Fenton was a scamp, probably in league with Gregson. I had a little difficulty with bim at first. He seemed to have taken rather a liking to the lad. But when I told bim that be had been speaking contemptuously of him (Mauleverer) to Daisy, and speculating upon the chance of his dying soon, and leaving them - in possession of bis wealth, his temper changed, and he became furiously angry, and told me that Fenton must be got out of the bouse immediately after breakfast to-morrow morning. Flinter, I find, La? grave suspicions that Fenton knows something, and insists upon his being removed from the spot at the moment the grand coup is struck." Then came other entries describing my departure from the ball, and the way la I which Branksome succeeded in inflaming I the mind of the doomed Mauleverer against both me and Daisy. Finally came the story of the execution of the vile plot itself. "October ?.?Daisy was sent off to Little Lorton with strict orders to procure enough strychnia to poison all the rats in the ball. Brought back a big parcel of the stuff, and seemed quite frightened at having it in her possession. Am keeping up the estrangement between her and the boss. Went into the letter's room to-nighfr after he bad gone to bed, and suggested that he dicl not look well. Proposed he should have one of bis powders. He assented to this, and 1 duly | dffriinistered it to hint. On taking the j powder from the box in the dressing room, I I slipped in my own powder of strychnia. I 1 saw that the powders were taken in regui lar order, so placed mine near the bottom of ! the box. It will come due, 1 calculate, m a, | fortnight. 1 "October 8.?Left hall this morning for Scarborough and the yacht. Fosdyke went with me, having evaded the old man's request that he would complete his new will at once. Query: Thai will is not very iikeiy | to be executed now, is it? Took an affectionate leave of tbe old gentleman, and felt | really sorry to think 1 should see him no 1 more. On getting to Scarborough, found it | was a stormy diy. F1 inter had carried out i my orders about Fenton, aud the latter was j ] safe on board In the yacht's 'kitty."' This particular book ended at this point. ] There were uo further entries after that re- i . lating to my abduction. i "Now, gentlemen, you see it all," said ) Bielski, when he had finished the reading. .1 ! "We have to do with the greatest scoundrel 1 I the Lord ever sent upon this earth. But w? j have got liim tight.'' He pulled out his watch. "By this time, Mr. Fenton, our i friend, Dr. Francis Branksome, ought to be ] safe in tbe hands of the Scotland Yard de; tective whom 1 brought down from London, 1 but whom I did not think it absolutely 1 necessary to introduce to you in the station ] two hours ago." j "You have got a warrant against him)" i i "Of course we have. When we had found < as much as was necessary out of this book, I rushed off to Scotland Yard, and left that j part of the business in their hands. It will \ be all right provided Branksome has not got j a hint" ! "I am afraid be has got a hint," I said, feeling more than a little guilty. , "Eh, what do you say, Mr. Fentonf" cried (he detective, wheeling round upon me and eyeing me sharply. I told him tbo whole story of Branksome's visit to me, and of bow he had even seen the telegram which Bielski himself had dispatched. Bitterly did I uow upbraid myself for my folly. 1 saw how the villain, by that momentary assumption of emotion, had once more overmatched me, and had won front me the secret he came to learn. The detective wasted no time in any reproaches. He snatched up his hat and j rushed from the room. When be was gone, Harding and 1 discussed the possible results 1 of Branksome's escape. Anxious as we were that, he should be brought to justice, our chief thought was for Daisy; and we cared ! little what became of the villain now that i her life and honor were secure. > In little more than half an hour poor Bielski returned, with chagrin written in unmistakable characters upon his face. I "Just what I expected," ho cried; "the oguehas been too sharp for us, after all; go< iut, thank God, be has not gone until the fid oung lady has been as good as cleared." mi He threw a telegram upon the table. It tbi Fas from the chief constable at Bear* cij trough, in answer to one from Bielski, an- thi ouncing that the Golden Hawk bad sailed ris hat morning, destination unknown, carry- we ag with ber Dr. Branksome and Benjamin Bn Winter. du CHAPTER XVIL jj?; Da BRANKSOME'S LAST. ? Early on the day following that on which pr Jielski had informed us of bis extraordinary iscovery, my good.friend Harding found ? himself at Whitehall, in the room of the j0l lerroanent under secretary of the home de- ^ lartment Belmore was with him, and they nQ ad already drawn up a brief statement of un he facts which had been discovered with egard to the murder of Mr. Mauleverer , nd the actual position of Daisy. On9 by ne Mr Belmore placed these facts before he be great official, and showed, not merely low the strong evidence which bad been CQ, irought against my darling at the trial had een neutralized by subsequent discoveries, * ^ ut how there was now positive testimony? eBtimony of an extraordinary kind, indeed, ut still testimony which was conclusive? w ritb regard to the actual criminal and bis ,W( eal accomplices, for whose arrest warrants Jn ad been issued. The under secretary listened with patience ^ nd attention, and then armed with the docu- t0 oents which they banded to him, he went to be apartment of the secretary of state. A ew minutes later they stood in the presence f the minister himself. m< "1 have been deeply interested in this case, j.u Ir. Belmore. and very much troubled by it. t was so difficult to believe that a young ;irl could have been guilty of a crime of , bis sort. And yet the evidence was apiarently complete, and unfortunately I have oo much reason to know that we can never rust absolutely to antecedent improbabili- M les in cases of this kind." . "But now, 6ir, I think you will admit that no ho ovldenee is clear as far as it eoes. and m hat it establishes the innocence of this oung lady." ci( "I must see the judge first in the matter," jj epiied the minister, cautiously. "And may 1 venture to ask," interposed at larding, "that you will act as soon as you lossibly can, sir? I need not point out to ou the cruel position of this young lady at m he present moment, or of those to whom she ' dear." ? "My dear sir, I shall act at once; In such , case delay would be inexcusable. But you aust forgive me if .1 withhold my own j pinion until I have ascertained that of the udge." Z Half an hour later I received the telegram ur or which I was waiting with breathless imatienceat York Alasl itdid not announce, pg s I had hoped might be the care, the im* ?pj lediate discbarge of my darling. Patfencel atiencel w But at nightfall the glad news came. Secretary of state will advise queen to grant ree pardon. Formalities can be completed cu o-morrow." And the next day 1 was at the castle by aybreak, waiting to be admitted to the ^ overnor's room. I was too soon, of course. w Iven when officialism acta with unwonted ^ peed, it cannot outstrip the impatience of a (e over. It was now the 18th of December. jje n a week longer Christmas would be with g, is. Twelve days had elapsed since I had n< leard the shameful doom pronounced upon oc ny beautiful darling?the woman whom I lad chosen out of all the world as worthiest m ind best, aye, and who had chosen me, all c| in worthy as I was?to keep that tender jj leart of hers?the purest and truest that ver beat in a human bosom. 31 Only twelve days since that awful scene ^ vben Daisy and I had seemed to stand toother within the very jaws of death! I ould not believe it Half of my entire life ^ ippeared to have been expended in the y -aried emotions through which I had passed w ince then. The officials of the prison were ong, long in coming. I walked to and fro ^ mpatiently. 1 declare this waiting now ^ vas harder even than had been that waiting et or the verdict, when my darling's fate pj mng in the balance. 1 recalled all the fa iistory of those eventful four months which iad passed since I first saw her in her peer- ?( ess beauty, and the full flush of health and re trength, in the railway station of this very :ity; and while I rejoiced more than ever at be blessing which bad been bestowed upou ne in her love, my heart cried out to heaven ^ or pardon for all those errors which n my recklessness and blindness I gC iad committed, and from which she bad ^ iuffered. Ah, if it could but have come over J igaln, how differently I should have acted, . ind with what loving care I should have ^ ibielded her even against that infernal net- ^ vork of lies which had been woven so cun- ? ilngly about heri So I thought, as 1 looked . sack upon it all; and so, possibly, it might 0 lave been if that strange drama could have jeen re-enacted. But who can tell? Even ei 20w, when I fully recognize the blunders of ivbich I was guilty, the folly, the Uindness, Jj :be stubbornness I displayed in my dealings . with Mauleverer and his friends, I some- 81 times ask myself whether my blunders may sot have been more useful than my pru- j' lence would have been. 8 But what is that sound? The door opens, 0 ind I turn to greet the governor with the onced-for news. No: the eovernor is not :here. It is my darling herself who stands ? before me, pale as a statue of marble, worn ind wasted by the strain of an agony which *V might have brought even a strong man to the J; rrave, but with all the light of life and love r1 shining upon me from her star-lit eyes. ^ : ll> were at Scarborough two days later f \Ve were at Scarborough two days later, staying once more in the Grand hotel The j ol great bouse was practically empty now, and je Daisy and Mrs. Cawthorno might, if they ^ pleased, have had their choice of any of the ^ rooms in the building. I had induced Hard- JU Ing to come with us to the place where I had first met him. It was not merely that I * needed to consult him on a hundred matters that concerned the interests both of Daisy ^ and myself. In that fierce ordeal through ^ which my darling and I had passed I had learned to love this true and tried friend as I ^ bad loved few men before. ^ It was on this second day of our stay in the hotel that I received the following letter jt from the arch villain .who had so nearly by bis crimes marred the lives of both Daisy and myself. The letter had been posted at ^ Scarborough on the very day on which the f. Golden Hawk sailed for its unknown port. nut, strange to say, it uau oeen uirecteu to i me, not at York, where the doctor knew that I wasstaying, but at Great Lorton Hall, from which place it had reached me, after ]-] jome delay, at Scarborough. e] "Golden Hawk, | Off Scarborough, Dec. 16. i "Dear Mr. Fenton: 1 promised to let ycu hear from me within twenty-four hours, ^ and 1 mean to prove myself a man of my M word. 1 said that when you did hear of me lli again I should probably cause you to think hi less hardly of me, and I still trust that it si may be so. gg "You are a young man who is not wholly lacking in discrimination, though in your Impulsiveness you make some very great mistakes. You are probably now cursing , what you may regard as the blunder you ^ made last night when you revealed to me the *1 telegram from that detective with the forsign name on the subject of my diary. Pray Hi console yourself. Even from your?and \v Daisy's?point of view, you did not blunder if there, as I shall soon prove to you. yj "Every man, great or 6inall, has some weakness. Mine has been a very simple ?ne. I have had no confederate all through j my life; even Flinter, and one or two more In Australia who have been permitted to j understand something of my schemes, have never really been in my confidence. I am a :lable~belng, as you know. I could cone in nobody else; I made a confidant of pself. Don't suppose that I did not know re was a risk in doing it, even with the )ber I had adopted. I was well aware of at fact But there must be an element of k in all things human, and the chances ire certainly a thousand to one against y harm happening to me through the inIgence of this little foible. Now, of . urse, all your petty moralists, from your r tective upward, will preach their little ri mon about the blindness with which " ovidence afflicts all criminals, and will e iwa prtimlv to their own satisfaction that. I am a great villain, I am a still greater jL I deny it I am no fool; and even 6er the lesson I bave now bad, I should t\ t hesitate once more to repeat?of course, a der different conditions?the tndiscretioa e lich has cost me so dear now. "My dear sir, let me remove any difficulty 9 at may now lie in your way. If ! bad no! c ard from you of the discovery of my v )her, and if, instead of writing this letter n mfortably to you on board our beautiful e cbt, I bad been in jail Just now on tba r arge of murder, 1 should bavs been com- v lied in self-defence to put you and all your ends to an amount of trouble that 1 think , >uid have far outweighed tb? object you tra'seeking to attain. Moreover, 1 should 8 all probability bave baffled tbs whole of u. Gut your appeal to me last night, upled with the fact that I shall certainly t now be permitted to gather the fruit for nch I have waited so long, has caused me come to a conclusion of which 1 think you ght to hear with gratitude. I do not !an to fight. 1 am leaving you foreveri II shall do what I can in departing to 100th your way, and to leave you and kisy to think not unkindly of me "I acknowledge, therefore, in the most rmal manner, that the story set forth in / diary is literally true. 1 murdered r Mauleverer Id the manner there.d daribed?by substituting a powder of strycna for one of bromide of potassium. I had i accomplice in my crime save Benjamin inter. Daisy is absolutely innocent; and, nu<?h TiTwHvIrA mnv hum hud hi9 SUSDI 3as, he knew nothing. Foedyke, my dear r. Fenton, is a very commonplace sort of gue. I shall do nothing so absurd as to tempt to justify or palliate my conduct to iu. I have my own justification, and I sure you it is altogether satisfactory to yself. My digestion is excellent; I sleep rfectly; and I know no more of a re caching conscience than of a disordered smach. "There is one point on which, by the way. should not like either you or Daisy to lie ider any misapprehension. Though it was cessary, in case of need, to place Diisy ider suspicion of being the real murderer Mr. Mauleverer, there was not the slightt intention of putting her life in jeopardy, lat was your doing, my dear Mr. Fenton, id you remember the hot indignation hich Flinter? who always bad a sneaking ndness for the dear girl?showed when he ard of what I must say was your inexisable rashness at Trondhjem. We wanted create evidence against her, not that we ight fling her into the dock to take ir chance before a jury, but in order that e might have som) means of counteracting e influence which unfortunately you emed to have obtained over her, and of toping both her and you in our power, ut then, 'the best laid schemes,' etc. I am ) mouse, however, even though on this icasion my plans have 'gone agley.' j "Daisy is the daughter of a gentleman, a an of birth, refinement and education, a ergyman of the Church of England, who ed at Melbourne in 18?. T know nothing her family hi-tory, save that her name is :eldon; but you may depend upon it that eis, in every sense of the word, a lady. "And now. nothing remains but that I lould say, 'Bless you, my children,' and let ie curtain be rung down upon the play! ou will have Mauleverer's millions upoo hich to enjoy yourselves?minus the comiratively trivial sum which my necessities ive compelled me to appropriate; you will ive youth, beauty, good conscience, etc., c. Really, my dear Fenton. 1 envy you. ray, when you are happy, bear in mind the ict that you owe your wife to me. "And now, farewell! This Is the last time , >u will ever hear of your sincere but unpentant Francis Branksosie." This extraordinary letter, which left the - -? -1 a aa 9 cuarauuer aiiuu^t tia uiuuu wi uu ligma to me as it had ever been, did someling to clear away any remaining mystery ( mnected with the tragedy; and it conrmed my darling In the intention which 3he id formed that under no circumstances ould she touch the money of the man who id taken her as his child, and loved and meflted her, under the influence of the audulent delusion impressed upon him by ranksome. Legally, she was full mistress all Mauleverer's wealth?the amount of hich we soon found had been greatly ! caggerated. She made nse of her powers rer it to transfer the whole sum to trustees >r the execution of the purposes which lauleverer bad named in the will he never gned. Aud so. though I married the heiress of le millionaire. I got a penniless bride. But, range to say, I have never regretted that ict; nor, I verily believe, would Daisy herdf exchange her present lot for that which le enjoyed when men crowded round her j iger to pay court to her as the inheritor of | le rich man's wealth. The brightness of : ir honeymoon, which came very soon after ' iose tragic days of which I have written in lese pages, has never quite died out. Nny, j renews itself from year to year; and we e fain to acknowledge that we are happier aw because of the sorrows through which : e have passed together. Mr. Fosdyke, the clever attorney, had been 10 clever for once. He knew nothing of the lot to murder Mauleverer?of that the au- j lorities were fully satisfied; but he had for- j itten certain elementary rules of his own i rofessiou in his dealings with the rich man's ! roperty, and so one day he was struck oflt >e rolls, and consigned for the remainder of is life to poverty and ignominy. What became of Dr. Branksome and his j :complice. Flinter, is a secret which time j is never revealed. The last word that ever ' lached me from them was the letter which i le reader has now before him; the last that as ever seen of them was on that gray ecember morning when the Golden Hawk 1 ipped out of Scarborough bay like a 1 ladow, never more to come within mortal jo. Various are the rumors that I have 1 jard regarding this arch villain whose dupe was along with so many others. Some oke of hint as leading a life of sybaritic | If-induigence in an isle of the ^Egean; j ,Ders aescriDea mm as ucing a prominent, j ader in a revolution in the newest of the i entral American republics, while there j at one story?to which I myself attached ore weight than I did to the rest?which , oka of the sinking of a largo schooner icht, name unknown, in the English cban- ! >1, by a homeward bound P. & O. steamer, ! iring a dense fog, some four-and-tweuty l jurs after the Golden Hawk left Scar- i >rougb. That a yacht was lost, with all i inds, at that time, and that the Golden awk has never more been heard of, are cts admitted by everybody. But whether was the vessel which carried the sin-laden ul of Francis Branksome that went down suddenly in the cold waters of the channel one of those mysteries which will never be vealed until the sea gives lip her dead. THE END A Good Judge.?Judge William . Potter, of Mystic, Conn., was ected over 40 years ago a school vis-: or. All the old school teachers were 1 camined by him. One embarrassed indidate relates that when he trern- , ied for fear he should not pass in istory, it being a new study, the ex- j niner very gravely said : "Now, , r, I am going to give you a pretty ivere examination in history, but I j mil put you the hardest questions rst." This scared the candidate al-j lost out of his wits, but when he as asked, "Who was the first man ?" j le candidate laughed aloud and an- j vered all questions readily there:ter. The theory of the examiner : ] as founded on his observation that j ( you can excue laugiuer, nnum-j issment disappears, and the candi- , ate will show and do his best. , t 1ST The bravest boy will quail when ( e appears in public forlhe first time ' rter he has had his hair cut by his < mther.?New Haven News. OUR NEW STORY. i A MOST FASCINATING SERIAL To Begin Next "Week. In the next issue ol'the Enquikkk will ' e commenced the publication of a splen- j id Serial Story by Alan Mum, who is j apidly taking front rank as one of the lost popular story writers of the day, j n titled 1 BEAUTY'S SECRET, ! 1 l most fascinating Story, full of pathos j nd fun, of comedy and tragedy, of nov1 and surprising situations, and of ab- ] irbinginterest from the beginning to the ( lose of the last chapter of the Sequel; < rliile the entire Story conveys a golden j lorai and is as wnoiesume as u is uncisting. This is pronounced the best Stoy yet written by Alan Muir, and rhile he does not affect the sensational tyle, his stories are unique in plot, hrilling in recital, wholesome and altoether delightful. READ THE OPENING CHAPTERS! DRAMATIS PERSON/E. ^ ^ i LADY BEAUTY." tlie Sweetest, Dearest, Truest o' ( Girls, un<l Charming to Her Latest Day. 1 >'""V F 'ERCIVaL BRENT, "Lady Beauty V First Borer, Who Fell in Love With Her Picture When He Was Fifteen Thousand Miles Away. :AROL'>:r, c!ster to "I-ndv B nuty," Tall and Divinely Fair. IIRS. BARBARA TEMPLE, a Woman Who Dearly Loved the World, and Who at Seventy-live Cap tlvated a Youngish Man. Iin PRENDERGAST, "Lady Beauty's" Second I.over. To Hlni Her Presence was Light and Sim-hlne. Her Absence. Darkness. SYBIL, SMh- to "Lady Beauty," Being Beautiful In Face and Form, but Not Possessed of "Beaut} 'a Secret." KGERTON DUOLITTLE, a Featherweight, who Dreaded the Thought of Reading Anything Erroneous. KEV. 5IU. BRENT, the Rector, who Made an Extraordinary Discovery. SIR. GOLDMORE Type of Solid Englishman, who Played a sharp Trick on a Scapegrace Nephew. Rend "REALTY'S SECRET," the Best Story of the Year. Tube commenced in the Enqitirkk of S'ovember 24th. Specimen copies sent >n application. This story will run through our colnnns for several weeks. To those desiring to subscribe from date of first jhapter until January 1st, 1887, we will 'urnish the paper for TWENTY-FIVE 2ENTS. Address L. M. Grist, Yorkville, S. C. ^tisrcUaacous ?* adiug. BROTHER GARDNER. A note has been left on my desk axin' ne why de present aige has not produced i Cicero, Diogenes or Milton. I answer ;o de effect dat each aige has produced of tself an' fur itself. Diogenes was looked upon as a wise nan in his day and aige. Put him an' lis tub on airth to-day, an' it wouldn't be ;wenty-four hours befo' he'd be jerked to Je jug fur a crank, an' de law would fo'ce lim to cut his ha'r, dig out his finger nails m' nut on a clean shirt. Cicero was applauded by thousands fur iiis masterly oratory. At dat aige de gift if gab was a rare thing. In dis aige you ;an attend a five dollar lawsuit befo' any ustice of de peace an' find a match fur I'icero in a three dollar lawyer. If he lould drap down among us he'd find it iiard work to get a resolushun fur a new sidewalk frew de city council. Shakespeare was a big-bug fur de aige in which he lived. He was probably de inly person on airth who could writ his writings, an' he desarved all praise. If tie was among us to-day he'd find ebery lewspaper givin' him de guy, an' all de boysyellin' out "chestnut!" as his works appeared in Seaside form. Dis aige demands a different style. We want sunthin' 'bout angels comin' down an' takin' leetle chil'en straight up to Heaben, or a feller gwine out to Texas an' killin' a half a dozen Injuns a day fur a vacashun. We want plain English, widout any ha'd words in it. We doan't know nuflin 'bout me Lord, me Duke, me lady an' sich, an' we doan' want to. Dis aige has produced five thousand pussons, who, while dey ?an't write like Shakespeare did, kin waltz all aroun' him in keepin'dereader's ha'r on eand from de fust paige to de last. Xero was a big gun fur his aige, but jest imagine sich a chap cavorting, around' dis kentry at dis day an' date. De werry fust time he sounded his bazoo in the .Ninth ward a peeler would give him de collar an' walk him down, an' de next mawnin' you'd see it in de papers dat ole Nero was sent up fur sixty days fur disturbin' de peace. We has no poet to ekal Milton, hut if we had de newspapers wouldn't gin him a fair show. Dey'd refer to his produckshuns as spring poetry, an' he'd likely be dubbed de Ba'n-gate Balladistof Indiana. Dis aige doan' cry fur poetry half as much as fur pork, and a chap like Milton would hev to turn a hand-organ to make a living. I)e aige doan' demand no great man in any line. When it does he will bob to de surface an' his name will appear in de papers. We am all wise 'nuff in our way. We am all philosophers 'nuff to see why water won't run up hill, an' statesmen 'nuff to know dat what ails dis kentry am its over production of bootjacks. My a dvice to you am to keep right on being common folks. If you want to git above de common herd pay cash fur your groceries; let odder folkses wood-piles alone; keep whisky an' sich at arm's length; put in six days a week at hard' work; read mo' skule books an fewer novels. You may not become a Napoleon nor a Plato, but you'll be remembered in your own tiayburhood when de names of State Guv'nors hev bin forgotten.?Detroit Free Press. Substituted for a Dress Coat.?I met John E. Ward at Morristown N. J., a few days ago. Mr. Ward represented the United States in China as Minister during the latter part of Buchanan's administration. The conversation drifted todipomatic etiquette, and I asked Mr. Ward how he got over the dress coat question when he was our Minister to China. He replied : "At the time I was in China the ordinary dress of the American citizen would hardly have been a fit one in which to have appeared on a State occasion. The Chinese knew little about the Americans at that time, and it was, perhaps, more necessary to create a good impression there than at other places where our dipomatic relations hflrl hnnn Inner pstn hi ished. For several decades I have been the captain of the Chatham Artillery, a little, company in a New Jersey village. I was captain of it at this time and I had a captain's uniform, a part of which was a dress coat with military lace on the sleeve and with brass buttons upon which were the letters "C. A," meaning the Chatham Artillery. On my way to China I stopped at Paris, and had the military lace taken off and diplomatic lace put on. This coat was buttoned up close at the throat, and the whole was not a bad looking uniform. In China I wore it upon all State occasions, and it was generally admired. The Chinese often asked me what the letters "C. A." stood for. I replied that the suit was meant as an honor to China, and that the letters stood for China and America, and in order to show how much our country thought of China, we had honored her by putting the C. before the A. This explanation was taken in good faith and the uniform was a success."?IVashington Letter in Cleveland Leader. ? How Birds Fly.?In a paper recently read before the American Association for the Advancement of Science, at Buffalo, I. Lancaster gave some insight into the means by which soaring birds kept themselves suspeuded in raid-air He spent five years on the Gulf coast of Florida observring the flight of birds. His method was to assume a dress painted to resemble a pine bough, and taking up his position in a tree-top watch the birds for hours together. This is one of the things he saw: "The gannet, when a tree-top near their breeding place was occupied, would float within a foot of my face as rigidly immovable as a board. They have alighted on my head with their toes in my mouth. They would weigh as much as eight pounds, with about four or five square feet of wing surface. A stiff breeze was required to float them if they remained in one place. They seemed to sleep, as their eyes were closed for an hour at a time. They were in a position of perfect equilibrium. I have gently pushed them with a stick in various directions while they were thus balanced, and any effort at all would move them in any direction until they would waken, which they were not long in doing. The position of the wings of all birds when soaring was on an incline, highest in front. The heavier the bird the more the inclination. These gannets would float at an angle of about fifteen degrees with the horizontal. The frigate birds at very low inclination, often seemingly nearly level; but all birds had the power of varying their inclines to suit their purposes." .. Mr. Wanamaker's Plan.?The greatest merchant in Philadelphia is Mr. \Vanamaker. This is the theory upon which he places his advertising business: "There is always some trading doing, even in the riniioot cDocnn nnd we strive to divert the floating or transient trade to our place. Again, when business ordinarily is dull, people who see our invitations in the newspapers are more apt to read them for the reason that they have more time to read, and there are lewer advertisments then. "Many merchants who have been in business for a certain number of years will say: 'Oh, we are so well known it is no use to advertise.' There never was a greater mistake. We would assoon think of cancelling our insurance policies as our advertising contracts. We spend more money with newspapers each year that goes by; there are more people who want goods, and new trade is always coming to the surface. "Advertising that is well done is cumulative in its character. It is like the com pounding of interest. An advertisement in a daily paper one day will, in all probability, make a good return to the merchant who has the goods the people want at the right prices; each successive advertisement that he puts in gains an impetus and influence from the original one and so it counts up until the name of the firm gets what is equivalent to the 'good will' of a successful business, besides deriving the direct profit from immediate sales caused by the advertising. "To advertise well, a merchant should give as much care to his newspaper space <iq ho rlnPQ tn nnv nthpr dpnnrtmpnf' nf his business. As a general thing a merchant can well afford to spend in newspaper advertising from one-third to one-fifth theamount of all his other total expenses. If a man in business talks as earnestly through his newspaper when he is addressing one or two hundred thousand people, simultaneously, as when he is talking to one customer, he cannot fail to make a success of newspaper advertising.?Philadelphia News. - ? Hi>s'ts For The Husband.?Granting that a wife owes duty, loyalty and obedience to her husband, has she not a right to demand a great deal in return ? His confidence she surely should receive, if worthy of it. A serious source of matrimonial trouble is concealment practiced by a husband concerning his movements when away from home, especially if any of them, however really innocent in themselves, are capable of looking otherwise, and, through the wanfrof full knowledge, are also capable of being misinterpreted by his wife, if she has any hint of them at all. If it is his own affair, and is unfit for his wife to know, then it is generally to be assumed that it is an affair in which ? he has no right to be engaged, and his wife's acquaintance with it means ruined happiness; if it is another man's affair^ then equally he has no right to mix with it it it exciuaes nis wne irom nis confidence in its regard, has any influence upon his own conduct or obligations, or is able to give her one distressing suspicion of any kind?suspicion of either wrong-doing on the husband's part, so often madness to a loving wife, or of his interests entering into something from which she is shut out, which is almost equally disheartening and disturbing. A worthless wife might not deserve trust; but the wife who has made her hushand's interests unselfishly her own, is stabbed to the quick by the want of confidence. The wife's feelings here have a right to be regarded, even when they seem to be unreasonable; where the affections are involved the reason will not always answer to the call, and it is better that reason should not be required to assert itself by the effort to counteract the evi. dence of the senses. A deeper reason tells her that, if he loved her, he could find no happiness in the secret side of matters where she does not enter, and hopeless misery is the certain result. ?? ? Breaking on the Wheel.?Refering to the notice recently published by some German papers about the last execution at the stake in Berlin, which took place on the 18th of August, 1786, the Vienna Allgenieine Zeitung reminds its readers that the cruel practice of "breaking at the wheel" was carried out for the last time at Vienna in the same year. One Zalheim, a very poorly-paid clerk of th? Vienna municipality had a female relative in comparatively good circumstances, who often assisted him with money. He invited her to his lodgings and murdered her, hiding the body in the garret. Neglect of some very trifling precaution betrayed him. He was arrested, very closely examined and confessed his guilt. He was sentenced to be broken on the wheel, and further to be tortured with red hot pincers as he walked to the place of execution. The Emperor Joseph II. was opposed on principle to all capital punishment, following the doctrine of Marquis \ Beccaria. But when the case was submitted to him he exclaimed, striking his forehead, "Heavens, to what are we like ly to come; ana aeciarea nimsen auiie agreed on this occasion with the judges. But a great reaction set in shortly after the execution, the terrible cruelty of which shocked people's sense of humanity. An anonymous pamphlet appeared, entitled, "Demonstration that Zalheim was the victim of the ignorance of the judges, and that his execution was an act of brute force. By a Man. Printed at Otaheitie." A little later the Emperor issued an ordinance abolishing this form of punishment. . "Beauty Is Only Skin-Deep."?Mere beauty of the face does not go as far as people generally imagine. It wins at first sight, but if not supported, flanked, one may say, by qualities to fix the impression, its effect will soon pass away. When you think of friends you love the image brought before your mind is not of the nose, the mouth, the ears, nor the color of their eyes, but you see the soul which looks out of theirfaces and expresses itself to you. "I do not see how she could have married so homely a man," said one^ speaking of a friend who had been years a wife, but whose husband she had never before seen. "She thinks him handsome," was the reply, and no doubt she did, for she saw, not his physical features, but those of his great, generous soul, and the latter overshadowed and blotted out the former to her eyes. A happy husband who has been wedded a score or two of years hardly knows what his wife is like. He may think he does, and describe her to you as a bewitching little creature long after she has fallen into the "sere and yellow leaf," simply because the image of his early love is in his heart and he does not see her as she is to-day.?Tofedo Blade. May Turn Pale, Yet Hold His Pluck.?There are two kinds of bravery? thnt nf the Derson who does not suffer from fear, which is easy and of little merit, and the bravery of a person who overcomes his fear. Such a person, in my opinion, is more courageous than any other; but though I have great resDect for him, I should put but little confidence in him, for his heroic effort may be overcome at any time, and virtue, beutiful as it is, is less solid than the absence of emotion. When the battle had begun and the bullets and shot, rattling about him, made him tremble, Turenne remarked to himself : "You are trembling, carcass of mine; you would tremble more if you knew where I was going to lake you ?Popular Science Monthly. - When King Charles Stewart gave New Jersey to Lord Berkley and Sir George Carteret the gift was intended mainly as a reward to the latter, who, while Governor of the channel island of Jersey, had defended it valiantly against the Parliament soldiers. Consequently the territory was named by the donors "Nova Cesarea," or New Jersey. The word Jersey is a corruption of "Czar's?ey" or "Gcsar's?ey," meaning the island of Ciesar. It was intended that Nova Cesa- , rea" should be properly the title, but as population of the provine increased, the people preferred its translated name rather than the classical appellation. AST Every where and always the man ' who denies himself, who refuses self-in- V dulgence, who mortifies himself by abstinence, by privation, by vigorous sever!i!-~ cA.f jo rtn haf vprv juwnint intra ui aiij ouii, 10 un given a higher place in the estimation of his fellows generally than the man who lives a life of luxury and ease and indulgence. flgr There is no knowledge for which so great a price is paid as a knowledge of the world; and no one ever became an adept in it except at the expense of a hardened and wounded heart. i