Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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=__ V. ^^?? lewis m. grist, Proprietor. { ^it Jnkpniicnl Jamilji fjUfospptr: Jor % |ronto(nm of % political, Social, Igricolhtral atib Cotiimtrtial Intetsfs of % Sotifjj. j terms--$2.50 a YEAR, in ADVANCE. VOL. 32 YOEKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 8, 1886. XQ. 49. '? ferial fterg. BEAUTY'S SECRET. BY ALAN MUIR. , BOOK THREE. LADY BEAUTY'S LOVERS. CHAPTER L THE LOVER SATS ".WILL YOU?" AND THE LADY SAYS "YES." One evening in February Rector Brent appeared about five o'clock, just as the lamps were lighted in the drawing room. Luck had it this time that Sophia should be sitting, (done, and as she rose to welcome her visitors she remarked that her mother and Sibyl were in the library and Car out for a walk. The little man. with Draiseworthv readiness?per baps he bad got a hint beforehand?remarked that be would go to the library, as be wanted to speak with Mrs. Temple; and at the word he hurried from the room, and left our pair alone. Sophia, glancing at Percival, noticed that he carried a small parcel in his hand; and he, finding himself alone with her, resolved to finish his broken story. He l06t no time now, having learned a lesson on that subject already. ' "I was interrupted tha other day when I was telling you about Australia," he remarked, drawing a chair close beside her. "Shall I finish what I was saying?" "Da" "That girl I am in love with so passionately, who got my heart out there?" all this came out with such tumultuous haste that she might have known what would follow? "shall-1 show you her portrait?" "I should like to see it" "I thought you would. I brought it with * me," he said, opening his packet with trembling fingers. "Only let me tell you this pic ture gives you a very faint idea of her in deed. It is beautiful, but her actual race is past all likeness and all praise, soft as starlight, pure as snow, tender as the spring sunshine, full of life and truth. Oh, how I love it!" ? "She must be happy," Sophia said, with a delicate sadness that whispered all he wanted to know, but the excited young fellow did not mark it "She must be very happy. Let me look at the picture." Almost with a sob she said it "I shall show it in a moment," he replied, holding it ready to turn up to the lamplight; "only let me finish my story first It was this picture I fell in love with. I resolved when I saw the face that is here to live and die for it Its heavenly fairness subdued me in a moment and for ever, and all my fear was lest the true face should not be as lovely. I had to wait a long time before I saw the original?many months. All that time I was true to my picture, and gazed at it morning, noon and night till every feature was printed on my heart Then the day came when I saw?her. At the sight all memory of the picture vanished quite away. Oh, how I trembled lest she should be promised to another, or lest she should not love me!" tii "Was she promised to another?" ^ . "No." There, foil owed a tiny sigh. "And did she?did she?Oh, but she must!" Sophia said, turning her sad full eyes on his manly face. "I can finish the story; she said she would love you." "The. story is not finished yet," he cried, impetuously. "But you are right in one thing: you can finish it Look, this is the picture of the girl I love." She bent to look, and as she did so a tear she could not keep back dropped on the cardboard. The next instant she uttered a cry and started to her to* u. She had seen herself. A moment she looked at him, and such was the struggle of surprise, delight, modesty and fear in herfaoe that he was now as' ftd-from* her secret as a moment before she had been from his. He thought she was angry. "Miss Temple?Sophia," he said, "dont fte angry. If I have offended you, I did not mean it Surely you won't be angry?" Still she made no answer, but only looked at him, for speech and action had forsaken her together; and he, foolish fellow, grew certain that she was displeased. UT Ijvtrtwl {f CA T* ko coirt nlflflHintr UT PAIlW not help it; and I wanted to tell you myself before I spoke to others about it. I wanted you to hear the story first from my own lips." He hung bis head, ashamed to look at her. UI know I am presumptious. I feel sure already that you will tell me I am not the man you can lova I wish I had waited a little before speaking; the dream was so much better than this awakening: but I could keep myself silent no longer. Perhaps it is as well to know it at once. It will save " But as he spoke, her cheek came close to his own, and her little hand fell on his shoulder. Too womanly for. coquetry or coyness, she gave her answer at once, and with such readiness that neither Percival nor - Sophia were able to settle that night which kissed the other first CHAPTER IL CAROLINE AND SIBYL MARRIED. And so the third Miss Temple was engaged. Mamma made no objection. She did, indeed, when business came to be talked, remark to Mr. Brent that her daughter's fortune would not be large, and that she hoped he , would be able to provide handsomely for his son. At this he waved his hand in a confident way, nodded and said: "That shall be all right" He did not at that time enter into any particulars, but Mrs. Temple, from what she knew of him, was quite satisfied with this assurance and the matter dropped. It was soon known to the whole town that Sophia Temple was engaged to Percival Brent, and the announcement a little relieved our disappointment at the mysterious disappearance of the rector's flirtation with the widow. Indeed, some of us started the hypothesis that what we superficial investigators had mistaken for a flirtation was in reality nothing more than the settling of the preliminaries of the present affair. We said it must have been very pleasant for the two seniors to make trie arrangements in tnat snug way; and thus sve explained the little intimacy between them. Pleasant was the early courtship of this happy pair. The very skies smiled on it Never, I believe, was there such a February. Day followed day in the softest beauty. Mornings crisp with frost, soft, balmy noons, evenings with red skies and frosty air again. Their love making was full of satisfaction. Sophia found him an ingenuous young fellow, with real enthusiasm, full of active resolutions for life. True, she found it hard to be very warm over geology; but his general notion of living to. use and honor delighted her. 1 think she wouid have been better pleased had he talked of getting into parliament or entering the church, rather than of achieving triumphs at the British association, an institution which at that time had'not emerged from the age of weakness and scorn. Still, she was fully satisfied with him, and gave him all her love. And he, for his part?it could not be otherwise?was entranced with her. Warmth, purity, tenderness, principle, all the finer parts of character were hers; taste and no lack of humor, ready speech, lively fancy. As to her face, he worshiped it He always said that her face was beautiful, because it was the image of her mind. *' Why narrate lovers' raptures 1 They were all in all to each other these happy days of early spring. In March the two weddings came off; first Car's, and then Sibyl's. Egerton Doolittle had made a special request that the two should be celebrated on the same day; but to his request the great Goldmore declined to comply?possibly a lurking suspicion that the thing might look ludicrous led him to say no. Accordingly, we married Caroline and Egerton first; and a pleasant wedding it was, everything being done in most elegant style; and little Mrs. Barbara Temple looked not a day more than forty. Ana Kector rsrenc, between the occasion, the champagne and his own amorous disposition, cast so many glances at her, and these so warm, that it seemed as if he was being captivated anew. Car, I must say, looked splendid that morning; flashing with wit, fire in her eyes, and her attire faultless. She wore a bridal dress of brocaded satin, and her head-dress, which wa somewhat original?those girls had a ta iful way of being slightly out of the common?pleased all the ladies; the men, I believe, l<5oked more at the head which carried it Her veil, streaming over her superb shoulders, made her dress complete, and we all pronounced her a lovely bride. She went through the service without any nervousness; indeed, I thought with slight audacity, as if she would challenge anyone to say she had made a foolish choice. Egerton Doolittle lisped his responses, and the two were man and wife together. Breakfast, as 1 Eaid, went off well Little Mr. Brent proposed bride and bridegroom, to which, with many a blush and titter, and hand sidled to his mouth, Egerton responded. He thanked them alL He believed that he teas a very fortunate man. . Here came a long pause. Fact was?confidentially?it had been his great aim in life to find a tremendously clever woman?a woman who would be able to point out whether any. given work was erroneous or not He did not like erroneous works. Ho might read an erroneous work without knowing it, and get his mind upset He had married a wife who could and would tell him if a given work was erroneous, and he was very happy. He thanked everybody, and wished everybody in the room would soon be married like himself, except those who were married already. There was no need to wish them married, because? with a sly expression?they were married already. (Here champagne effects became slightly prominent) He believed he had married a tremendously clever girl?woman he meant?wife he meant?aftd he was very thankful He hoped his wife would try 10 make him happy?he meant be hoped he would try to make her happy?no, he meant that he tcould try to make her happy, and he hoped he would do it Man was strong. Woman was weak. The man should use his strength to make the woman comfortable and happy, you know. As the poet had said, it was tyrannous to have a giant's strength, but it was excellent to?no, that was not it exactly. He forgot which came first He would look it up, aad send tnem ine exact quotation by post Anyhow, whatever tpoet had said, if it was a manly act, In pledged himse f to uo it, but not oik rwise, and he believed that was the safe t way to leave-it Here he sat down with a kind of movement as if he were going to pieces, and we all applauded heartily. , Sibyl's wedding came a fortnight later, more sedate, and even more splendid. Archibald Goldmore loaded his young bride with presents so costly that, I think, to have had them, some of the girls would have married Methuselah. Goldmore looked dignified enough during the service, and not old; and be walked down the aisle with a vigorous tread, so that, on the whole, the disparity in years did not appear so great as we expected. Sophia bad been chief bridesmaid, of course; and, in spite of her sister's faultless beauty, in my eyes she looked the lovelier of the two. While they were kneeling, a sunbeam fell on her, and when it touched her head, heaven seemed choosing her as a bride at the same moment Wonderful it was how the posture of prayer became that girl?the warmth and seriousness of her face seemed framed for worship, or for pure exalted love. But are the two sentiments alien! No blunder about Goldmore's speech, you may be sure. All sober, proper, truly elephantine, and thoroughly Great British. The language in which his revered friend had proposed the health of himself and his wife was in the highest sense gratifying. On his wife's part and his own he thanked them sincerely. He felt, indeed, that the lady who had that morning bestowed her hand upon him was all, and more than all, that his revered friend had called her. He felt the honor she had conferred upon him. He could assure his wife, and her friends, that whatever lay in his power should be done to make her the return which- she deserved. It was a satisfaction to them both to know that marriage wnnlit not nart them from their friends, nor from that locality. It would not be long before they should be among them as neighbors; and he could only say, as one of the pleasantest incidents in that propinquity, that his wife and himself looked forward to seeing the present company gathered round their own table. One thing was noticed at the wedding fea?t; little Mr. Brent, usually the loudest lnugher in every company, appeared grave and abstracted; indeed, more than one person remarked a strange pallor about/ him which suggested a suspicion that he was struck with illness. Percival, happy with his Sophia, and with a thousand tender thoughts awakened by the ceremony of the day stirring in his breast, was not likely to observe anything except what enforced attention; and no cloud dimmed the brightness of the lover's joy. Had Percival noticed his father's face he?used to its expressionwould have perceived that it was not illness which was impending. But Fate was kind to these loving two. It was for them a day of tender and undimmed delight?not a cloud, not a breath, not a doubt?only playful rnilery, soft looks, gentle touches, sighs and all the train of lovers' little pleasures. Their 1 love increased wonderfully that happy day; and it was well, for trouble was at hand. CHAPTER III. ABOUT MISFORTUNE. It was dark as father and son drove home, and Percival was greatly startled when, almost as soon as the horses began to move, the rector threw himself upon him, and, sobbing like a child, called out: "I am a ruined man, Percy?a ruined man!" The explanation which followed this announcement was in all its main features new to Percival, who had never known any particular. of his fathers affairs. Th6 facts, which may be briefly told, were these: Brent senior was the son of a father who had married twice, and the rector had now a halfbrother nearly twenty years older than himself. This brother, under his mother's marriage settlement, had inherited all her propoi-t-v ivhiph was verv larce. The father had a life interest in it, but at his death the whole passed absolutely to her only child. Rector Brent's father had ever been a careless and imprudent man, who, having married fortunately, lived on his wife's money. After her death he married again, as has been said, and his second wife died in the same nunth | as himself; but bis reckless and improvident character was plainly seen by the state in which his affairs were left He might easily have saved, and saved handsomely, for the | education and maintenance of his second son, our rector, but as a matter of fact he died so deeply in debt that even his furniture had to be sold to satisfy his creditors. Young Brent was then at Oxford preparing for the church, j but it seemed as if his whole future must be | altered. At this time his brother come forward, and although he had never been kindly used by the second Mrs. Brent, he now, with great generosity, resolved to help his brother; and he made him an ample allowance for his university expenses. Under these circumstances a very cordial friendship sprang up I between the two, and this friendship had | hitherto been unbroken. The elder brother did not marry, being studious; and if not a woman hater, certainly not a woman hunter. As time went on, and the younger brother's position and requirements grew, the elder increased the allowance h? made him, and now for several years he had been giving the rector fifteen hundred per annum. This, h9 promised, should be continued to his death, when an ample provision would be made for himself and his son. This arrangement had gone on for many years undisturbed, but a short time before, to Rector Brent's great astonishment, his brother, then over seventy, told him he meditated marriage. The facts were soon out A strong-minded Irish widow, of good family, with a file of tall, hungry, penniless eons, had marked him for her own. There followed, in the usual artful sequel, flattery and amiable persecution. The old man was cajoled, managed, and, in the last stages of the affair, bullied, until, without his brother's knowledge, he was actually married to the fn'nmnhiint. n-iilnn- who wrnttt to the rWtOC. explaining the haste and secrecy of the transaction by the state of "our dear Henry's nervous system." The elder brother assured his junior that the marriage would make no difference in his allowance or his subsequent prospects; and for twelve months this promise was kept. But the old man was growing feeble, and his wife impatient. Her sons were expensive, and she wished to secure everything for them. By what moans could not be ascertained, but she spirited her husband away to the south of France. Under the .plea of bronchial disease and nervous prostration, she shut him up from society; and when, a few months before, the rector, growing uneasy, had gone to Cannes to see his brother, he was not admitted to the house, being comforted by the assurance that everything was being done to restore, or at least to compose, "dear Henry's nervous system." To tell the rest in a few words, on the morning of Sibyl's marriage the poor rector received a I letter, written by his brother himself, in I which, after some vague sentences about "loss j of money," "failure of investments," and "increasing expenses," he plainly said that he | inclosed the last check which he would ever be able to send. The letter closed with a postscript, in which the rector was reminded that already a great deal had been done for I him, which genial stroke was due to the dictation of the accomplished Mrs. Brent So our unhappy rector found himself placed in the position of the holder of a benefice worth scarcely a hundred a year, after outgoingsLa ! costly establishment, luxurious habits, de| dining years, and a son who had been led to I expect fortune as his inheritance. The little clergyman behaved with singula? dignity and straightforwardness. He told the whole story frankly, and seemed to develop fortitude for the trial. We wen pleased to.hear now from his lips some of those phrases about trust in God and resign* tion to the dispositions of providence at which we had sometimes felt inclined to smile when the sleek little fellow spoke them in tfcr pulpit Indeed, so deep was our commiseration for the rector's misfortune that we?who are neither a church nor, I fear, a very charitable people?summoned a meeting of leading parishioners, at which we resolved, by annual subscriptions, to raise enough to pay the curates; and thus, without directly pauperizing our clergyman, we hoped to enable him to hold his living. In this way Rector Brent was put in possession of about three hundred a year?not a bad allowance, you may say; but consider how he had lived hitherto. The carriage must be put down; the gardens must be laid out in grass; th? cozy dinner parties must be given up; Rector Brent must, for the rest of his life, walk tlw ways of genteel poverty. Among the first to hear the bad news was . Mrs. Earbara Temple. That excellent little woman had a maxim for every change and chance, and upon hearing the tidings she remarked that such was the world?up and down. "ii tne ups' were always up, sue continued, straying for an instant into philosophy, "the downs would never have a chance. There was only so much money, so much ease, so much luck, going. "What one lost fell to the lot of another." At the same time th3 expressed ar.d felt genuine sorrow for Mr. Brent and for his son, who had always appeared to her a most promising young fellow. Shortly after hearing all this, Mrs. Tempi? rang for her maid, and sent for Sophia, who came in with a light dancing step, rare with her; her face was full of glee. "I know what it is, mamma; you want rot to look at your dress. But I saw it before you did. Frightful, it is! You shan't wear it, dear; not if I wear it myself." "Sophia, you look very pretty this morning," the mother said, with much fondnesa and admiration, and a touch of sorrow too, as she thought of the disappointment the girl was about to have. "Never mind the gown; I have something to say to you." Sophia looked wondering into her motherli serious face, as she took a seat beside her. "Life is full of trials, Sophy," the kindhearted little wordling began. "No one is fit to live who is not ready to meet small vexations and disappointments, that perhaps at first don't seem small, and meet them with a cheerful face. One great thing is to remember?what is undoubtedly true?that most disappointments have a bright as well as a dark side. Indeed, if one looks over one'i life, it is surprising to notice how many mishaps which we either cried over or felt we would like to ciy over, only we restrained ourselves, become on review matters of congratulation. Do you know, Sophy, I think sometimes, when I look back over my life, that what I called my misfortunes have in three cases out of four become either directly or indirectly sources of happiness after a year or two. I don't wish to talk boastfully, dear; but I think some of that is due to my own good common sense." She drew herself up with a self-satisfied air. but instantly resumed her compassionate tone, while Sophia looked a little anxious, not knowing what was coming. She saw that her mother watched her closely, as she delivered herself of these DhilosoDhic morsels. "I shall not delay what I have to say," Mr* Temple went on, stroking her girl's hand kindly. "I have heard something this morning which renders your marriage with young Erent impossible." "Mamma!" Sophia cried, in great agitation. "These things happen, Sophy," the mother continued; "these things often happen. 1 never told any of you girls before, but i assure you the first man that proposed to me? and to whom I was on the point of being married?had to fly from England to avoid transportation." "Mamma!" Sophia cried again, but now springing to her feet, with a face white with leai- and pain. "Tell me; what is it? He can't, 0, he can't have done anything wrong!" "Nothing wrong, dear," she answered. "I only mentioned my case as in some respeoto like yours. No; the Brents are honorable people, but they are beggars this morning, Sophy?beggars." Then, in as few words as she could use, the | little woman, with most perfect lucidity, told j the story of the disaster, remarking, when she c ame to the maneuvering widow, that the rector ought to have kept a sharper eye on his brother. "Because we all know, Sophy, that there are always widows who will do these things if they cud. I should as soon think of leaving my jewel box all night open on my front doorstep as of leaving a rich relation unguarded?if it was my policy to get his money. Now, don't cry, dear," she added, seeing her girl's tears flowing fast; "thingB might have been much worse." "I am not crying now, mamma,"1 Sophia said, sobbing, however, while she spoke. "I was frightened at first by what you said. At least, these ore tears of relief, I mean. I really felt afraid of I don't know what But it is only money Percival has lost?not character, not honor." "0, no; his honor is untouched," the mother replied. "His character is as good as ever; and that will, of course, stand by him when he goes in search of employment Besides, I am glad on your acccunt, dear; for even the most transient connection of your name with a person who had done anything wrong would be disagreeable." Sophia said nothing. She was drying off her tears with great brisknsss and assiduity. It is a pleasant sight to see a pretty young >YUI1UUI nipillg UCi kCUi O U IT uj , UliVA Avwvuwa ing herself into cheerfulness again. "Excellent good sense, Sophia," the mother said, looking at her with great approval. "I always knew, with your sound judgment, you would come to this view of the matter; but I was prepared for : little temporary reluctance and a little girlish romance, and I was prepared to bear it kindly, dear, and to wait for the return of good sense, which I knew would not be delayed long. But you are a wise girl, Sophy; nothing like facing the inevitable boldly, and at once." "But, mamma," Sophy said, "it is not such a great trial. Percival can work. We can both wait." "0, then I have mistaken you!" exclaimed the mother. "Now, Sophy, my dear, you must not be absurd. This marriage is simply impossible. Wait as long as you may, the young man cannot make a fortune such as you should exj>ect and require. You will see this some day." "I promised him I wculd love him always," Sophia said, with artlessness which in another women might have seemed affected; "and am I to break my word because my poor fellow is unfortunate? He has done nothing. Is he to lose his money and?and me too?" At which dreadful prospect Sophia be'gau to cry again, and worked at her eyes with iier pocket handkerchief, which she had twisted into a sort of ball, as crying women do. "It is a very nice, kind way of talking, Sophy," the little diplomatist said; "and it does you credit, dear. I almost think I lika you better for it. sweet, sweet girl!" with a kiss at each adjective. "But we must ba prudent, dear Believe me. Sophy, nothing that is imprudent is ever kind in the long run. It may appear so; it never is?not kind even to those it seems most to benefit. In life, dear, everything depends on prudence." "Mamma," Sophia cried, rising from her ' fr\* flio copnnrl Hmn "if vnil hfl/i told j me that Percival had been disgraced. I think I should have died. If you had tola me that the man who spoke to me as he spoke had any secret dishonor, I think I should have : killed myself in grief and shame. I know the | world would never have been the samo to mo again. But his fortune, his money?what is : that? Mamma, I promised to love him and to marry him, ana nothing but his own fault shall make me change. Not if he lost ten , fortunes! It would be hard on him," she repeated, with another rub of her eyes, "to lose nis money, and then to lose me." Mother and daughter, there they sat. The mother was not angry, scarcely disappointed, quiet, confident, fully assured that the vicj tory would be on her side at last. Were not j time and money with her, and who with such auxiliaries ever lost a battle? And there sat the daughter, tearful, flushed, affectionate, ; longing to have her Percival beside her to I console him. Ah, sweet Sophia Temple, l ! ome there were as well as Percival who for a few of those tender dewy kisses then budding on thy lips would have lost half the world, an 1 scarcely sighed as it slipped awav! CHAPTER IV. J STILL ABOUT MISFORTUNE. Percival called upon Sophia that afternoon, and, for some wise reason, Mrs. Barbara Tem- ( pie allowed him to see her alone. Indeed, the 3 little woman was never other than kind to I her daughters, and, being sure that Sophia's t madness could not last, she resolved not to seem tyrannical. So she let the boy and girl 1 have it all to themselves. s Percival, impulsive in his wretchedness, J told Sophia everything in a breath. He was * stout-hearted enough to hide his grief pretty f well, and he hastily assumed, as a kind of poe- * tulate of the whole conversation, that Sophia would think of nothing but of giving him up. g Thus he raised in her a light sweet petulance, A which caused her to leave his dark illusion ] unscattered for a while. > "I shall go out to Australia again, and be- 1 ein life." he said with a manful air. 1 She could not look at him, or she would i have been in his arms, so she stood half s turned from him with downcast eyes, and he, c watching her, felt his heart sink. He had faintly hoped for other tnings. .] "Yes, I shall go out to Australia again," he j repeated, so sadly that Sophia could hardly f even for an instant hold herself back. "It is ^ a fine climate," he added, trying to seem un- ^ concerned again. , "You will meet some girl out there," she answered in the very exultation of her hy- s pocrisy, "and you will like her very welL" i "I shall never love any one again," he said i gravely; and his voice grew unsteady at the i last word. "Only you," he added, in a yet i more shaking voice. That bit of unsteadi- i ness finished Sophia off. "Never do I" she cried?"never do. I ask nothing more of you; and then go round and round the world, and I shall wait here faith- 1 fully till you come back." So her little bit of deceit was over, and she ? was sobbing in bis arms, telling him that he ? was ten thousand times dearer to her now, { because she could show ber love to him; and ? that no other man should ever call her his own, with twenty other of those silly < speeches made on such occasions; some of which, as declaring the nobler impulses of ] the heart that God has made, will be remem- ( bered, I doubt not, when ten thousand human ? frailties are blotted out of the book of his 1 remembrance. And Percival, holding the j lovely girl in his arms, felt how little he had lost, and how much he had gained in that . very loss- and he realized something of the truth of Him who knew the human heart, and f said that there are times when, in the very j I loss of life, we find life anew?life which can- , not perish and which cannot be defiled. There! They spoke no more, not another sentence for many minutes, but stood folded in each other's arms, mingling tears, enraptured, exchanging by a thousand fond pressures, heart against heart, emotions, vows, protestations, which the narrow channels of speech can never convey. "You are all the world to me," he said at last "All the world, am I?" she answered softly. "O Percy, Percy!" "And you will go on loving me, Sophia?" "For ever and ever." "Better or worse?richer or poorei*?" "Yes, till death us do part nothing else shall?never, Percy!" So it went on, silence and speech alternating for full an hour. Mrs. Barbara Temple was a wise woman, but I somewhat doubt the astuteness of her policy on that particular afternoon. CHAPTER V. "GOOD-BT, SWEETHEART, GOOD-BY." The two married sisters returned from their honeymoons about the same time, Sibyl looking haughty and discontented, but Caroline cheerful and well pleased. As to the bridegrooms, we could see no trace ot change for better or worse in' Goldmore; but Egerton was decidedly stouter, in excellent spirits, and, from an accession of confidence, more apt to make a fool of himself in company than ever. The sisters soon met, and Sophia could not complain of any lack of sympathy on the part of her elders. They were both at first inclined to take prudent mamma's view; but when Sophia told them of her love and his constancy they were touched. The world had not yet got complete mastery over them, and they commended Sophia, kissed her, comforted her, and said some day she would be happy. Commander-in-chief Mrs. Barbara Temple took care to have an interview with young Brent She was kind and sympathetic, but she said it was her maternal duty to point out to him that?whatever Sophia might say?he was injuring her prospects if he kept up any understanding with her. "Engagement, of * course," the little woman said, "is not to be ? thought of. But even an arrangement?a promise that each will secretly wait for each?would be a pernicious snare, full of danger to Sophia's prospects." "Not," added Mrs. Worldly Wise woman, "that these promises are ever kept Facts are too much even for lovers. I have seen fifty of these understandings made in perfect good faith, and from motives that were quite pretty, but none ever came to anything. Still, I object to arrangements." t "Your daughter is as free as if she never saw me," Pereival said. "I have made her promise that she will consider that there is not a shred to bind her to me. She is to feel that she may engage herself and marry, and never think that there is any intimation to be sent to me, except through the news-> paper." "And may I ask?don't think me rude, Mr. Brent, I am simply doing my duty?if you are as free on your side? If you marry, shall she hear of it through the newspaper, too?" She looked at him sharply, almost humorously, as she put this penetrating question. 0, we must pay a tribute to our little mother who had a tact that in wider fields of action might have smoothed the feelings of laiffled empires. "Yes, 1 am quite as free as she," he answered. "We promised each other that we should feel so." It was quite true. They had promised exactly in these terms, only the four lips that exchanged the treaty were immediately afterward engaged together sealing quite another sort of bond. Was this what Shakespeare inent by "plain unci holy innocence, * wonder? And yet possibly Mrs. Barbai Tenip'e guessed the true state of the case, but she was satisfied. There being no engagement, she felt sure that time, fiekelness and her great ally, this present world, would do all she wanted." "I regret what has happened," she said gracefully, "and I regret it not alone on your account, but on my own. I should have been pleased with the connection. I hope you will prosper and be happy, for I am sure you deserve it." Egerton Doolittle, having, after careful intellectual filtration, so to speak, got the facts of the Breuts' case fairly deposited in his mind, expressed great commiseration for the two men as he called them. He told Car that "we ought all to give 4 ~ *l?n il.hw. M nr 1, n f UUi juiiiua iu iuu auu isco ?ii?i can be done. And after a long period of 1 cogitation be informed bis wife that he had hit on a plan which would restore 1 the fortunes of the Brents, and of this he made a great point?without their under- J taking anything that could not be done , "with clean hands." "A gentleman under no circumstances 1 should soil his hands," Egerton said; 1 "and the great merit of what I propose is that it can be done with clean hands." Car at first thought that this implied | that the pursuit Egerton had in his mind was one morally defensible, or not felo- ' nions; but it appeared that he referred j only 10 aristocratic notions and traditions. "My plan is this," Egerton said, after three quartersofan hour preamble which < had nearly fidgeted his wife into a fit. i "I hear there is a new joint stock opera company going to be started. Let them < take shares in that. It will be a gentle- > manly, musical kind of thing, and the < great point is it can be done with clean t hands." 1 ' Caroline, not being able to see the prac- j tical value of this suggestion, Egerton | resolved to open his scheme to his great s brother-in-law,Goldtnore. Theelephantine millionaire was forced, forcourtesy's j sake, to listen while Doolittle, in a speech of extraordinary length and maddening s circumlocution," brought out his preface; s but, vexed as he was, he could not re- s strain his laughter when the young man t wound up with the recommendation that I iirent senior .ana junior snouia nise s shares in the forthcoming Italian Opera Joint Stock company. "My great point is, Goldmore," said , Egert'on," "that it is a gentlemanly musi- ? cal sort of thing, and one that can be ? carried on with clean hands. I think a gentleman should never soil his hands, 0 Goldmore, don't you ?" "The difficulty is," replied the great man, overlooking this question, "where c ire the poor men to get money to buy | t heir shares?" j J "Get what?" Egerton asked. I ' "Money to buy their shares," repeated Soldmore. "Shares are not given away ; rou have to pay for them in hard cash. Uow in the present ease the difficulty is hat there is no cash at all." "Then I suppose you don't approve of ny scheme?" answered Egerton, with , lome irritation. "Very well. One can >nly" suggest. I withdraw the proposiion. Still, I repeat, Goldmore, it is not iverv day of the week you can find a gentlemanly musical undertaking that :an be carried out with clean hands." j So he took his leave. But his visit had , lome result, after all; for that afternoon 1 Archibald Goldmore called upon young j iirent, and asked for a little private con- j rersation with him. Goldmore was very ; tind, inquired what his young friend vas going to do, nodded his headapprov- I nglv over the details of the Australian j icheme, and marked the young fellow i >ut as a man that would rise. "Let n?e say one thing to you, Mr. I Brent," he said, as he rose to go. "I am j n most respects a self-made man. I enow the difficulties which even indus- j riousand clever young fellows have to 'ace who start without capital. Now, 'ram^vhat my wife tells me, you have ^aiiredthe affections of my sister-in-law, snd I may add that from what I have teen of you I am not surprised at it. As a nemberof the family, I take an interest n all that concerns them. Now, Brent, f a few hundred will help to start you I :an lend you the sum, and I shall require i 10 security but your word. You shall j , iay me"?this he added pleasantly? 'when you are half as rich as I am." 0 Brent colored verv red with gratitude ; I ind pleasure; but for all that, his reply \ b vas not what the great man expected. 0 "I don't know how to thank you," he t taid: "it is so kind an offer. But I have ftlready saved enough to start me. I had i liberal allowance, and never spent it U til." G "A few hundred extra will better your J< :hance," remarked the other. "Thank you a thousand times," the poung fellow replied; "but if lean aciomplish what I wish out of my own re- b tources, I had rather do it. If I ever ji narry Miss Temple, I should like to feel ? hat it was my own doing from first to n ast." Goldmore looked at him with admira- , ion. '1 "I respect the feeling, Mr. Brent," he & laid. "Only remember this: if your cap- a tal should run short, write to me, and t pou will find me no bad banker when the p iccount has to be overdrawn." j "Thank you again," the young fellow ] tnswered. "And that offer I do accept. \ P Sfou understand me, don't you! If I j b :an manage without any man's help I 1 should be glad ; but rather than fail, I I should most gratefully avail myself of r pours. I hope you don't think me proud j c ;o the point of silliness." p "Confound it," cried Goldmore, "I i = vish you were my son !" r And the great man marched away down I o he street as like the Tower of Babel as ! sver, only in a silk hat and other human j ittings. 'But Goldmore is on the right f side of things, for all his pomp and seem- c ng hardness. Little Mrs. Barbara Temple showed a " singular mixture of astuteness and good t 'eeling in her management of tho affair ri 'rom this time until Percival's depart- i ire. She took care to impress on the ! g over the fact that all engagement, un- j lerstanding. hope, and whatever else j _ rould bind himself and Sophia together, ?' vas utterly at an end. She repeated sev- P >ral times that her duty as Sophia's 0 nother was to see that her future was 0 lot embarrassed by foolish obligations a lastily taken up, and perhaps retained c rom a sense of honor when inclination * vould east them otf. She told Brent * hat in all human probability Sophia {' vould marry some one else in twelve U nonths. Thus she put herself in the po- C lition of beingable, with perfect honesty, o assure Sophia at any future day that J] ^drfclval Brent neither did nor could ex- ^ iect her to wait for him. And having ^ hus made her position good, with rare : noderation, or rather far-sightedness, * ihe did not prevent tho young couple t neeting occasionally during the few r veeks that intervened between Ihe break- s ng of the engagement and Brent's de- g larture for Australia. ! g Mrs. Barbarba Temple went yet fur- | '. her in the way of good-natured conces- j 1 lion. On the day when Brent camo to | ake his final leave she continued to be : o >ut of the wav, sending an apology by j g Sophia for her absence. It was a cour- j t igeousact, but worldly wise, I presume, ! j; ike all she did. I believe to the day of j _ ler mother's death Sophia never forgot I his particular concession. It showed j 8 tueh trust in her daughter, such kind lesire not to deprive her of. any secret ' II lomfort which the parting might give. | t' .'n fact, it was an act of womanly j renerosity and courage of which few ! nothers would have been capable. But ! lave I not said already that our little ! ? nother was as truly queen of women as j ? Virninemnon was kintr of men? , J< Sophia tried to bo cheerful that diill May u ifternoon; for she saw that her poor fellow's ' leart was breaking. Indeed, he could hardly I ipeak one word. She had to tell him of a S nagnificent present which she had made to 1 lim in secret, and which was now waiting for r lim in London. This was a set of foreign s traveling boxes, furnished with everything ;he good little creature could think of as be- j ng possibly of use to her dear when he was r 'ar away. I wish I could give a catalogue )f the articles in leather, glass, steel, silver; . low she had slipped into one part a Bible and J prayer book; the little medicine chest, with a " x>ok, under the guidance of which you could FJ tieal yourself of any disease; down to needles |J ind thread?"stout thread for buttons" a ?ner account or n> reau into a suujjman a mm- ?. ogue. She grew so interested in her clever- r less and forethought that she half forgot the mpending parting. Bless the heart of g woman, how it lives in the present, and will K lot realize the future, be it ever so near! .j rhen, blushing, she told him of one particuar little pocket in one particular little leather . :ase, which he was never to open unless he ' lappened to want money very badly. He 0 night have lost everything, and not be able P a get back to England. In that case let him J1 ipen that pocket He might be very ill, and '> lave nothing to pay the doctor. In that case t( let him open the pocket. In any capital and p hextricable difficulty let him open that p pocket Poor Sophia! the savings of thrifty p fears, and the better part of her allowance (j for I don't know how many more (mortgaged to Car and Sibyl) had gone into those boxes ind that pocket j3 All this time, while she chatted on, trying iesperately to be cheerful, he had said little I' Dr noibing. At last he took out his watch, 1> md looked at it, gathering strength. | 11 "I must go now," he said. Si Then in un instant, like a frail hat swept J gj iway by a sudden hurricane, all her little '. cheerfulness was gone. Her steadiness, her Heroism was worth nothing at all. She cast ; '' lierself on his breast?he was to sustain her tl now?crying, caressing him, clinging to him, j g| is if she could not let him go. . ! r. "Percy," was all she said?"darlingPercy!" j . And he said nothing. One thing his manli- j ness enabled him to do: he kept silence. But ! II not a woi d could he utter. j j j "It is the sea between us," she said, sobbing I 0 'Such a distance of sea! such a length ot ? time!" a He only clasped her to his breast j (-'< "But I shall not forget you; you won't for- i ?etme; promise it!" j* No sound came from his lips; but somehow j sho understood by his clasp that, with an unitrered vow, he was binding himself to her : I forever. i i "Promise me again," she murmured. j (| Still he did not make any audible reply. | r, "Promise me once more," she whispered; j ' in I still without any speech, she was satisfied hat he replied. fl There followed a moment of silence, she ( ] ifFering up a prayer for his safety; and in ... vlint shrinn sn fit cnnld she offer it as there >11 his manly breast? Then she felt his arms C( fathering round her in an embrace stronger, S< t s eined, than death. It was as if a giant s; lasjied her; she was like a willow wand, and ^ lis were arms of steel. Could such an em race ever be unloosed? Yes; in a moment " lie was standing alone on the floor, he was {) Kissing out of the room, she cast herself help- p t sslv on the sofa?and they were parted now. J All the time he had never spoken. But tho ilence of his farewell was more to her than j 1 my language could have beea He could not ? peak for grief. The intensity of his vow [ A vas beyond all language. Sophia often looked s| inck with a sort of sorrowful pride to that 1. ilent farewell. ai [to re continued next week.] j Q| [This storv was commenced with No. I 7 of the Enquirer. Back niimhers will j ?( ie furnished on application. Beauty's Jj 1 ecret is a well written story and every ' no should certainlv read it.] I ' i par The warmth of floors is greatly in- j reased hvputtingpaperundertheearpet. 1 Ul i gpsceitaneons Reading. GOVERNOR RICHARDSON. HIS INAUGURAL ADDRESS. On Tuesday of last week the constituional oath of office and the anti-dueling ath were administered to Governor-elect tichardson, in the ColumbiaOpera-House, y Chief-Justice Simpson, in the presence f the members of both Houses of the iegislatureand a large number of speetaors. After the formal ceremonies of adninistering the oath had been concluded, lovernor Richardson delivered the folswing ADDRESS. It is with a deep sense of the responsiility and obligation I assume that 1 have xst taken, in this solemn presence, the institutional oath of office as Governor f South Carolina. With no ordinary emotion, and with a eart full of gratitude to the people of this itate, through whose partial kindness I m the recipient of this exalted honor, I his day enter upon the discharge of its iigh duties, to the faithful, honest, vigiint and patriotic execution of which I ledge th? honor of a devoted son of Caroina. Sincerely distrustful of my own abilities, confidently rely upon you, their chosen epresentatives, for such wise, liberal and conservative action as will render the progress of the State in material prosperity apid, and the executive administration f her affairs easy. To the most unobservant and indifferent t must be apparent that these are times ruitful of vast and pressing problems, soial, industrial and economic, both in State nd National affairs, which demand for heir solution the ablest talent and the nost unselfish patriotism. Notwithstandng the dual nature of our institutions and overnment, investing the citizen as it loes with varied duties and interests, the leculiar condition of our State socially and olitically, during the dark days of Iteonstruction, rigidly confined the attention f our people to the seemingly hopeless nd herculean task of wresting, from a haos of corruption and venality, in all heir hideous forms, and of universal maleasance in official life, such as had never >efore disgraced the annals of a civilized ommunity, order and good government. How successfully, how marvelously, this ias been accomplished need I attempt to [escribe ? Surely it can never be possible hat the deep, soul burning humiliations, he crushing tyranny, the ruinous taxaion we so long endured, the bold effronty of loathsome vice in high places that talked in open daylight through the treets of this beautiful Capital, have so oon passed out of mind and been forgoten like the idle terrors of a dream, midst the quieting restful surroundings f the renewed peace, order and good overnment we now so fully enjoy. To he people of South Carolina, I verily beieve, one of the greatest misfortunes that ould occur would be an oblivious disregard of a former experience that, upon the ast cessation of vigilance on their part night and would almost surely again beotue a terrible possibility. The same elmentsof evil are here, the same forces rn nrpupnf thnnah lutput ? hilt to this ,v J- - , - O - 7 eneration, who are the witnesses and ufferers from certainly the most anoma[His condition of political and social life inder which a people ever lived, I do not hink there can ever come any deluge of ..ethoan waters so overwhelming as to ink into oblivion the hitter memories of he past. Sad indeed would be the sure esults of criminal forget fulness of a leson so roughly taught, so heroically learn(I. No, this can never be. We are again n the house of our fathers as masters and ulers, and we are here to stay as such for II time; but to stay, inspired by the true nstincts of liberty, and animated solely y a high and patriotic purpose, to dispense even-handed justice, to mantain th urity of our institutions and to secure to II classes and conditions of our citizens very legal, constitutional and inherent ight of man. With the inestimable advantages of ood and honest government once more urrounding us like a life-giving atmoshere, how bright the prospect for a rapid dvance in all the arts of peace, and in lie accumulation of the wealth to which ur wonderful resources of soil and dilate so justly entitle us. True, we are jst at this time in a condition of great usiness depression, common to every in?rest of the whole world, and in no way eculiar to ourselves save, perhaps, in [implications arising from the transition hase through which our agricultural inustry is now passing. To this greatin?rest we should certainly give, and ive promptly, that attention which its nportance to the general welfare so imperatively demands. We should aproach its consideration with that fairness of judgment and freedom from pasion so essential to reaching wise concluions. The department of agriculture, to , hose charge its interests have been enrusted, and whose development has been lie object of such earnest, faithful and LH'CCSSIUl I'noriiS, SIIOUIU ue susiaincu auu jstered. All laws upon our statute books judingto the retardation of its developlent, or calculated to direct its energies nto unprofitable channels, should be at nee repealed, and such measures only as re absolutely needed for its proper ennuragement should be enacted. Perfect freedom of action and judgment jthe most efficient incentive to successful xertion in all the occupations of life, 'his it is the duty of any government to isure to any citizen, whether walking in he paths of commerce, following the professions or gathering the wealth of nature om our teeming forests and causing our uitful fields to yield their abundant inrease. I speak as a farmer who loves his ailing with an ardor inherited from an?stors devoted solely to the tillage of the >i 1, and whose instincts, affinities and empathies are, therefore, naturally and armly enlisted in the successful furtliernceof that first, grandest and noblest of ursuits. A fair field, untrammeled oportunities, exact justice, freedom from iscriminating legislation, and such engagement as is entirely within the le-1 itimate sphere of government, is all the I ? ? * * /?? ? nIro A? n Anrlu itnrl ( klllfrictlll Uilijrii nnna ui liucuo, tmu :itute the very fundamental principles of le liberty for which Washington fought nd conquered, and in defence of which ur heroes crimsoned the countless hills nd valleysof thesunny South. May the enius of liberty preside forever over our estiny and direct all our efforts to the aelmplishmentof so glorious a triumph in >vernmental science. Amidst the abundant causes for congratlation, we certainly possess one in the re stored credit and improved finances of the State, brought to life, as it were, from a condition of almost absolute decay and death. We should not forget to scan closely the expenditures of government, and restrict them within the limits of a wise and liberal economy. This is but simple justice to the taxpayer, who, however cheerfully and uncomplainingly he may pay his quota of tribute, should not be subjected to greater burdens than the necessities of government imperatively demand. But it should also be remembered that the smallestand fewest appropriations are not always the wisest economy. Government is business, and like any other business, requires for its successful conduct the use of money?such, for instance, as for t ho orlcri iiq fru nnm noriuu t inn nfnfflr>iola thn V. vu.v.HVi.j, w.%, proper maintenance of charitable and penal institutions, the prompt payment of all public obligations, the liberal support of common schools and higher institutions of learning, the necessary expenses of legislation itself, and the numerous other incidental purposes that foot up no inconsiderable amount. We have already achieved much in the way of economy, having reduced expenditures to a point that places the government of this State among the cheapest, if not the very cheapest, of the States in the Union. A comparison of our expenditures with those of any other State will, I am sure, fully justify this assertion. While looking,then, with continued care to the exercise of this cardinal virtue of economy in the administration of our affairs, especial attention should be paid to maintaining the credit of the State, now at a point of excellence never before reached in the history of her finances. If this credit is fully sustained, the opportunity will soon be presented, by the early maturity of our securities, of refunding them at a much reduced rate of interest, and thus relieving the tax-payers, by a single transaction, of an annual burden of perhaps one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. This surely would prove a measure of economy that would be sensibly felt as a relief to every industry and occupation, and should enlist, therefore, for its accomplishment the active sympathies and co-oneration of all. A practical test of the feasibility of this project must soon he made to the case of our deficiency bonds and stocks, which mature as early as July, 1888, for the refunding of which timely provision will have, of necessity, to be made. But however rigid the ideas entertained upon this subject, however great the apparent necessity for retrenchment and reform, there is one direction in which they cannot he exercised without stifling the young life of the people and sapping the very sources of our material and intellectual strength.. I allude to our public schools and the system of colleges we call the University. The one is the essential complement of the other, and neither can accomplish the full measure of its usefulness without its necessary coadjutor in the grand work of education. In the common schools are to he laid the broad foundations and in the institutions of learning are to he reared the beautiful and lofty structures of intellectual development that render a people prosperous, happy, great and respected among the nations of the earth. Such institutions are not like mushrooms, the growth of a night. They require long years of patient sacrifice, of unceasing patriotic effort, of liberal and unstinted support to attain their full stature and grand proportions, when their pinnacles, reaching to the sky, will shed a heatn of transcendent brightness over the land, vivifying industry and warm ing into active life every dormant energy. In the matter of education we cannot afford to contract. The true policy should be to broaden,to deepen and to widen, as the resources of the State permit, until the last vestige of mental darkness is swept from our borders and eyery child in the State shall become the recipient of the benignant influences of thorough instruction. The accomplishment of this great work with us can only be gradual, for none but the wilfully blind can fail to see and feel the prevailing embarrassment so widespread and universal. But, at least, no step backward should betaken. The march must be ever onward, with a steady determination not to be outstripped in the race by our sister States of the Union, who are bending every energy to the most complete and perfect development of their educational systems. South Carolina, among, if not the first to establish a system of free schools, imperfect though it was, has the added incentive of a noble ambition to mantain her ancient proud position among the most advanced and progressive of the States. Nor will the fruits of such a liberal policy be either meager or destitute of a certain and abundant compensation. How richly has she, in the past, reaped the reward of her liberalitv to herinsti tutions of learning? Need I tell of the illustrious names that have illuminated her annals, both in peace and in war? Of her sons, trained in these institutions and Mnbued in every fibre of their being with Jarnlina sentiment and Carolina devotion to principle, have carried her flag often to victory, but always to glory, and have won for her a reputation for loyalty and eloquence not bounded by continents or oceans? How the heart thrills with emotions of loftiest State pride as we read of the men who were indeed giants in those days, the acknowledged peers of the greatest and best in the land. Not to mention a hundred others who were almost equally famous, I have no hesitation in asserting that the production of two such men as McDuffie and Thorn well, both poor boys, would fully compensate for every dollar expended in the maintenance of the institution which nurtured them. The South Carolina College and the State Military Academy, as the capstone to a perfected system of common schools, and aided by other institutions of a similar character, will most assuredly prove, in the not distant future, the unfailing soure of prosperity, happiness and advancement in all that elevates and ennobles. From their gates will issue an annual stream of cultured Carolina youth, with hearts filled with grateful love of country, whose genial and refreshing influence will permeate and spread though every nook and corner of this fair and beautiful State, and will, like running "waters in a desert land, cause to spring up everywhere new life, vigorand wealth. Hut there is another direction in which we must look with thoughtful care if the interests of the people are to be protected against burdensome and unequal taxation and are to be relieved from the unnecessary and unjust impositions that are crushing them to the earth. With two separate and entirely distinct centres of power in one most happily conceived form of government, there is a constant necessity that neither, in the exercise of its functions, * 1 1 -? 1 1 i?LA.1 snouiu ever escape me vjguuut wuicuiuinessof the citizen. The momentous events of our recent past, teeming with the clash of armies,political convulsions and mighty problems yet unsolved,have contracted our range of vision, and bounded our interests almost wholly within the limits of State lines. This should no longer be the case, when the overpowering cause of pressure has nearly ceased to exist, or at least is inactive. The time has, then surely arrived when our attention should be directed with careful scrutiny to the operations of that central government in our duplex system so far removed from popular observation as to give it comparative exemption from responsibility. In its remorseless absorption of legitimate State functions, in the cruel exercise of its dangerous powers of taxation, all the more dangerous from their insidious nature and manner of operations, there is well founded cause for vigilant and anxious solicitude on the part of the people of the State. Consider for a moment the Federal taxation and expenditures, and the imagination, accustomed to regard simply State revenues, is appalled by their immensity, amounting to nearly $325,000,000, about one million for every member of the Federal House of Representatives, six dollars per capita for every man, woman and child in America, and, therefore, six millions for this little impoverished State of South Carolina. How insignificant, then, in com parison, appear the Expenses of our own State government ? But add to this vast sum that paid through the operation of the preseqt unequal and iniquitous tariff to monopolies and protected industries, and who can fail to recognize the great, if not chief cause of the widespread unrest and > discontent pervading all classes and conditions of the people of this Union, except, of course, the beneficiaries of this onerous and unjust system. The admittedly correct calculation of three dollars tribute to protection to every one of revenue that actually reaches the coffers of the General Government, makes the annual golden stream that flows unceasingly northward from the boundaries of South Carolina, drawn from our midst, from fifteen to eighteen millions of dollars, not a single one of which is ever returned, save the paltry amounts of meagre appropriations so grudgingly given to our rivers and harbors and the few salaries paid to Federal officials in our midst. Such an enormous drain upon the resources of any community is, of itself, sufficient to sap the very lifeblood of their prosperity, and unless put a stop to, must inevitably consign them, with the resistless power of fate, to a condition of endless and hopeless poverty. In closing these purposely general remarks, which have insensibly exceeded the limitsoriginally intended, I would bespeak your calm, dispassionate consideration of the many grave matters of State pressing for attention. I pledge myself to an earnest, active, unwearyingco-operation in all your efforts for the public weal, and shall, as far as lies within the scope of the authority with which I have just been invested, give faithful expression to the popular will and see that the sacred honor of South Carolina is preserved in all its unblemished purity and integrity. Gentlemen of the Assembly, we have a high and glorious task before us, in which no loyal son of Carolina should fail to do his full duty with unflinching and self-sacrificing devotion. We have rescued this beloved State of ours, the heritage of our fathers, from the ignominious rule of the stranger and the alien ; but it is left us yet to make her restoration perfect and complete, nor should we cease, each in his sphere, to regard his life services as consecrated to this , > I 1.. I. . ! 1 ...? ??? L.? nnnin on. IlUiy WUI"K, Ulllll wc see nci a^aiu 11habilitated in her ancient and resplendent garments of wealth, prosperity, power and honor. THE SCIENCE"OF SLEEP. Each successive gradation in sleep is marked by the inclusion of a nervous system, which is for the time being shut off, so to speak, from participating in the general life function of the individual until, when the maximum intensity isattained, nothing is left but the purely animalone might almost say the vegetative?life. Sleep of this degree of intensity , although a perfectly normal process, is not in health of long duration. After the lapse ot a variable space'of time the systems one by one resume their functions until filially the sum of perceptions brings about the condition of axvakening. . The brain shares in the need, which is everywhere apparent of periods of rest. The products of cerebral activity accumulate more rapidily than they are eliminated, and a period therefore arrives when the tissues are no longer able to do their work. The result is an invincible feeling of indisposition to exertion, physical or mental. The temporary and involuntary cessation of activity is at once followed by a diminution of the blood supply; the ansemiasoinduced being, therefore, a consequence, and not a cause of the state of repose. The various parts of the nervous system are not all involved simultaneously or to the same extent. The centres governing voluntary move ment are the first to be affected, as seen in the nodding of the head and the closure of the eyelid's, and the body, if not prevented, tends to assume the position of repose deter?v*? r?Ail l?t? lUn loiro nf inft? Thft ujiucu uj me invro \/? aiiv special senses soon follow, but here again they are not abrogated en masse. j Sight is the first to go, the stimulus no longer reaching that portion of the cerebrum where it can give rise to a definite sensation, even where the closure of the lids has not shut off external stimuli altogether. Hearing and smell are remarkably persistent, and except irt the deepest sleep, may be said to be only dulled and not extinguished. Every one is familiar with the ease with which sleep is to put to an end by unaccustomed ?. noise, even of slight intensity, or, better still, by the cessation of any monotonous sound, as for instance the awakening of travelers by rail or steamboat on any stoppageof the train or machinery. Instances are on record, too, where the inhabitants of a house 'have been roused simply by the smell of tobacco indulged in by inexperienced or incautious burglars. The persistent sensibility of these senses may, to some extent, be accounted for by the fact that they are notshutofffrom communication with the outside world as are, for example, the eyes. To allow sleep, or at any rate quiet sleep, a certain harmony must exist in the condition of alLthe organs, which must, so to speak, bfrturned to the sleep tune. If one or- v. gan be in a state of activity, or, on the other hand its condition be abnormal in some other way, the sen8orium refuses to abdicate its control. This is familiar to us in the case of cerebral activity or cold feet at bedtime, both being inimical to sleep. Inasmuch, therefore, as insomonia may result from either set of causes we can either employ drugs, such as opium, which acts directly on the nerve centres and so bring aboutsleep or we may resort to medicine like hyphone, which is said to favor sleep rather than induce it by allaying the irritable or hypertesthetic condition of certain organs or parts. Rread a Century Old.?The keeper of the archives for the Hungarian county of Marmaros found lately, stowed away with some ancient registers, a packet bearing this inscription: "Qualitas panis Marmatici in penuria, A. D. 1786." (Quality of the Marmaros bread in the year of want, 1786.) The bread is composed partly of oatmeal, but the greater portion of it is the bark of trees. The county authorities have directed the.. specimen to be preserved in the local museum.'?London Times. B6T Early childhood," as nature intended, should be free from all care. Children are born "heirs of the earth and skies," and all that comes to them is received without question or wonder. But, as they develop into maturity, they should be gradually taken into the confidence of the parents and made partners in the family interests.