Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. > % Jniitjpbtnf Jamil}) ftefospaptr: Jor % Ijromofion of % |)oIrfrcaI, Serial, ^gritnllnral aitb Commercial Interests of ffjo jJout|. ] TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 33. YOBKYILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY. MAY 35, 1887. ISTO. 21. ? ferial ftarjj. " jess. BY H. RIDER HAGGARD, AUTHOR OF "KINO SOLOMON'S MINKS," "SHE," ETC., ETC. CHAPTER XI. ON THE BRINK. John found that the life of a South African farmer came well up to his expectations. He had ample occupation; indeed, what between ostriches, horses, cattle, sheep and crops, he was rather over than under occupied. Nor was he greatly troubled by the lack of civilized society, for he was a man who read a great deal, and books could be or dered from Durban and Cape Town, while the weekly mail brought up an ample supply of papers. On Sundays he always read the political articles in The Saturday Review aloud to old Silas Croft, who, as he got older, found that the print tried his eyes, and this was an attention that the old gentleman greatly appreciated. He was a well informed man, and had, notwithstanding his long life spent in a half civilized country, never lost his hold of affairs or his interest in the wide and rushing life of the world in one of whose side eddies he lived apart. This task of reading The Saturday Review aloud had formerly been a part of Bessie's Sunday service, but her uncle was very glad to effect an exchange. Bessie's mind was not quite in tune with the profundities of that journal, and her attention was apt to wander at the most pointed passages. And thus it came about, what between The Saturday Review and other things, that a very warm and deep attachment sprang up betwixt the old man and ? his younger partner. John was a very taking man, especially to tbe old, for whom he was never tired of performing little services. One of bis favorite sayings was that old people should be "let down easy," and he acted up to It Moreover, there was a quiet jollity and a bluff honesty about him which was undoubtedly attractive both to men and women. But his great recommendation was that he was a well informed, experienced man and a gentleman in a country in which both were rare. Every week the old man got to rely ? ? ?mmawa am K!?m lnf fKinoe no CO WUrc OUU UiVlO UU UUU, OUUICV more and more into his hands. Tm getting old, Kiel," he said to him one night; "I'm getting very old; the grasshopper is becoming a burden to me, and I'll tail you what it is, my boy," laying his hand affectionately upon John's shoulder, UI have no son of my own, and you will have to be a son to me, as my dear Bessie has been a daughter." John looked up into the kindly, handsome old face, crowned with the fringe of snowy hair, and at the two keen eyes set deep in it beneath the overhanging eyebrows, and thought of his old father who was long siuce dead; and somehow he was moved and his own eyes filled with tears. "Ay, Mr. Croft," he said, taking the old man's hand, "that I will to the best of my ability." "Thank you, my boy, 4hank you. I don't like talking much about these things, but as I said, I am getting old, and the Almighty may require my account any day, and if he does 1 rely on you to look after these two girls. It is a wild country this, and one never knows what may happen in it from day to day, and they will wont it Sometimes I wish I were clear of the place. And now I'm going to bed. I am beginning to feel as though I had done my day's work in the world. I'm getting feeble, John, that is the fact of it" After that he always called him John. Of Jess they heard but little. She wrote every week, it is true, and gave an accurate account of all that was going on at Pretoria and of her daily doings, but she was one of those people whose letters tell one absolutely nothing of themselves and of what is passing ir% fhoiv minrlo Thor miffhf. n? wpl I hfiva been headed "Our Pretoria Letter," as Bessie said, disgustedly, after reading three sheets in Jess' curious, upright handwriting. "Once you lose sight of Jess," she went on, "she might as well be dead for all you leam about her. Not that one learns very much when she is with one," she added, reflectively. "She is a peculiar woman," said John, thoughtfully. At first he had missed her very much, for, peculiar as she undoubtedly was, she bad touched a new string in him somewhere, of the existence of which he had not till then been himself aware. And what is more, it had answered pretty strongly for some time; but now iC was slowly vibrating itself into silence again, much as a harp does when the striker takes his fingers from the strings. Had she stayed on another week or so the effect might have been more enduring. But although Jess bad gone away Bessie had not. On the contrary, she was always about him, surrounding him with that tender care a woman, however involuntarily, cannot prevent her from lavishing on the man she loves. Her beauty moved about the place like a beam of light about a garden, for she was indeed a lovely woman and as pure and good as she was lovely. Nor could John long remain in ignorance of her partiality for him He was not a vain man?very much the reverse, indeed?but neither was he a fool. And it must be said that, though Bessie never overstepped the bounds of maidenly reserve, neither did she take particular pains to hide her preference. Indeed it was too strong to permit of her doing so. Not chat she was animated by the half divme, soul searing breath of passion, such as animated her sister?which is a very rare thing, and, take it altogether, as undesirable ami unsuitable to the ordinary conditions of this prosaic and work a day life as it is rare?but she was tenderly and truly in love after the ordinary young womanly fashion; indeed, her passion, measured by the every day standard, would have proved to be a deep one. However this was, she was undoubtedly prepared to make John Niel a faithful and a loving wife if he chose to ask her to become so. And as the weeks went on?though, of course, he knew nothing of all this?it became a very serious question to John whether he should not ask her. It is not good for moil to live alone, especially in the Transvaal, and it was not possible for him to pass day by day at the side of so much beauty and so much grace without thinking that it would be well to draw the bond of union closer. Indeed, had John been a younger man or hud less experience he would have succumbed to the temptation much sooner than he did. But ho was neither very young nor very inexperienced. Ten years or more ago, in his green and gushing youth, he had, as has been said, burned his fingers pretty sharply, and a lively recollection of this incident in bis career had heretofore proved a very efficient warning to him. Also, he had got to that period of lifo when men think a great many times before they wildkr commit themselves to the deep matrimonial waters. But, however commendably cautious a man may be, he is always liable to be thrown into temptation sufficiently strong to sweep away his caution and make a mockery of his plans. However strong the rope, it has its breaking strain; and in the same way our power of resistance to any given course depends entirely upon the power of the temptation to draw us into it. And so it was destined to be with our friend John Kiel. It was about a week after his conversation with old Silas Croft that it occurred to John that Bessie's manner had grown rather strange of late. It seemed to him that she had avoided his society instead of, if not courting it, at least showing a certain partiality for it Also, she had been looking pale and worried and evinced a tendency to irritation tnat was quite foreign to her natural sweetness of disposition. Now, when a person 011 whom one is accustomed to depend for most of that social intercourse and those pleasant little amenities that members of one sex value from another, suddenly cuts off the supply without any apparent rhyme or reason, it is enough to induce a feeling of wonder, not to say of vexation, in the breast. It never occurred to John that the reason might be that Bessie was truly fond of him, and perhaps unconsciously disappointed that he did not show a wanner interest in her. If, however, wo were to examine into the facts of the case wo should probably discover that this was the real explanation of the change. Bessie was a straightforward young woman, whose mind and purposes were as clear as running water. She was vexed with John, though she would probably not have owned it even to herself in so many words, and her manner reflected the condition of her mind. "Bessie," said John one lovely day, just a the afternoon was merging into evening"Bessie"?he always called her Bessie now"I am going down to the black wattle plant* tion by the big mealie patch. I want to se how those young trees are doing. If yo have done your cooking"?for Bessie had bee: .engaged in making a cake, as young ladies to their soul's health, often have to do in th colonies?"I wish you would put on your ha and come with me. I don't believe that yo have been out to-day." "Thank you, Capt. Niel," answered Bessif looking at him in a bewitching little way sh well knew how to assume, "thank you, but think I had rather not go out walking." Thi was what she said, but her eyes added, "I ar offended with you. I want to have nothinj to do with you." "Very well," said John; "then I suppose must go alone," and he took up his hat wit the air of a martyr. Bessie looked through the open kitche: of flio lirrVifu nurl cVinHnwc thnf. f?hnc/v UW1 UU V4iV WIU UUMMVII0 VMMV vuuwv each other across tie swelling bosom of th hill behind the house. "It certainly is very fine," she said; "ar you going far?" "No, only round the plantation." "There are so many puff adders down there and I bate snakes," suggested Beesie, by wa; of finding another excuse for not coming. "Oh, I'll look after the puff adders?com along." "Well," she said at last, "I will come, no because I want to come, but because yoi have overpersuaded me. I don't know wba has como to mo," she added, with a littl stamp and a sudden filling of her blue eye with tears, "I do not seem to have any will o my own left When I want to do one tbinj and you want me to do another, it is I wh have to do what you want; and I tell you don't like it, Capt Niel, and I shall.be ver cross out walking;" and she swept past him on her way to fetch her hat, in that peculiar!; graceful way that angry women can some times assume, and left him reflecting that b never saw a more charming or taking lady u Europo or out of it He bad half a mind to risk it and ask he to marry him. But then, perhaps, she migh refuse liim, and that was an idea that he dii not quite take to. After our first youth fev men altogether relish tbo idea of puttinj themselves in a position that gives capriciou woman an opportunity of first figurativel; jumping on them, and then perhaps holdinj them up to the scorn and obloquy of he friends, relations and other admirers. For unfortunately, until the opposite is clearl; demonstrated, many men are apt to believi that not a few women are by nature capri cious, shallow and unreliable; and John Niel owing, possibly, to that unhappy little expe rience of his youth, must be reckonet among their misguided ranks. CHAPTER XII. OVER IT. On leaving the house Bessie and John tool their way down the long avenue of blue gums. This avenue was old Silas Croft'i particular pride, for although it had onlj been planted for about twenty years, tin trees, which in the divine climato and virgii Boil of the Transvaal grow at the most ex traordinary rate, were for the most part very lofty, and as thick in the stem as English oaki of 150 years' standing. Down this charming avenue John and Bessie walked, and on reaching its limit turned to the right and followed a littin footpath winding in and out of the rocks that built up the plateau on the hillside on which the house stood. Presently this led them through the orchard, and then came a bare strip of veldt, a very dangerous spot in a thunderstorm, bul a great safeguard to the house and trees round it, for the iron stone cropped up here, and from the house one might generally see flash after flash striking down on to it and even running and zigzagging about its surface. Tc the left of this were some cultivated lands, and in front of them the plantation in which John w;as anxious to inspect some recently planted wattles. "When he had finished looking at the young trees ho returned. On getting to the border of the plantation he paused to look at Bessie, who was some twenty paces from him, perched sidewuys on the low sod wall, and framed, as in the full, rich light of the setting sun. Her hat was off, for the sun had lost its burning force, and the hand that held it hung idly by her, while her eyes were fixed on the horizon flaming with all the varied glories of the African sunset. He gazed at her sweet face and lissome form, and some lines that he had read years before floated idly into his mind: The little curls about her head "Were all her crown of gold. Her delicate arms drooped downward In slender mold, As white veined leaves of lilies Curve and fold. She moved to measure of music As a swan sails the stream. Ho had got as far as this when she turned aiiu &uw uiiii, aiiu ue gave up tuu puetry m the presence of one who might well have inspired it "What oro you looking at?" she said with a smile; "the sunset?" "No: I wus looking at you." "Then you might have been better employed with the sunset," she answered, turning her head quickly. "Look at it! Did you ever eesucha sunset? Yvre sometimes get them like that at this time of the year, when the thunderstorms are about." She was right; it was glorious. The heavy clouds which a couple of hours before had been rolling like celestial hearses across the azure deeps were now aflame with glory. Some of them glowed like huge castles wrapped in fire, others with the dull red heat of burning coal. John stood and looked at it, and its living, glowing beauty seemed to Are his imagination, as it fired earth and heaven, in such sort that the torch of love lit upon his heart like the sunbeams on the mountain tops. Then from the celestial beauty of the skies he turned to contemplate the earthly beauty ol the woman who sat there before him, and found that also fair. Whether it was the contemplation of the glories of nature--foi there is always a suspicion of melancholy in beautiful things?or whatever it was, hei face had a touch of sadness on it that he had never seen before, and which certainly added to its charm as a shadow adds to the charm of the light. "What are you thinking of, Bessie?" he asked. She looked up, and he saw that her lips were quivering a little. "Well, do you know," she said, "I was, oddly enough, thinking of my mother. I can only just remember her, a woman with a thin, sweet face. I remember one evening she was sitting in front of a house, just us the sun was setting like it is now, and I was playing by her, when suddenly she called me to her and kissed me, and then pointed to the red clouds that were gathered in the sky, and said: 'I wonder if you will ever think of me, dear, when I have passed through those golden gates?' I did not understand what she meant then, but somehow I have remembered the words, and though she died so long ago 1 do often think of her;" and two large tears rolled down her face as she spoke. Few men can bear to see a sweet and pretty woman in tears, and this little incident was too much for John, whose caution and doubts all went to the winds together, and have not since been heard of. "Bessie," he said, "don't cry, dear; please, don't! 1 can't bear to see you cry." She looked up as^kough to remonstrate at his words, aud then looked down again. "Listen, Bessie," he went on, awkwardly enough, "I have got something to say to you. I want to ask you if?if, in short, you will marry me. Wait a bit, don't say anything yet; you know me pretty well by now. I am no chicken, dear, and I have knocked about the world a good deal, and had one or two love affairs like other people. Bui, Bessie, 1 never met such a sweet woman, or, if you will let me say it, such a lovely woman as you, aud if you will have me, dear, I tkiulc that I shall be the luckiest man in South Africa;" and he stopped, not exactly knowing what else to say, and the time had not come for action, if indeed it was to come at all. When she first realized the drift of histalk Bessie had flushed up to the eyes, and then the blood had sunk back to her breast and left her us pale as a lily. She loved the man, and they were happy words to her, and she was sutisfled with them, though perhaps some women might have thought that they left a good deal to be desired. But Bessie was not of an exacting nature. At last she spoke. "Are you sure," she said, "that you mean all this; I mean sometimes people say things j of a sudden, upon an impulse, and then after_ ward they wish that they never had been _ said. If that was so it would be rather awkt_ ward, supposing I were to say 'yes,' you e know." u "Of course I am sure," he said, indign nantly. } "You see," went on Bessie, poking at the g sod wall with the stick she had in her hand, j "perhaps in this place you might be putting u an exaggerated value on ma You think I am pretty because you see nobody but "Kaffir and , Boer women, and it would be the came with g everything. I'm not fit to marry a man like I you," she went on, with a sudden burst of i3 distress; "I have never seen anything or anyQ body. I am nothing but an ignorant, half g educated farmer girl, with nothing to recommend mo, and no fortune except my looks. I You are different to me; you are a man of b the world, and if ever you went back to England I should be a drag on you, and you n would be ashamed of me and my colonial J ways. If it had been Jess now, it would have e been different, for she has more brains in her little finger than I have in my whole body." e Somehow the mention of Jess jarred upon John's nerves and chilled him like a breath of cold wind on a hot day. He wanted to put , Jess out of his mind just now. y "My dear Bessie," habroke in, ^ why do yoo. suppose such things! I can assuio you that 8 if you appeared in a London drawing room you would put most of the women in it into t the shade. Not that there is much chance of a my frequenting London drawing rooms j again," he added. 0 "Oh, yes, I may be good looking! I don't 3 say that I am not; but can't you understand f I don't want you to marry me just because I g am a pretty woman, as the Kaffirs marry 0 their wives. If you marry me at all I want 1 you to marry me because you care for me, y the real me?not my eyes and my hair. Oh, i( I don't know what to answer you! I don't, y indeed!" and she began to cry softly. h ."Bessie, dear Bessie!" said John, who was g pretty well beside himself by this time, "just 0 tell me honestly?do you care about me? I am not worth much, I know, but if you do, t all this just goes for nothing," and ho took t her hand and drew her toward him, so that j she half slipped, half got off the sod wall and v stood face to face with him, for she was a tall j woman, and they were very nearly of a 3 height. y Twice she raised her beautiful eyes to his to j answer and twice her courage failed her, and r then at last the truth broke from her almost , with a cry: ? "Oh, John, I love you with all my heart!" a And now I think that we may drop a veil - over the rest of these proceedings, for there , are some things that should be sucred, even from the pen of the historian, and the first ) transports of the love of a pure woman is one of them. Suffice it to say that they sat there side by side on that sod wall, and were as happy as people ought to be under such circumstances, till the glory departed from tho western sky j and the world grew cold and pale, till the ) night come down and hid the mountains, and j only the stars and they were left to look out r across the dusky distances of the wilderness j of plain. i Meanwhile a very different*scene was being enacted up at the house, half a m"e away. r Not more than ten minutes after John and j his lady love hod departed on that fateful walk to look at the young trees, Frank Mul[ ler's stalwart form, mounted on his great I black horse, was to bo seen leisurely advanct ing toward the blue gum avenue. Jantje was ? lurking about between tho stems of tho trees ? in the peculiar fashion that is characteristic > of the Hottentot, and which doubtless is bred , into him after tens of centuries of tracking ; animals and hiding from foes. There he was, I slipping from trunk to trunk and gazing L round him as though he expected each instant i to discover the assegai of an ambushed foe or i to hear tho footfall of some savage beast of > prey. There was absolutely no reason why ; he should be carrying on in this fashion; be t wa' simply indulging his natural instincts where he thought nobody would observe him. IJfe at Mooifontein was altogether too tame ; and civilized for Jantjc's taste, and he absolutely needed periodical recreations of this sort. Like a civilized child he longed for wild , beasts and enemies, and if there were none 1 handy he found a reflected satisfaction in making a pretense of their presence. [ Presently, however, while they were yet a [ long way olf, his quick ear caught the sound i of the horse's footfalls, and he straightened i himself and listened. Not satisfied with the i results, he laid himself down, put his ear to the ground and gave a gutteral grunt of sati isfaction. I JOHN, I LOVE VOU WITH MY WHOLE HEART. : "Baas Frank's black horse," he muttered to himself. "The black horse has a cracked i heel and one foot hits the ground more softly than the others. What is Baas Frank comi ing here for? After missie (Bessie), I think. > He would be mad if he knew that missie went down to the plantation with Baas Niel just ? now. People go into plantations to kiss eaeh ' other (Jantje was not far out there), and it 1 would make Baas Frank mad if he knew > that. He would strike me if I told him, or I would tell him." i The horse's hoofs were getting near by ' now, so Jantjo slipped as easily and naturally I as a snake into a thick tuft of rank grass 1 that grew between the blue gums and waited, i Presently the big horse approached, and the snake like Hottentot raised his head ever > so little and peered out with his beady black eyes through the straw like grass stems. > They fell on Muller's cold face. It was evii dent that he was in a reflective mood?in an angrily reflective mood. "What is Baas Frank thinking of, I won; derf" said Jantje to himself as horse and man passed within four feet of him. Then rising, he crossed the road, and slipping round by a bock way like a fox from a covert, was standing at the stable door with a vacant and i utterly unobservant expression of face some seconds before the black horse and its rider bad reached the house. "I will give them one more chance, just one more," thought the handsome Boer, or rather half breed (for it will be remembered 1 that his mother was English), "and if they < won't take it, then let their fate be upon their own heads. To-morrow I go to the bymakaar at Paarde Kraal to take counsel i with Paul Kruger and Pretorius, and the i other 'fathers of the.land.' as they call themenlt'no Tf T tl-ii'ail' i'n mr lunitrlif nrruincf. bellion there will be 110 rebellion; if I urge it there will be. and if Om Silas will not give me Bessie, and Bessie will not marry me, I will urge it even if it plungo the whole country in war from the Cane to Waterberg. Patriotism! Independence! Taxes!?that is what they all cry till they begin to believe it themselves. Bah! those aro not the things I would go to war for; but ambition and revenge, ah! that is another thing. I would kill them all if they stood in my way, all ex' cept Bessie. If war breaks out, who will hold up a hand to help the 'verdomde Engelsmann(' They would all be afraid. And it 1 is not my fault. Can J help it if I love that woman? I would slaughter every English1 man in the Transvaal to gain Bessie?ay! and every Boer, too, and throw all tho na; tives in;" and he laughed aloud and struck tho great black horse, making it plunge and caper gallantly. "And then," he went 011, giving his am1 bition wing, "when I haye got Bessie, and wo have kicked all these Englishmen out of the land, in a very tow years 1 shall rule this 1 country; and what next? Why, then I will 1 stir up the Dutch feeling in Natal and in the old colony, and we will push tho Englishmen ; back into the sea, make a clean sweep of the natives, only keeping enough for servants, and have a united South Africa, like that 1 poor silly man Burgers used to prato of, but 1 did not know how to bring about. A united Dutch South Africa, and Frank Muller to rule it! Well, such things have been, and may be again. Give me forty years of life and strength and we shall see" Just then he reached the veranda of the house, and, dismissing his secret ambitions from his mind, Frank Mullec dismounted and entered. In the sitting room he found Silas Croft reading a newspaper. "Good day, Om Silas," he said, extending his hand. "Good day, Meinheer Frank Muller," replied the old man, coldly, for John had told him of the incident at the shooting party which had so nearly ended fatally, and though he had made no remark he had formed his own conclusions. "What are you reading in The Vclkstem, Om Silas?about the Bezuidenhout affair?" "No; what was that?" "it was tuac tne voijc are rising against, you English, that is all. The sheriff seized Bezuidenhout's wagon in execution of taxes, and put it up to sale at Potchefstroom. But the volk kicked the auctioneer off the wagon and hunted him round the town; and now Governor Lanyon is sending Raaf down with power to swear in special constables and enforce the law at Pochefstroom. He might as well try to stop a river by throwing stones. Lot me.. see, tiie big meeting at Paarde Kraal^was to " have been on the fifteenth of December, now it is to be on the eighth, and then we shall see if it will be peace or war." "Peace or wur?" answered the old man, testily. "That has been the cry for years. How many big meetings have there been since Shepstone annexed the country? Six, I think. And what has come of it all? Just nothing but talk. And what can come of it? Suppose the Boers did fight, what would the end of it be? They would be beaten, and a lot of people would be killed, and that would be the end of it. You don't suppose that England would give into a handful of Boers, do you? What did Gen. Wolseley say the other day at the dinner at Potchefstroom? Why, that the country would never be given up, because 110 government, Conservative, Liberal or Radical, would dare to do such a thing. And now this new Gladstone government has telegraphed the same thing, so what is the use of all the talk and childishness? Tell me that, Frank Muller." Muller laughed as ho answered, "You are all very simple people, you English. Don't vou know that a government is like a woman who cries 'No, no, 110,' and kisses you all the time? If there is noise enough, your British government will eat its words and give Wolseley and Shepstono and Bartle Prere and Lanyon, and all of them, the lie. This is a bigger business than you think for, Om Silas. Of course all these meetings and talk are got up. The people are angry because of the English way of dealipg with the native?, and because they have to pay taxes; and they think that, now that you English have paid their debts and smashed up Sikukuni and Cetewayo, they would like to have the land back. They were glad enough for you to take it at first; now it is another matter. But still that is not much. If they were left to themselves nothing would come of it except talk, for many of them are very glad that the land should be English. But the men who pull the strings are down in the Cape. They want to drive every Englishman out of South Africa. When Shepstone annexed the Transvaal he turned the scale against the Dutch element and broke up the plans they have been laying for years to make a big anti-English republic of the whole country. If the Transvaal remains English there is an end of their hopes, for only the free state re- j mains, and that is hemmed in. That is why they are so angry; and that is why their tools are stirring the people up. They mean to make them fight now, and 1 think that they will succeed. If the Boers win the day they will declare themselves; if not, you will hear nothing of them, and the Boers will bear the brunt of it. They are very cunning people, the Cape 'patriots,'but they look well after themselves." Silas Croft looked troubled and mode no answer, and Frank iluller rose and stared out of the window. [TO BR CONTINUED.] A Pketty Custom.?It was a pretty custom long ago for lovers to ex/ ltunrro rintrj rl'hf? cpntlpmnn did v,,ll"hv not have to spend a mouth's income for a pretty trinket for which he got no return, but he also, wore and cherished a souvenier from his sweetheart. Chaucer describes a heroine as giving her lover a ring on which were engraved suitable love mottoes and receiviug a like one in return. Shakespere makes more than one allusion to this custom. In the "Two Gentlemen of Verona" Julia gives Portcus a ring, saying: "Keen you this remembrance for thy Julia's sake."To which he replies: "Why, then we'll make exchange; here, take you this." A "gimmal" or linked ring was then invented which gave still greater force and significance to the custom. It was made of a double and often triple link, which turned upon a pivot. It could be opened, showing three rings. A small hand was attached to each outer ring, which when closed, caused the hand to clasp, inclosing a heart which was affixed to the central notched ring. It was customary to break these rings asunder in a solemn manner over the bible. It was always done i in the presence of a witness, who ! kept the centre link, the betrothed ! couple reserving the two outside links. When the marriage contract was fulfil led at the altar the three portions were united and the ring used in the ceremony.?Jeweler''s Weekly. Another View.?A good story is told of an old resident among the Catskills who used to act as a guide for the enthusiastic tourists who came up to the mountains from New York. He was once taking one of these gentlemen through the paths and byways of the region. The visitor was of a poectic frame of mind, and entered upon each fresh scene with delight as he traversed the glens and followed the rocky beds of the streams through tortuous ravines. His guide bore his zeal, his exclamation, hisquotations, hisloudlyexpressed admiration, as long as he could, then cynically remarked, "I say, mister, you come from New York, don't you ?" Yes, thegentlenmncame from New York. "Wa'al, then, what would you say s'pose I went down there an' was to go gawkin' 'round as you do here ?" Gratitude.?As the branches of a tree return their sap to the root from whence it arose ; as a river poureth his stream to the sea, from whence his spring was supplied, so ine neurt ; of a grateful man delighteth in re- i turning a benefit received. He acknowledgeth his obligation ! with cheerfulness; he looketh on his benefactor with love and esteem. And if to return it be not in his power, he nourisheth the memory of i it in his breast with kindness; he for- ! getteth it not all the days of his life, j The hand of the generous man is , like theelouds of heaven, which drop I upon the earth fruit, herbage, and j flowers; the heart of the ungrateful is like a desert of sand, which swal- i loweth with greediness the showers that fall, but burieth them in its , 1 j bosom, and produceth nothing. I j Plantation Philosophy.?De ' ignunt man, no matter ef he has got i mo' money den er smart man, ain't i nigh ez much use terde curmunity, j Ever' yeah I's mo' an' mo' 'vinced | i dat yer kain't gauge de 'cerity o' er | f man by what he says. De haug i 1 squeals jist ez loud w'en he ainthurt ! ez w'en he is. 1 De man whut his de mos' frien's is 1 de man whut uses dem de least. De i only way ter hab er nice coat fur I Sunday is not ter w'ar it mo'n once a j ? week.?Arkansas Traveler. i I pijKtUatwous grading. ThTgeukgia electric wfTll TwoEdgefield men,Mr. D.T. Grice, of our town, and Mr. Brooks Lewis, of Johnston, have returned home lately from the famous electric well in Georgia. Both of them are strong believers?as is also Maj. Abram Jones, of Trenton?in its peculiar curative qualities and effects. Mr. Grice's account of the pit, the surrounding, and the general modus operandi, is interesting. Messrs. Grice and Lewis went through the country?about 70 miles?in a buggy? from Edgefield, across Ferguson's Ferry, to Lincoln ton, Ga.; thence, 20 miles further, to Washington; and thence. 9 or 10 miles southward. to the pit. A Baptist preacher?who has not preached since he has been running: the pit?owns here a body of 22 hundred acres of land. On it is a small but decided mountain. Very near the foot of the mountain Mr. Hillman was, digging for gold. One of the laborers, a victim of rheumatism, with certain limbs terribly drawn and distorted, felt very singular tingling sensations, and quickly experienced wonderful relief. It was this that led to the pit in its present stateand form. Mr. Hillmandughis gulch into a cellar 10 feet deep and 8 feet square. A small and rude house stands over it and a flight of rough and narrow steps leads to the bottom, and the descensus avemi is not facilis. The invalids sit on hard, plain, armless chairs. There is no enterprise, no beauty, no comfort. It is too dkrk in the pit to read; consequently the rickety people, when they get seated, have no resource but conversation. Not even gossip; because thus far there is nobody to gossip about. You pay ?1 for sitting three hours. As you sit on your comlortless chair, your feet rest upon the electric earth. You soon feel the tinglingsensation in your feet, and it gradually creeps upward and pervades the body. If you wish to hurry up the thing, you place your hands flat against the bare walls. When you have tingled out your three hours and your dollar, you feel quite exhausted. and vourevelids are strange ly affected. They become somewhat sore, and so heavy that they fall together despite of you. In one corner of the pit is a well, the water of which is ot decidedly peculiar but quite pleasant taste. Mr. Grice brought us a quart bottle of this water. We drank it off without stopping, and expected to tingle tumultously ; but to our extreme humiliation 'we tingle not at all. Mr. Brooks Lewis, who is young and handsome and rosy, had had a spell of fever. Consequently he only drank the water. But Mr. Grice, long painfully afflicted with rheumatism, incubated faithfully in the pit for five days. The settlement at the pit is as follows: The pit itself; another rude hut in which human rheumatics may take shelter from rain or cyclone; a cloth tent in which a photographer is tingling it; and another cloth tent in which a very poor family of rheumatics are roughing it. The mountain rising up behind the pit is hare of undergrowth, but has large trees. There is no hotel, and you must lodge in farm houses on the other side of the mountain. At these you are made quite comfortable. Near the foot of the mountain, on the inhabited side, runs a railroad, and there is a depot somewhere in the region. Mr. Hillman is neither enterprising, nor systematic, nor particular. He exercises but little supervision ; and when you go to pay him for your sittings, he takes your word in the matter, and asks no questions. Mr. Grice believes that he has been materially benefitted and strengthened?and describes j his improvement in a very intelli- I gent and convincing manner. He j also tells of some very wonderful j cures. This is a long tale, but we | have written it in the cause of suffer- , ing humanity. Who knows but that j the case of the impotent man in the New Testament, who was let down I through the roof of the house into the ! pool may be equaled in these latter 1 Georgia days \?Edgefield Chronicle. A TIGER'S BLOW. A man-eater, which for six months i had been the terror of the neighbor- J hood had been traced down and was ! seen to creep into a ravine. The I beaters were at once ordered off, as they could not be of service, and might be charged upon by the tiger, which had already been rendered i furious by a wound. Unfortunately, : these men are in the habit of half intoxicating themselves with opium j before driving the tiger from his | refuge, and one of them who had ; taken too large a dose refused to es- j cape, and challenged the tiger, draw- j ing his sword and waving it defiant- I ly. In a moment the animal sprang upon him, dashed him to the ground with a blow of his paw and turned at bay. After a series of desperate ! charges he was killed. The hunters ! then went to the assistance of the j wounded man, but found that he I was past all aid, the lower part of! his face, including both jaws, had j been carried away, as if by a cannon : ball. Tne terrific effect of the single blow ! indicates the powerofthelimb which i struck it. Had the blow taken effect < .r l 1- ~1 4.1 1 1 ~ 4,1 I it lew lucnes nigner uie vvnuie ui me head would have been carried away. By a similar blow a tiger has been known to crush the skull of an ox so completely that when handled the broken bones felt as if they were loose in a bag. The wonderat this terrific j strength diminishes when the limb j is measured. The tiger which kill- j ed the foolhardy man was by no j means a large one, measuring nine j feet four inches from the nose to the ; tip of the tail; yet the girth of the j forearm was two feet seven inches. The corresponding limb of a very powerful man scarcely exceeds a foot in circumference. Not until it becomes a man-eater is the tiger much dreaded, especially j in the case of those natives who (Jo j not possess flocks or herds. Indeed, ; when an Englishman has offered to kill a tiger whose lair was well known, ; he was requested not to do so, as the j tiger did no harm and killed so many ! deer that it supplied the neighbors ! with meat. The tigress is much more to be dreaded as a man-eater ! than the male animal. HOMESICK. Near one of our large cities there j u (mmII n?vliim fnrnuwl hlitul men. It is 11 quiet, airy house and stands { igside of an orchard and old-fashion ed garden. Under the trees and in i the shaded alleys you may see the j grey old pensioners sitting together, i telling the same stories for the thous- i ftndth time, feeding the poultry, play- ! iug with the janitor's child. They ! have found rest and friendly quiet, j in which to wait until death?that | silent, kindest friend of all?comes j to lead them home. Among these old men was one, Sandy McFarquhar, an old tifer who had belonged to a Jiigland regiment md had strayed in his old age to this country to join his son. The jon had died, his wife married again; ind poor old Sandy, nearly eighty, , crippled and blind, tyad been placed by some kind souls in this asylum. As he grew more feeble and nearer the end, old memories woke with him. "If I could only see the house where my mither lived !" he would complain perpetually. "If I could throw my line in Tay again !" As time passed, this homesickness grew intolerable. He gabbled all day of his home, and woke from his sleep crying out familiar names. "If it were possible for him to bear the voyage," said the superintendent to some visitors one day, "it would only be right to send him and let him die in his native village." One of the visitors was a gay vcuncr fellow of the town, with a kindlieart under his folly. He listened with dim eyes while Sandy talked of the glory of his regiment. ' They'll be going hame soon. You'll hear the bands play as they march down the street, a' the auld tunes?'Roy's Wife' an' 'The Campbells are Comin',' an' the girls'll nn out, ahT (he Bonnie children, an' they'll a' be there but me!" The young man asked a question as they left the room. "He will hardly last till midnight," was the answer of the physician. At dusk that evening one of the best orchestras of stringed instruments in the city quietly entered the garden of the asylum, took their places beneath the windows, and began to play. The dying old man raised himself in bed. "What's that? 'Young Lochinvar?' Hark! Be still! 'The Campbells, are Comin'!" It's the regiment comin' hame?the regiment?to Scotland!" "The music rose higher. It was an old martial strain of triumph, to which he had marched many a day. He threw off the clothes, and stood on the floor trembling, his arms raised high. "It's the regiment! We're at * ft r % ?i. 1 111 name: were a' at name; They caught him as he fell. Sandy was at home.? Youth*a Companion. THE INDIAN JUNGLE. The Indian jungle has never been adequately described. There are districts where it is almost terrible in its wildness of savage luxuriance, where masses of dark and poisonous trees are knitted into an impenetrable shade by the shaky creepers, and the fever in the hot, moist air seems like a visible evil genius, an Aura, lurking to slay its victims, as the leopard does on the branch of the black saltree, and the cobra under the beautiful, deadly blossoms of the datura. And, again, there are tracks of delightful wilderness in India, where no plow has touched the steri ile, yet lovely landscape since its levels were laid. To wander here on the smooth sand and rock, between clumps of self-planted oarunda and jujube; to taste the pure, warm air sighing across its maidans, to follow the shadowed hollows and painted banks of the nullah, and come suddenly upon the lonely jheel, full of crimson and blue lotuses and crowded by water! irds, is the pleasantest of lonely wandering. In these natural and delicious solitudes of Asia, which ha ve never known the handscarcely even the foot?of man, the spirit of the dreamy, placid, metaphysical East seems to brood over the silence of that spirit which Shelly embodies in the "Prometheus I Unbound?" Asia! thou Light of Life! I Shadow of beauty unbeheld! In these wild gardens of the great peninsula you may study also as you roam all the classical objects of Aryan natural history, as the Mahabhara and "Kalidasa" describe them. The koil will utter its flutelike notes from the thicket; the peacocks break from the kusa grass a storm of green, and purple and gold, the sand-grouse whose cry is heard before the bird is visible in the sky,skims to the pool, where the white egrets and the cranes are stalking, and over which the "fish-tiger" hovers; the birdhawks for butterflies; "the nine sisters" chatter in the thorn-bushes; theantelope file across the plain ; and, as evening falls you hear the chakur and chakri, which live on moonbeams, and which only death can separate; cheeping to the rising crescent; while the jackals steal out to find their food, and the flying foxes unhook their leathern pinions from the neem tree and scream as they launch themselves on the dusk air to plunder the distant village fruit-groves. WORK OF NATURE'S SCULPTOR. We are accustomed to associate such gigantic water carvings as the Colorado-canyon and Niagara gorge with almost inconceivable periods of time, yet instances are numerous of the wearing from the solid rock of gorges hundreds of feet deep.by two or three centuries only of work. Lyell mentions the case of the Simeto, in Sicily, which had'been dammed by lavas in 1503. In two and a half centuries it had excavated a channel fifty to several hundred feet deep, and in some parts forty to fifty wide, although the rock is a hard basalt. He also describes a gorge in decomposed rock, near Milledgeville, Ga., that was at first a mud crack a yard deep, hut which, in twenty years, was 300 yards long, twenty to 180 feet wide and fifty-five feet deep; and Liais describes a similar gorge, of twice the length, in Brazil, made in forty years. But it is in the low lands bordering rivers that the flood artist finds the t - ? -a l.~ ?? ~ t .J plastic material tnat mny ub uuhucu with each passing season. With high water the streams rapidly wear into earthy banks, commencing new bends or cutting off old ones, and even opening new chani els for discharge. The great and turbulent Hoang-IIo is noted for its devastations, says Dana. In 1850 it emptied in the Yellow sea; now this mouth is dry, and it has a new channel opening to the Gulf of Pechele, nearly 800 miles north of its former outlet, and it departed from the old channel more than this distance from the coast. This is the last of many changes, back and forth, recorded by the Chinese during the past 3,000 yea rs.?A rkamas Tra veler. Gray Hair.?That gray hair is not caused by old age is proved by the fact that many persons begin to show gray hairs while they are yet in their twenties, and some while in their teens. This does not by any means argue a premature decay of the constitution. It is a purely local phenomenon, and may co-exist with unusual bodily vigor. The celebrated author and traveler, George Borrow, turned quite gray-before he was thirty, but was an extraordinary swimmer and athlete at sixty-five. The spot where grayness appears differs with the individual. The ; philosopher, Schopenhauer, began to : turn gray on the temples and com- i placently framed a theory that this is an indication of vigorous mental activity. Race has marked influence, i The traveler, l)r. Orbigno, says that i in the many years he spent in South < America he never saw a bald Indian ; and scarcely ever saw a gray haired i one. They turn more slowly than < the whites. i A SAFE HOUSE TO SLEEP IX. ? A lawyer of high reputation in the * city of Philadelphia was traveling in t one of the Southern States, and be- c ing belated one evening, after a long < day's ride, he was compelled to turn into a house on a solitary plantation and ask for shelter and hospitality for 1 the night. His request was granted. * In the course of the evening he t thought he observed something re- { served in the master of the house ( which awakened his suspicions. He was at length conducted to his cham- j ber, which was adjoining the family 1 room. There he dwelt on the circumstances that had alarmed him ' till his excited imagination was fill- t ed with thoughts of nightly robbery 1 and assassination. He proceeded to * barricade the room as well he could. J TTa faofonorl /Inurn thn winHnws* ? against the doors he piled up tables, ? chairs, everything that was movable in the room. While thus en- 1 gaged, words uttered in a low voice i caught his ear and increased his 1 alarm. He placed his ear at the keyhole. The man of the house was en- 5 gaged in prayer?in family prayer. < Among other objects of intercession, he was praying for the "stranger j whom the providence of God had ' unexpectedly brought to lodge beneath their roof that night." When f he got through our traveling friend * arose from his stooping posture. 5 Imagine the change in his feelings. ' All his fears had vanished. Though ! no Christian himself, he knew that the prayers of Christians are like ' guardian angels to the abode in which they are offered up, and went 1 to bed and slept soundly and sweet- j ly, feeling that the house where God > was feared and worshipped was a safe house to sleep in. ( INSECTS AS FOOD. ' Farther down in the animal scale, 1 the insects furnish food to many savages hard pressed for nourishment. , Thus the miserable Indians of Utah j and the Colorado desert, and the , Bushmen of Africa, who live in a \ hot, dry open region, gather grass- j hoppers, crickets, and some sorts of , beetles, and make a meal or tneir dried bodies, which they crush and mix into a sort of paste with berries or seeds, or else they devour the insect raw. As for locusts, they are called the "national dish" of Zambesi region in South Africa; and are on the bill of fare of such half-civilized people as the Arabians, Persians and Egyptians, while their young were considered a dainty by the Romans. The grasshopper and locust are hard-shelled, vegetable feeders and , should inspire no more disgust than , the roasted shrimps of which New York schoolboys used to be so fond, j When we come to the soft-body in- , sects this disgust is strongly felt; ] yet many species are eaten by savages in all parts of the world. Thus some Africans of the Congo ( country are excessively fond of the ants that baild those great, conical, ( hard-walled houses which form so , prominent a feature of the African ( landscape. In the forests of the Am- j azon also, ants are eaten, besides j white grubs, a kind of moth, and beetles. The California Indians, especially ' those of the lower peninsula, eke out j their scanty subsistence with mag- , gots, young insects and spiders of certain kinds, not hesitating even at earthworms, out of which a soup is ] made?vermicelli this time with a j vengeance!? YoutWs Companion. . GOOD MEX. ! "The parents that educate six so- i ber, industrious, God fearing sons or ] daughters, or both, are the means of < placing power for good in the world, < which the man who endows a univer- i sity with a million dollars may not 1 equal. However useful good institu- i tions are (and their value can hard- s ly be overestimated), good men are 1 the real power for good in the world; i and good men are produced in the < family. The world mav succeed auite 5 well with poor institutions, if there ( be an abundance of good, God fear- ] ingmen. But the very best institu- < tions cannot save the world when ' there are no good men." j We quote the above from the Lu- s theran Visitor editorial of the asso- < ciate editor on "Unnoticed Saints." 1 Good men is the great need of these * times as has been the case in all ages f of the world. 1 We want good men in matters of ( Church and State, in politics, in bus- i iness, in everything. It is a broad c term and embraces a great deal. ? The way to supply this want is the i mighty problem of the age. The i work must begin in the home, around the fireside. Christian mothers and Christian homes wield a mighty 1 power in producing good men. The ] future destiny of the country, to a > great extent, is in the hands of the t mothers of the country. A great re- j sponsibility it is, butitmust be borne. ? The early impressions on the mind f of the boy are the lasting ones, and ? when once started in the proper paths f it isclifficult to divert hissteps. Now i and then one goes astray and forgets 1 his early training, but it is rare. ^ Give us good men and we will j have good measures, good govern- j ment. t Christian homes, Christian schools, ( Christian influences and we will have j good men. t The power for good wielded by \ good men can never be estimated ? nor appreciated in this world.?New- ? berry Herald and News. c t Lower than the Beasts.?1Try \ to give a dog whisky to drink and t you will see him shudder with fear ( and run awav. A rabbit which was f given one spoonful of whisky every J day, for the sake of experiment, died j in a few days with terrible cramps t in thestomach. Place a good micro- t scope over a drop of water and you t will see hundreds of little animals living and swimming lustily and cheerfully in it, but put the same in- i strument over a drop of whisky and t you will find no life whatever, death f reigning there. Then mix them to- a gether and you will witness the t following spectacle: The poor ani- t malcula}, lively and cheerful though t they were but a moment before, at r once begin to move about franti- t cally; they are taken with spasms, ti with which they suffer a little while r until death relieves them. Plence r you may realize the nature of whisky 1< and the horror which Nature herself c has instilled in every creature against e it. But what are these in eompari- t son with the susceptibility of the hu- fi man body to the ruinous effects of t alcoholic drinks, the traces of which a are often and unmistakably found S in the different disorders of the stem- n ach and bowels, the heart, the liver, t! the kidneys, the throat and the larynx tl the brain, the skin, the five senses f< and the mind itself! Who can tell the ti amount of trouble pain and misery b caused by only one of these afflic- b tions? How terribly ruined and de- it formed by drink is the human body, the most noble work in the whole of | God's visible world, that "temple o of the Holy Ghost," as the great St. ft Paul has grandly styled it! A short time ago I saw eight representations J 3f a man's stomach laid open and b iffected with those disorders of which w ilcohol is so prolific. They were aken from nature and so disgusting hat people who were shown them :ould neither eat nor drink on that lay.?Father Ivoison. The Truth.?The boy who sees lis father adulterate his goods, and Lrrange his best fruit upon the top of ~ *? i? >.~Ll 1 rtnnrtna V*ft lie UUAf JS ULUglll UUJCCt ICOOVUJ loesn't forget. The following incilents were recently told: "Come," said a certain mother to ler little boy, "take this ; take this; t is something good." The child was evidently suspicious; )ut after many earnest assurances on he part of his mother, he took the medicine. It was extremely bitter ; ind, rejecting it at once, he raised his foung voice in angry reproaches igainst his mother for telling him luch a lie. "No, ray dear," said she; "I have old you no lie. The medicine is *ood; it is good to cure you. That is what I meant." "Goodto cure me!" cried he, with i look of perfect contempt. "You jheated me. You know you did." Yes, he was right; and by that act she lost the confidence of her little boy. A little girl, hearing her mother say to tho clerk, after she had taken samples (for her crazy quilt) from several pieces of goods, that she would call in the afternoon and make some purchases, said: "Mamma, you said that at all the jther stores." Actual lessons, like these, do far more to fix moral character than all a r\??nn r?V* ? r? rv qhH bilU ^lUilUUV/lUiJ UUU MUTIOing possible from September to July. A child cannot be more certainly / corrupted than by hearing good advice and seeing a bad exemplification of it. Preaching is easy; it's the practicing that tells. The Stiffness of Death.?The temperature of the body and the rigidity of the muscles are not a sure sign. Gases are on record where, instead of being cold, the body had a temperature actually exceeding life, sometimes rising to 109 deg., and in the matter of stiffness (or rigor mortis, as it is called) is subject to much variation, sometimes coming on immediately after death and sometimes long after. As a general thing, directly after death the body is limp, the jaw drops and the limbs are limber. Stiffnesssoon follows, when the :orpse may be raised up. This rigor sometimes comes very suddenly after death. There is one rnse on record where some soldiers were sitting in a group. One was laughing at a sally of his companion, when a shell carried away his head. An examination of the head showed the features so suddenly stiffened that the expression of mirth and laughter remained there in perfect outline. A soldier told the writer that he saw i companion killed while in the act Df climbing a - nee during the battle Df Perryville, and he stiffened so quickly that his dead hands grasped the rails, and one leg remained raised just as he had been about to throw it over the top rail. Passers by seeing him thought he was living, and paid no further attention to him. He stuck there in that position for .iver two days. This is well vouched for, and can be proved by several witnesses.?Pittsburg Dispatch. Clouds and Sunshine.?Cloudless skies drop no rain. We may bathe ourselves in the unclouded sunshine for days and weeks, thinkingthatif the blue of the heavens were nevermore veiled by the blacklessof storm we at least would be perfectly satisfied. But as the unbonded days pass on, the parched ?arth begins to gape to heaven for water, the flowers fade, the grass is turned up, and men and beasts droop in the merciless heat which now seems no longer the messenger of life, but the angel of death. For ieed like that there it no help in boudless skies. The sign of deliverance rather comes in the thunder boud, the flash of lightning, and the pouring rain. There is a like need )f the rain cloud, in the inner life, rhere is a parching and deadening nfluence even here in too much sunshine; and the storm cloud of pain )r of sorrow, which drenches our leart soil with the rain of tears, done makes possible the continued growth of that which is best in our leart culture. We do right to thank 3od for cloudless days; but we do wrong if we do not thank him for lays not cloudless. The one gives sunshine, and the other the rain; md without either there would he 30 increase.?Sunday-school Times. The Rat's Weapons.?The rat is inely equipped for the peculiar life le is ordained to lead. He has strong weapons in theshape of four Iongand /ery sharp teeth?two in the upper aw and twointhelower. These teeth ire wedge-shaped, and by a wonderul provision of nature have always i fine, sharp, cutting edge. On extmining them carefully, the inner >art is found to be of a soft, ivoryike composition, which can easily be vorn away, and the outside is cora)osed of a glass-like enamel, which s exceedingly hard. The upper eeth work into the under so that the :entres of the opposed teeth meet jerfectly in theactof gnawing, hence he soft part is being continually vorn away, while the hard part keeps i sharp, chisel-like edge all the time, md at the same time the teeth are :onstantly growing up from the bot:om, so that as they wear away a resh supply is ready. Should one of hese teeth be removed by accident >r otherwise, the opposing tooth will 'ontinue to grow, and there being lothingto wear it away, itwillproect from the raoutband be turned jpon itself, and if it be an under ooth it will grow so long as to penerate the skull. Forests and Rain-Fall.?There s nothing of greater importance to he agriculturists than rain at the >?nnor ooocAn onH in nrnnpr niiflntitv: Ui'V1 ?V?OWM > md science lias demonstrated that he forests of a country are potent in he regulation of storms, the formaion of clouds, and the descent of ain. Anything which vitally affects he interests of the farmer and prolucer affects the whole State, and denands the earliest attention of the leople's representatives. The reckess destruction of forests, so strpngly ondemned by many American writrs, which has been practiced by heir countrymen, is now bearing its ruits in the terrible spring and auumn floods which of late years have ffected large portions of the United Itates. The Americans might spare luch of their care for the channels of he Mississippi if they would restore he groves cut from the hills which ?ed its sources. xodisrorestamoun lin slope is to devote the height to I arrenness, the valley to flood, and | oth to parching drouth when drouth I i most injurious. g The two most engaging powers I f an author are to make new things miliar and familiar things new. I |gy* Method is the very hinge of fl usiness, and there is no method fi 'ithout punctuality. B