Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

? ? lewis im^g-bist, Proprietor. J Jftkptitiititf JfaniH^|ttiDsja{itr: Jfoi^ tjjt |)romotittrt of \\t ^political, Sotiai, ^jritalfnral anb Commfrtial JMtrcsJs of f|t jionfjj. |terms--$2.50 a tear, in advance. vol. 33. yoekville, s. c.. wednesday, august 31, 1887. 2sto. 35. lite ftfleg idler. AN OLD LAWYER'S STORY. A great many years ago, while I was comparatively a young man, and still unmarried, I resided in a certain city in Pennsylvania, and enjoyed the reputation of being the cleverest lawyer ever known there. It is not for me to say the praise was merited, but I certainly found myself able to discover loop-holes of escape for those whom I defended, which surprised even my fellow-lawyers. I possessed by nature those qualities which would have made an excellent detective, and I was a thorough student of the law. There was i no mystery about it, but among the more ignorant classes I have gained a reputation for more than human knowledge. Perhaps it was not polite for them to say that the devil helped, but they did. However, I began to tell you about Madame Matteau. D0U96 in Tne 8UDOTDB" OI 1DB Ciiy. - auo uciself was of American birth, but her husband had been a Frenchman, and so the title Madame had been bestowed upon her. She was now a widow, and her daughter Gabrielle and son Henri were her only living relatives. Her income was but slender, and she eked it out by taking boarders, generally steady old people who had known her for many years. These respected and liked her; but the city generally had a prejudice against her. There had been two sudden deaths in her house. Each time the victim was a stranger who came at night, and was found dead in his bed in the morning. Each time the jury was divided?some believing that strangulation was the cause of death, some that the man had died in a fit. It was a terrible thing that two such deaths should have occurred beneath her . roof. Madame's friends pitied her. The rest of the little'world hinted that these were strangers, and their trunks, with no one knew what amount of money and other valuable property, remained in Madame's possession. No one said she was a murderess, but every one said it was "very strange," in an odd tone, and no one hH, since the second death, visited Madame Matteau. I myself?perhaps because I had admired her a great deal, and her daughter much more?had always insisted that it was merely a coincidence, and that in a world where appoplexy and heart disease were so common, it was no such marvel that two men should have met sudden deaths in the same house. But my faith In this theory was shaaen wnen one morning it was published over the city that another transient boarder had been found dead in Madame Matteau's house, and that she was arrested on suspicion of having murdered him, his watch and chain having been found in her possession. Before I had recovered from the shock of this terrible piece of news, a message came to me from Madame Matteau. She desired to see me. Of course I went at once. She had been taken to prison, and I found her in a little room with a barred window, and an insufficient fire on the hearth. The logs had been burnt in two upon the andirons, and the white ashes were scattered over the hearth. Almost in them sat Madame Matteau, in her widr ow's dress of sombre black. She was chilly with grief and excitement, and bad drawn her chair close to the fire. She shook violently from head to foot, and her face was deadly pale as she turned it toward me and held out her hand. "Oh! thank Heaven, you have come!" she said. "I know you can save me. Is it not horrible ? How could I kill a man ? Why should I ? Why do people come to my house to die ? To die horribly, with black faces and staring eyes, as if someone had choked them? Ugh! and he was a prettyyoung man the night before. Oh ! good Heaven, how horrible!" I sat down beside her. I look her hand. "Madame Matteau," I said, "be calm; collect yourself. As your lawyer, I must know all. Tell me, from first to last, what happened?what was said, what was done. If you?" I paused; her black eyes flashed upon rae; I could not ask her if she had any confession to make. I saw that she had not. Unless she was the best actress who ever lived, Madame Matteau was innocent of any crime. "If vou have anv suspicions," I added "tell tfiem all to come."* "There is no one to suspect," sobbed the poor woman. "In the house were Gabrielle, my daughter, whom you have seen; old Hannah, the cook; Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp, friends of poor, dear husband in his boyhood?the best, kindest people; Mr. Gray, a very old man, too feeble to leave the house ; poor, deformed Miss Norman, and the librarian, Mr. Bassford. None of these would murder a mouse. See how kind they are; they remain in my house; they send me word that they have no doubt of me. Oh, how can anybody?" "And this man who?" I began. "Yes," said Madame Matteau, "I will tell you. He was fair, young, handsomely dressed; he asked Mr. Basswood at the depot if he knew of any one who would accommodate him. Mr. Basswood brought him home. My only empty room was the one in which those strangers died. I could not bear to put him there; but Mr. Basswood laughed at me. We had supper afterward. He talked a long time to Gabrielle. It was late when he retired?late for a quiet household. Hannah had made his fire. She came and told us that she had done so. He said good night. "After he had gone we found that he had left his watch on the table. He wore it only with a bunch of seals, and he had been setting it by the clock, and showing it to us as something very handsome. I knocked at the door to restore it to him. He had not left us but fifteen minutes before; but he must have been asleep already. for he made !.o answer. So I kept ifcfor the night, and wore it down to breakfast next morning. As I came down I met a gentlemen in the hall. He inquired for Mr. Glenn. That was the new-comer's name. I sent Hannah to waken him. She could not do so and grew alarmed. She had a key that would open the door, and used it. The next thing I knew we were all in the room and the windows were all wide open, and the doctor had been sent for; and the young man who had called was screaming that his brother had been choked to death ; and then there was the inquest, and they arrested me. The brother said the first thing he noticed was that I wore Mr. Glenn's watch and seals. I had forgotten it in my terror." "So Hannah had a key to the room ?" I said. "Yes; at least it was a key that would open it. It was the key to Mr. Basswood's door. She knocked the other out with a stick and put that in." "The people who were there on that night were your boarders when the other men were found dead?" I asked. "Oh, yes!" "Aunt Hannah was there also?" "All my married life Hannah has lived with me." "Your daughter oversees your household in your absence?" "Yes, poor child, with Hannah's help. I thought a little while. "Madame," I said, "there is some strange mystery in this affair. I do not despair of proving to the whole world your entire innocence. Meanwhile De as calm as possible, and endeavor to remember everything connected with the sudden deaths that have occurred in your house. The incident that seemed the least important may really be of the most immense value." So I left and went home. Strange enough, on the way I met the doctor who had been called in. He was a dull, heavy sort of a person, considerably given to beer drinking, and my opinion of his ability was not. very great. However, I questioned him on the subject, and he replied: "Well, you see, 1 don't say the old worn m murdered him. If she did, I should ssfy it was by sitting on him, or smothering him with the bolsters. I suppose the cause of his death was asphyxia. Well, then, what is asphyxia? Why, too little breath to keep one living. He died because he was short of breath. I wash my hands of that matter. Only there's the watch; that looks dark." I had learned nothing from the doctor. The coroner lived near me. His jury had been twelve of the most ignorant men in town. This is all he told me : "He was smothered, that man was ; so were the other two. Men don't smother themselves. We made it inscrutable Providence t'other time. We made it mnrriftr this time. That there watch you Th us^llS^a?^Sy^^^g?f!^%rent home and formed my plans. There was but one way in which to penetrate the mystery. I must enter the house; I must see people there; must penetrate to the room in which these men died so suddenly, and I must not be known in my real character. That Madame Matteau was innocent I fully believed, but that some one beneath her roof was guilty I made no doubt. It might be the librarian, Mr. Basswood, whose key fitted the dead man's door. It was possible?but no, I would not harbor a mad superstition. There"could be no supernatural power beneath which human beings drooped and died. Death as it came to us was mysterious enough. What had been said to me by a woman, who would have been a Spiritualist had she lived, was an absurdity. "I believe that there is some horrible unseen thing in the room," she had said ; some awful, shapeless spirit, that when it is locked in with its victim, murders him. Let others believe what they will, I believe that." The words haunted me, but I laughed at them, of course. Whatever it was, I would try to know. At dusk that day I went into my bedroom myself. I came out a strange man. t wnrp a white wig. a t?air of green gog gles, and an overcoat, *the tail of which reached to my heels. I had a muffler about my throat, and a little haunch on one of my shoulders. I carried a thick cane, and stooped a great deal as I walked. In ray hand I carried a carpet-bag, and in my bosom a pair of pistols well loaded. As I passed out into the street the early moon was just rising ; she lit me on my way to Madame Matteau's house. It was opened for me, when I knocked, by old Hannah. Her eyes^ere red and swollen. Then I told ner that I was a stranger, and had received Madame Matteau's address from a gentleman in New York, and desired to stay under her roof all night. She shook her head, saying? "I don't think you can. The lady is away from home. Besides we are in trouble here. I don't think Miss Gabrielle would?" But here Miss Gabrielle herself appeared. "I am an old man, Miss," I said, "and as you see, quite infirm. I dread another step. I should take it as a kindiess if you would accommodate me, and I will pay you any price you ask." Miss Gabrielle looked at Hannah. "We have only one room," she said, "and that?" I ended the question of ray stay by begging to be taken to it. "You will have supper, sir ?" asked the girl. But I declared that I had eaten, and only wanted rest. Her reply was: "Hannah, show the gentleman to the blue room, and make a fire." I was in the blue room, the scene of the three sudden deaths or murders. It was a small apartment painted blue. It had also blue window curtains, and a blue silk coverlet on the bed, a neat striped carpet, a set of old mahogany furniture, ana a yery handsome set of costly china. It was at the time almost the universal custom to bum wood. In this room, however, was a small coal fire, I alluded to this as Hannah came in with the scuttle. "Yes, sir," she said, "misus does burn coals. Her son is a clerk or the like, at the new mines at Mauch Chunk, and he sends it chean to her: but its a nasty dirty smelling thing and I hate it. Now it's built and lit; 'twill warm up in fifteen minutes. It takes longer than wood." She went out of the door and came back in a minute with a little tray on which stood a pot and a cup and saucer, and also a bowl and tiny pitcher and something in a napkin. "Miss sent a bit and a sip," said she, "Tea rests us old folks mightily. Good night." # "Good night," I said, "I expect I shall sleep soon. I must be up very early, I though, for I have bills to pay. I have some hundreds of dollars with me to pay out to-morrow, and its in this bag." She looked at me in a queer sort of a way, and lingered beside me. At last she spoke. "Look ye, sir; I think that old folks of your age do wrong to lock doors on themselves. You might be ill at night, and who'd get in to you? Leave your door unlocked." Was it this woman's practice to beg travelers who stopped with her mistress not to lock the door? Was there some baneful potion in the cup she had given me? It was an innocent-looking cup enough? an old-fashioned affair covered with little sprigs. The tea was fragrant Hyson; but the suspicion that had crept into my mind had tainted it. I fancied a queer color, a curious smell. I put it from me, and would not have tasted it for a kingdom. I had not intended to sleep, and did not undress myself. I merely removed my disguise and sat down beside the table, with my pistols beside me. That some attempt might be shortly made to murder me I felt to be possible. I thought of all the old tales that I had heard of trap doors and sliding panels, and secret entrances to traveler's rooms. I was not a coward, but I felt strangely nervous; and singularly enough for a man of my perfect health my hands were growing cold, and my feet were lumps of ice, while my head was burning hot. Fifteen minutes had passed, and the fire was kindled; but the room was not warm. The blue flames struggled among the black coals, and flung forked tongues tipped with yellow tints into the room. There was nothing cheerful about the stove though it was of that open style called the Franklin. Yet I drew a chair toward it from habit, and sat with my feet upon the hearth. I do not know how long I sat there. ? Idenly I became aware that I was losing my senses. If unseen hands had been clasped about my neck, and an unseen knee had been pressed against my chest, my sensations could not have been different. A thought of the evil spirit, which my friend had suggested, faintly struggled into iny mind. As I staggered to my feet a noise like the roaring of the sea was in my ear. The flames of the candle turned to a great yellow blue. I barely retained strength enough to stagger to a window and fling it cpen. The fresh, cold winter air rushed in at once. It gave me intense pain, but it relieved me. In a moment more I was able to clamber out of it upon the shed below. There I remained until the day-dawn. With my returning senses the truth came to me. That which had murdered the three men who slept before me in the blue chamber was nothing more or less than the coal stove. It was provided with what is called a damper, and this being caught in a manner that closed it, sent the poisoned gas into the room. It had been kindled as a wood fire would haye been at the hour of retiring, by one ignorant of the danger possible i from coal gas, and they had slept never to awaken. Had I thrown myself upon the bed, I also would have been found dead at i daylight, in all human probability. As for the fact that neither doctor nor coroner discovered the truth, I have but to say they were not deeply scientific i men?that coal stoves were scarcely used in the place, and that it had not been men- i tioned that-the blue chamber was thus i heated. Of course I rejoiced the household by i my discovery next morning, and equally, i of course, Madame Matteau, who was not 1 only freed trom suspicion, but became the 1 object of universal sympathy. She was < always grateful to me, and she proved her gratitude by giving what I soon asked for, ] the hand of her daughter in marriage. { "Thn man T marrv must be a real hero. I I could never endure a plain, prosy, humdrum creature," flushed out Laurel Mayne gaily, tossing two white envelopes on the centre table hastily. Quiet, puzzled Aunt Elaine Talmadge looked up at the bright and spirited creature before her, laid aside her cluster of tucked hand-work, wiped her spectacles and glanced at the conspicuous missives with an odd smile. Both epistles were proposals of marriage. One was from a wealthy, handsome young merchant in an adjoining city; the other from her father's engineer. "What presumption!" cried Laurel, wrathfully, pouting her pretty lips. "A common workman daring to aspire to the hand of his employer's daughter!" "You must admit, Laurel, dear, you rather encouraged Clark Hawthorne's attentions, although, as you say, he is only a workman in your father's mill, having an aged mother dependent on him for support. He will make his mark in the future, I feel certain." "I encouraged him?" responded Laurel in open-eyed wonder, her crimson lips curling scornfully, an angry light deepening in the sparkling brown eyes. "When I chanced to meet the man I always spoke courteously, even pleasantly?" "And talked to him by the hour whenever you went down to the mill," said Aunt Elaine gravely. "That was only to pass away time, auntie dear. Why a girl would die of ennui without some one to talk to in this quiet village." "You never stopped to remember, Laurel, it was dangerous to the peace of mind of a young, impulsive, warm-hearted fellow like Clarke, to be thrown, almost constantly in a pretty young girl's society for nearly two years without falling desperately in love with her. If you should ask my opinion which of the two you should actually choose, my preference would be Clarke Hawthorne. For if you married Arthur Lennox, and his wealth should take wings, what would become of you ? There was something in his dandified manner that I always disliked." Aunt Elaine Talmadge rose as she uttered the fatal, prophetic words. She was a quaint, kind spinster, who rarely ventured an adverse opinion. I'o wonder her willful niece gazed upon her in surprise as she jerked out the words t meaningly and sharply, gathered up her 8 sewing, and hastily left the room, slam- s ming the door after her. e It was no hard matter to decide which of the two lovers pretty Laurel Mayne preferred. ^ Without a second glance the workman's t letter found its way into the bed of glow- \ ing coals that burned and flickered in the grate. Overtheother missive?a gushing, close- } ly written epistle?Laurel sat dreaming, as girls will, of the handsome hero who 1 haa lately penned it. s "Arthur will come to-morrow for his i answer," she murmured softly. 1 One glance into that rosy, dimpled face, would tell the reader what that answer ^ was to be. > "And as for Clarke Hawthorne," she t continued, ruefully, "I shall laugh him j out of the matter, scornfully, as if it were a joke. What would Arthur say, with , his fastidious tastes and set ideas of equal- ? ity, if he ever dreamed this man had ? dared?" "Laurel! Laurel! Where in the world i are you ? I have been looking everywhere t for you." i Laurel had just time to press a kiss upon [ the envelope and thrust it into her pocket as her mother hurriedly entered the room. ( "Here is a telegram from your father, ? dear," she said, "saying he cannot return ( home from Ashford to-night. Mr. Hampton, your father's partner, expects your { father to-night; so you must run down to the mill with this telegram, Laurel; and ( make haste, fer he will wait till dusk, 1 j fear." There was no one else to send, while ? Laurel had no other alternative than to tie on her straw hat, pick up the telegram, j and whisk down the path to the mill. t The great golden sun had set behind the j fleecy clouds that skirted the western horizon, giving promise of a delightful June | evening. "If Arthur were only here to enjoy this t pretty sunset!" she sighed aloud. t "Arthur is here," cried a voice at her t elbow. c And turning, she saw, with traveling satchel in hand, the hero of these fanciful air-castles standing before her, smiling. * t "I?I thought you would not be here till \ to-morrow!" exclaimed Laurel, blushing i rosily. ( "I could not remain away until to-mor- ( rowj" answered the young man, gaily. "Will you give me an answer to my letter j now, Laurel, darling." j Woman-like, the young girl replied ^ shyly: , "Not now, please. I will think it over f and answer you to-morrow." j In after years, when she looked back [ with a shudder upon that evening, she f knew it must have been fate that prompt- . ed that answer. | Arthur Lennox smiled satisfactorily to ( himself. ( He was quitesure that the answer would ( not be "No !" And, after all, one day was f not a great length of time to wait. ( "I am so glad I met Arthur," Laurel , was thinking. "He shall go to the mill ( with me, and prevent a possible converse- ( tion with presumptuous Clarke Haw- , thorne." { Just as Laurel had surmised, the first , person she met, upon entering the door of \ the mill, was Clarke Hawthorne, a hand- s some, genial young fellow, good-looking, ] even in the work-clothes he wore. A glad, happy light broke over his face as he caught sight of his employer's { daughter, only to die away again upon f beholding her companion, while he respectfully touched his cap as they passed , him on the stairway, toward the private j office beyqnd. < Owing "to the repairing in the main | office, a small room in the rear, accessible j only by narrow unprotected stairs, had j been set apart for the transaction of private business. Yet the close proximity of immense wheels in constant motion, the i liberal display of numerous placards? i "Danger!" "Keep Away !"?prevented i many from venturing in the direction of 1 the narrow stairway to the private office, 1 save the cautious employes used to thread- s ing narrow passages where death lurked I in a single misstep. i The village bell had chimed the hour of ! six. The ponderous wheels were still, as 1 Laurel, followed by her companion, nim- 1 bly climbed the stairway. ] At the end of a narrow ledge, about midway, stood a window, which from 1 its dusty panes commanded a, View of the steep rocky bank far down below, over which the white-foamed water dashed furiously. Both stopped involuntarily to admire the fine panorama which nature had ] spread out before them. "Suppose," whispered Laurel archly, "I was to fall from tne window to the rocks down below. Would you fstretch out your arms?" X "You well know my life would be , nothing without you. 1 wojald certainly ' 3tretch out my arms," l|e answered promptly, suiting the actionrto the word, and clasping his pretty companion as if to prevent such a possibility, Laurel Mayne laughed a p etty, bright, j sparkling laugh, that sounded strangely through the silent, deserted mill, and brought the bitterness of hop! crushed out , to a lonely man sitting with bis head bent :>n his clasped hand below. T At that instant Laurel laughingly freed i berself from her companion's embrace. sue iiuu uruugiiir but? iuro?o iw iaic. Her father's partner had gQri&home. : 86 the lovers leisurely, not noticing that the golden sun- ' jet had deepened into the doll, misty ; shadows of twilight. It was so sweet to ' ae assured over and over again how much ; she was to him. , "I would give my very life to serve you, * md deem it well spent," he said tenderly; ind Laurel, looking up into his handsome j race, believed his love and watchful care * ihe greatest happiness of her young life, * so soon to enter his keeping for ever. i Li.de did either dream, in retracing ;heir steps of the terrible moment fast ap- : broaching, which should prove that de- i motion. , The pair had descended but a few steps v ;hrough the deepening shadows when a sound that froze the very blood in their /eins fell upon their ears?a low dull, umbling sound, followed by a grating ioise. Then the great, ponderous wheels, be- J sween which they must pass in the uneer;ain light, began slowly to revolve, gain- ^ ng in velocity with every revolution. * "My God!" The words?a prayer, not scarcely audible, burst from the pale lips >f Laurel Mayne. * Then suddenly she remembered, owing ! o the press of orders, the night-work had >een resumed. t The great wheels deadened every sound. Arthur Lennox took in the situation ^ vith paling brow. Great beads of perspi- i ation stood on his forehead. He dared leither advance nor retreat. A step in s n any direction might prove fatal. He hrieked aloud in horror for help. "Arthur, Arthur," moaned Laurel, pitesusly, but he neither saw nor heard her. * Annfhpr startling riisnnverv had burst r ipon him. The great belt which held the ^ vheels above their heads was slowly \ jiving way. At any moment the instrument of death nightcome whirling, crushingdown upon t hem. It could stand the strain but a few noments more. j Lennox saw the white horrified gaze of a nan looking up at them, one who had aken in the full horror of the situation at l single glance. i In a hoarse voice he shouted up above f he din: , "It is madness to attempt to stop the vheel! The belt is giving way! Hold <j l&urel firm, and drop her over the ledge ome. Quick! In Heaven's name, man!" But all thoughts, save of self-preservaion, had fled from the loverofa snort time J igo. He heeded not Clarke Hawthorne's ihouts, nor the moans of the terror-strickin girl. . c One chance of escape lay before him. ^ Quick as thought he dashed open the ~ vindow, balanced himself a moment on he sill, and leaped far out into the waters + )elow, leaving Laurel to the will of God. Clarke Hawthorne had witnessed all. ? What was life to him, and the woman le loved in deadly peril ? i Past the hissing wheels he rushed like v ightning, beneath the ponderous belt that iwung to and fro, its massive weight in j nid-air above him. On, on he sped. At | ast he grasped her swinging form. "My darling, save me," moaned the ^ vhite lips, as she sank into his arms, . vhile he leaped from crevice to crevice in r he perilous descent, her words giving him f iew courage and strength. ( Step by step he sped breathlessly. t \notner step and they had gained the 8 irch beyond. And not a moment too loon. | With a buzzing sound the great belt . mrted. and the Donderous wheel, with * he rapidity of lightning, crashed down ^ ipon the spot Laurel had left a moment )efore. Papers teemed the next day with news )f the "Mill Accident." Only three persons knew how near it had been to being ihronicled "A Tragedy." A change had come over Laurel Mayne ifter that night. In that one awful moment she had learned to value the true love of a man who lad risked his life to save hers. Clarke Hawthorne is her husband now, ind as she smilingly says?a true hero. As for Arthur Lenox, he escaped?more s the pity?quite uninjured, only too glad ;o hide himself from the girl to whom ie had proven an ignoble coward. He could not bear to see his rival wear ;he jewel he knew he might have won. Clarke Hawthorne is now a partner in he same mill; yet he never ceases to ^ hank the fate that gave hirn a bride, hough to gain her he passed through the c >rdeal of that terrible moment. c Quarreling.?We find the following * jxcellent sentiments going the rounds of -1 he press. They are so very correct that s ;very person, whether they follow the pre- c :epts they set down or not, must approve c )f them: \ One of the most easy, most common, 2 nost perfectly foolish things in the world J s to quarrel, no matter with whom, man, 1 ,voman or child, or upon what pretense, s provocation or occasion whatsoever. 8 rhere is no kind of necessity in it, no mat- 2 er of use in it, and no species or degree of v penefit to be gained by it, and yet strange is the fact may be, theologians quarrel, c politicians. lawvers. doctors, and princes 8 juarrel, the church quarrels, and the State [ Juarrels; nations and tribes quarrel and 1 :orporations, men, women and children, J logs and cats, birds and beasts, quarrel J iboutall manner of things, and all manner J )f occasions. If there is any thing in the 1 world that will make a man feel bad, ex- ^ :ept pinching his finger in the crack of the 0 loor, it is unquestionably a quarrel. No S nan ever fails to think less of himself 0 ifter than he did before one. It de- 1 grades himself in his own eyes and in the J iyesofothers, and what is worse, blunts his ! sensibility to disgrace on the one hand and j ncreases the power of passionate irritabil- 1 ty on the other. c The truth is, the more quietly and peace- J ibly we get on the better; the better for our- * selves, the better for our neighbors. In nine J ;ases out of ten, the wisest course is, if a 1 nan cheats you, to quit dealing with him; 3 If he is abusive, quit his company; if he ? slanders you, the wisest way is generally J ;o let him alone, for there is nothing bet- 1 ;er than this cool, calm, quiet way of deal- 0 ng with the wrongs we meet with. The Bat's Bite.?The curious feature i in the bat's bite is that it is hardly ever 1 felt, even when the person attacked is c uvake. I myself had a remarkable illus- j [ration of this, and stood with a man who i was remarking that he couldn't under- j stand how people always got so unaccoun- I tably bitten, though while he was actually f making this remark in the dusk a bat was i mcking o'ne of his toes, as was evidenced i by the bat being seen by me and himself 1 to flutter away, while the man's, toe, to ( his great surprise,was found to be bleeding f severely. ' ( IpscrUattefluis fading A DEBT PAYING RELIGION. Just at this time our country needs religion that will make a man pay hi 3ebts. Shouting don't settle old notes am accounts with God and man?cash up YVe want to pounce right on a fellow am puthim outofthechurch ifhegoes to a ball pr theatre, or gets on a drunk, but neve 3ay a word to the pious scamp who neve pays his debts. Preachers and people wh never pay their debts, are doing the churcl more harm than dance and drunkardsthere are more of them in the church Reader, am I getting close to you? Thei lay down the paper and go and pay up ind then you can read on with ease. And don't you stop paying because th< 'statute of limitation" excuses the opei iccount you made for your bread an< meat?God's law knows no such statute iou pay it in cash, or God will make yoi pay it in fire and brimstone. God know 10 such excuse from paying as "home itead exemption.'' You raise that excus ;o keep from paying your "debts, and yoi ;an stop singing, "When I can read mj titles clear to mansions in the skies"fou've got none up there. You may say 'I would pay if I could." How hard havi fou tried? If trying, at this moment :ould you say, "I have done all in mj lower?" Have you tried to save alittli ;ach week or month for debts ? Ari fou spending no money for things to ea ind wear that you could not do without' tlow much do you spend per year fo ;igars and tobacco? Make your calcula ion. Do you eat dainties and luxuries' Plainer diet would keep you from making loctors' bills that you won't pay, anc iring up bank accounts. Do you stru ibout with an umbrella over your head vhile your creditor walks in the broilini un? Don't you cut shines in hired turn >uts (may be they are not paid for) whei rou might walk, and use the money t< nake your creditor smile? A plainei uit would be more becoming till you car >ay for those worn out last season. Wher sxpenses not necessary for the feeding anc ilothing of the body are cut off and ap died to the payment of debts, then yoi ;row in favor with God, and not til hen does God excuse you. Repentanci >n tMu nninf miiQf-hpnf that Gndlvsnrl hat needeth not to be repented of. Read sr, were you sorry that you had not paic lebts when you made a profession of re igion ? If you were not, that is just whj rou have not got a debt-paying religion True repentance has a retroactive as wel is a prospective effect on the life of th< >eliever. He will, as far as possible, mak< ;ood his past wrongs. Many new con rerts sing, "Jesus paid it all, all to Hiir ! owe." No such thing! Jesus did noi >ay it all?neither do you owe it all t( lim. If the week before you were con rerted you owed ten dollars and you were ible to pay it, and you owe that neighboi en dollars yet, Jesus did not pay that foi rou. If you don't pay that debt, it wil neet you at your judgment just as sun is you are a sinner. It is mean in you t< sxpect Jesus to pay debts for you that yot an pay yourself. If you have a Christiar leart in you, think how much Jesus paic or you that you never could have met a1 Jod's bar of inflexible justice. Some peo >le think that the cleansing stream o Tesus' blood washed Sinai away anc leluged the law?no such thing! Jesu! ame not to destroy, but to fulfill, and gav< :race that we through Him might fulfill fesus everywhere enforces the Command nents as the rule of life. At the close of our great revival at Fifth >t. Church, two years ago, a number o roung men came to me to know if thej >ught to go and pay bills that they hac nade at bar-rooms for whisky, &c. I tolc hem to "owe them nothing," "let noi rour good be evil spoken of'?give the levil his dues. All of those young men ave one or two, went and paid up those jad debts, and have had no more. Those vho could not see that it was their duty tc >ay those debts, have returned to their ole )aths, and their second state is Worse thar he first. Then let the whole church pray for a re rival of the debt-paying religion. In ey iry revival let prayers be made that th< ipw rnnvfirts mnv have erace to Dav ut >ld debts, and not contract new ones', with >ut good probability of paying them. Le he ministry enforce this duty publicly ind privately, (with discretion,)and grea food can be accomplished. If the preach ;rs would look after this matter of debt laying among their congregations, theii >wn debts might be more promptly paid:hickens come home to roost. Botl ireacher and people need to be more cau ious, prayerful and pavful about this line The great necessity of ..ie present time i: lonfidence among the people. Let th< :hurch demand and command her mem lership to live up to their promises ant lontracts, and soon present financial dark less will give way to a brighter morn o irosperity to all business circles. Keej he Amen corners and front seats clear o nembers who can and won't pay theii lebts, (the pulpit, too,) and the Wort ireached will reach sinners. May Got five increase to these words which an vritten for the promotion of His kingdon n the practical dealings with men.?Rev 1. H. 'Puttee, Wilmington, iV. C. HOW MOSBY MADE USE OF THE SPY. A dispatch from St. Louis to the Nev Pork Sun says: Mr. John W. Munson >f this city, who was with Colonel Mosbj luring the war, tells some interesting fact ibout Pardaw Warsley, the Union spy o he Shenandoah, who died at Jamestown ST. Y., on last Wednesday. Mr. Munsoi ;ays: "I was riding 'with Colonel Mosbj >ne day in 18G4on a scouting trip, whei me of our men rode up and informed tin Colonel that a Yankee peddler had jus IriyenintoMiddleburg, Va., with awagor oad of goods. We met old Warsley, as h< old us his name was, a few hours after ,itting-in his wagon with his wife by hi: ide. "Mosby asked him a few question! ind got very straightforward answers, and vith no more delay, said to him : "Now, Warsley, let's understand each >ther from the start. You are a Yankee py sent out here to try to catch me or mj nen, but we have been catching sutlers toe ong to be caught by as poor a specimen a: ;ou. I want to make use of you, and, a,1 [ intend, you shall make money by it. J im not afraid to trust you. I want yoi o do the shopping for my command. We vill give you orders to fill in Baltimore tnd Washington, and you bring us the foods and make your big profits on their ind I will protect you. If any of my mer iarm you I will punish them. You car arry this on just as long as you choose or you have only to report to your master n Washington, after you return from eacl rip after me, that you have not quite aughtme yet, but you hope to do so the lext time. I'll give my men notice tha hey can begin making up their order: or you at once. Itecolleet, I don't objec o your taking back all the informatior rau choose, nor to your trying to catch me >r the men. If it amuses you it don' nirfc nq All T rpniiirp nf vnn fnr the nrn ection I grant you, instead of having yoi ihot, is that you fill our orders promptly kVhat do you say? "Old Warsley was too smart a trade] iot to see that this was a grand chance foi lim, and he not only accepted the Colonel'! )ffer, but lived up to it honestly and mad< ilenty of money by it. At the first meet ng with him I gave him an order for eigh ,'ards of gray corduroy, with trimmings juttons, lining, etc., for a nobby suit, alsr i soft hat, with gold cord and ostrich dume, also a pair of fine cavalry boots ind lastly, for the handsomest doll babj le could find in Baltimore. Colonel Mosbj irdered a sack of coffee and some othei joods. Warsley went back loaded witl irders, and in duo time he came bad with every order filled. He charged me $4 a yard for the corduroy, $10 for the hat, _ $15 for the boots and $20 for the doll baby, r - but he paid me $2 a pound for a big box j of chewing tobacco. He not only filled a orders for Mosby's men, but for citizens a s generally, buying any article ordered. We a j looked upon him as a godsend, and never thought of being suspicious of him. We j knew our man too well. Had the author ities in Washington, who employed him, ' not seen through his little game and put *. a stop to it, he might have kept up his peddling to the end of the war. Finally, ? when he was 'found out' by his employers he informed on some Baltimore merchants who had sold him some goods, knowing ' they were to go South, and had them arrestpd. This is the nnlv thine we had ' against him. Colonel Mosby never tried t to catch him, for Warsley admitted very c " frankly who he was as soon as he heard h j Colonel Mosby's favorable proposition. Nor did the Colonel ever set any hand" some young lady to spy upon him, and c Warsley never led any handsome young t lady through swamps and by-roads, for J " his Union passes and Mosby's protec- r \ tion made his traveling-along, the main i * turnpike much handier. Mo9by never put t ' a pistol to Warsley's head; never threatened to shoot him; never fought a duel I ' with General Lee's nephew about him, t and never became his warm friend." 9 } ? t 3 THE VIOLIN. e 2 The Cremona makers of the best period . t were no less remarkable for beauty of * ' workmanship than charm of tone, and the t r violin, as modeled by their hands, has e 2 hitherto baffled all attempts to force it 0 r into the march of progress which mo9t v i things in these brisk and giddy paced times 8 t seem destined to follow. The sole dif- j foronno hpf.wppn the erentinn of the six- . ; teenth century and that of the nineteenth J? - lies in increased length of sound bar?the \] 1 nervous system,as it maybe termed, of 2 ) the violin?in order to adopt it to the in- ^ r creased pressure ofthe higher pitch, equiv- 1 l alent to a weight of about 90 pounds on the l front of the instrument. Though violins J' 1 are doubtless improved by age and use, 1 - the excellence depends mainly upon the 0 i nature and direction of the curves and up- " 1 on the thickness and density of the wood of j which the instruments are fashioned; for t the back, sides and neck, sycamore and a - maple have been commonly selected, and Cl I for the finger board and tail piece ebony, - a light, soft, porous wood, such as deal, be- j, j ing chosen for the front, in order that the ? . quicker vibration of the sound board may D 1 mingle in the hollow of the instrument, ri s with the slow vibrations ofthe back. Nor n 3 must we omit to mention the sound post, stuck upright inside the violin, just beneath P l the bridge, which exercises the import- " t ant function of combining and mixing the ^ ) pulsations, and has hence received the ^ - name of the "heart of the violin." The 11 > sides or ribs also call for notice, regulating, " r as they do, the height of the instrument h r and the amount of its air-bearing capacity, 1 upon which intensity of sound so materi3 ally depends: They are formed, like the ) back, of maple or sycamore, and are in six l peices, bent to the required form by means l of a heated iron. The violin, when com- . I plete, consists! of 58 different parts, and ( t when 24 bits instead of 12 are used for the - purfling, and the tail piece is made in two b f portions the total number of pieces extends f I to 71. Up to the middle of the seven3 teenth century, the bow was short and , 3 clumsy, without any screw to pull the ^ . horse-hair tight. Tartini, 1730, effected the ' - first improvement by making it more rj elastic, and giving to it a backward ini stead of forward curve. It was not, f however, until the middle of the eighr teenth century that Francois Tourte, of I Paris (1747-1835) the Starndivari of the ^ I bow?finally brought it to the degree of t perfection needed to enable Paganini to P 3 revolutionize the whole art of violin play- . ; ine- ^ ri 5 WHY BIRDS SING. a ? Thp mainritv of ornithologists aerree in ti , ascribing an eratic character to the songs t< of birds; not only the melting melodies, - but also those of their tones that are dis- ^ cordant to the human ear, are regarded as 0 3 love-notes. Darwin finally, saving some G ) reverses, came to accept this view. To be ti ' able to speak critically of the love-song, g< c one should pay especial regard to the love- e< [ life of birds. It would be throwing water if c into the sea to add to what ornithological tl writers have advanced concerning the ex- a ceeding vital worth and cosmical signifi- o r cance of love. Nevertheless, I venture the opinion that the origin of the song1 habit is to be found in other sources as p well as in this important factor, among fi ' which is the joy of life, manifested in an ii 3 irresistible determination to announce it- b 3 self in melody; and that the song is more h perfectly brought out in proportion as this si 1 feeling is more highly developed in the or- b " ganization. Birds in freedom begin to o 1 sing long before pairing, and continue it, o 3 subject to interruptions, long afterward, b ; though all passion has been extinguished; C and domesticated birds sing through the ri j whole year without regard to breeding t< J time, though no female orcompanion ever v 3 be in sight. Such birds, born in captivity, a 1 never feel the loss of freedom, and, if they g are well taken care of, are always hearty n and in good spirits. The bird sings, to a o large extent for his own pleasure ; for he i' frequently lets himself out lustily when he t< / knows he is all alone. In the spring-time fi , of love, when all life is invigorated, and o 7 the effort to win a mate by ardent wooing o s is crowned with the joy of triumph, the b f song reaches its highest perfection. But si , the male bird also sings to entertain his tl i mate during the arduous nest-building and c< r hatching, to cheer the young, and if he be " 1 a domesticated bird, to give pleasure to tl 2 his lord and the providence that takes care ci t of him, and in doing so to please himself. t< 1 Lastly, the birdsings?by habit, as we call tl 2 it?because the tendency is innate in the A. , organs of song to exercise themselves.? ii s Popular Science Monthly. a 3 n A HOME-MADE WEATHER BUREAU. . a T r ?? U nur?K r\a \r 0 ii one euuiu icuu wc oi^no, (.ul? } i foretells the next; to-day is the*progenitor )! of to-morrow. When the atmosphere is v ) | telescopic and distant objects stand out un- d 31 usually clear and distinct, a storm is near, v 3 We are on the crest of the wave, and the p [ depression follows quick. It sometimes fi 1 happens that clouds are not so indicative lj 3 j of a storm as their total absence. In this l< 3 j state of the atmosphere the stars are unu- ti 3 sually numerous and brightatnight, which ii i is also a bad omen. It appears that the p l : transparency of the air is prodigiously in- o i creased when a certain quantity of water a , I is uniformly diffused through it. Moun- ti 3 taineers predict a change of weather when, si i ! the air being calm, the Alps covered with T 3 j perpetual snow, seem on a sudden to be tl 3 i nearer the observer, and the outlines are tl t marked with great distinctness on their n 3 azure sky. This same condition of the at- li t mosphere renders distant sounds more ri i | audible. tl 3 There is one redness of the east in the tl t ; morning that means storm ; another that s< - indicates wind. The first is broad, deep tl i and angry; the clouds look like an im- ]j . mense bed of burning coals; the second is ti soft and more vapory. At the point where g r the sun is going to rise, and a few minutes p r I in advance of his coming, there rises n 3! straight upward a rosy column, like a shaft 11 * i. 4. ; of dyed vapor, Diencungwun auuyeiptui ly separated from the clouds, and the base si t of which presently comes to glow like the a , sun himself. The day that follows is pret- ft ) ty sure to be windy. ft 1 It is uncertain to what extent birds and T , animals can foretell the weather. When e r swallows are seen hawking very high it is n r a good indication, because the insects upon r which they feed venture up there only in j 1 the most auspicious weather.?Southern li c Planter. ir THE POOR BOY'S CHANCE. Commenting on President Cleveland's ecent visit to Clinton, the Springfield Republican si .ys: "An American President rambling imong the scenes of his boyhood is always ignificant of one tremendous fact in our tational life?and that is the essential Jemocracy of our institutions and the >ractical equality of all men in this counry in their political capacity. Dr. Mcxlynn and Henry George and Mr. Powlerly and all other agitators may talk ibout the slavery of the American workngman, and the vast difference between he poor laborer and Jay Gould?but after ill, the fact is and cannot be denied, that he poor man's son is more likely to rise o the highest seat of power in the nation han the son of any man of wealth. Nor loes this favor rise from any demagogic lostility to the son favored by wealth." in ft ?*ftft 4* rlftftl {n JLiicio io a gicab ucai iu cwcoc vrvr&uo* ?hey state the situation fairly. In no ountry on the earth has the poor boy so ouch to hope for and to aspire to as he las in the United States. Not only in lolitics but in every profession and every tte s?teis wide,opeafor Was on. he road that leads to the Highest honors. The humble origin of nearly all the .'residents of the United States is familiar o all. It is a remarkable fact that the trongest characters among them were hose whose boyhood and youth were passd in poverty and hardship. The poor boy has been as pre-eminent n business as in politics. A big majority if the millionaires in the United States o-day were born either in poverty or in noderate circumstances. The foundations f the greatest fortunes in this country /ere laid by poor men of this or the past ;eneration. Most of our boasted "old famlies" are poor. The learned professions ell the same old story. Most of their eaders are men who fought their way up rom the common level of American citenship, men who did not have the adantage of an honored family name, or he aid of powerful family connections. There are people in the United States /ho boast of their ancestry, and we someimes hear of "thearistocracv." This sort f talk is the source of comfort and pleasre to those who indulge in it, and, as it oes nobody any harm, there is no reason )r objecting to it. But the fact remains nd grows clearer every day, that the ommon people rule this country. They ontrol its politics and direct its thought, n their humble home, in their unpretenious lives, in their hard brawn and their rave, simple hearts lie the hopes of the epublic and the genius of its future great ess. We sometimes hear people say, "Give a oor boy a chance," That is a good sentilent, but it is the glory of our history hat in every generation there have been )und poor boys who made chances for . hemselves, who became great and good aen and left names which their country olds in honored memory. Bringing up Children Rational,y.?It is as natural to a child to be happy, s it is for a fish to swim. But for this tiey need a certain amount of "letting lone." It is a great mistake for parents a hamper their children with foolish reactions. We pity the little B's, our ext door neighbor's children, from the ottom of our heart. There is a picket jnce in front of the house, and they are ot allowed to go near it lest they should limb and hurt themselves. They cannot limb a tree for the same reason. They lay not skate or swim, or have a gun. 'he consequence of this training is that tieir parents have made cowards of them . 11, with the exception of little Bessie, rho is the most daring little mischief that ver wore a sunbonnet, and she has learnd to be decitful and plays all her mad ranks well out of her parents' eyes. We lught her the other day walking the railag of a bridge that crossed the track of a ailroad a hundred feet below. The railig was not a foot wide, and she triumphntly told us that she walked it while the rain was passing under. It was enough ) make one shudder. Don't fancy your boy is made of glass. Irant b reasonable request, and let him ?el that when you refuse, it is for his wn good. Between the Jellybys and the Iradgrinds of life, children have a hard ime of it. The youngest child needs ime sort of agreeable occupation, and a ertain amount of physical freedom. There ) nothing more painful to young people aan to feel that life is one dull routine, ud that "nothing ever happens," as we nee heard a disconsolate lad remark. The Tornado Season.?As we are aproaching the tornado season, this item rom the Inter-Ocean may be read with aterest: Passing over the country the arnado follows the general trend of the irger cyclonic storm, or area of low pres re. It obeys the natural law of all odies in motion, moving in the direction f the least resistance. A mountain or ther considerable elevation of land will reak it up or turn it aside. A city like Chicago presents an obstacle sufficient to epel the electrified meteorite and turn it 3 the right or the left. The city bristles with rods and spires, and is covered by netting of electric wires. These, toether with the vast aggregation of meallic structures, disarm thunder clouds f the larger measure of their destructive force, and the same cause evidently 3nd9 to repel the more highly electned tornado. It is well known that death r damage by lightning is of very rare ccurrence in the centre of any considerale city. The bolts may 9trike in the uburbs, but if they descend in the city tiey are arrested with more swiftness and srtainty than a depredator is caught by the best." In short, then, we believe hat the immunity enjoyed by the larger ities of the West4from destruction by the jrnadoes that ha've been so plentiful is he result of the cause herein referred to. ill have suffered more or less from sweepig windstorms, squalls or hurricanes, but genuine tornado funnel has never yet lade a pathway of devastation through a ompactly built city, and there is no reasn to fear such a catastrophe." The Captive Birds.?We have somewhere read of a traveler who stood one ay beside the cages of some birds that were exposed for sale, ruffled their sunny lumage on the wires, and struggled to be ee. A way-worn and sun-browned man, ke one returned from foreign land9, )oked wistfully and sadly on these capives till tears started in his eyes. Turnig round on their owner, he asked the rice of one, paid it in strange gold, and, pening the cage, set the prisoner free; nd thus he did with captive after captive II every bird was away soaring in the des and singing on the wings of liberty. he crowd stared and stood amazed; tftey lought him mad, till, to the question of leir curiosity, he replied: "I was once lyself a captive; I know the sweets of berty." And so they who have expeience of guilt have felt the serpent's bite, le burning poison in their veins; who, on le one hand have felt the sting of connence, and on the other the peace of faith, ie joys of hope, the love, the light, the berty, the life that are found in Jesus? tiey, not excepting Heaven's highest anels, are the fittest to preach a Saviour, to lead with man for God or with God for ian .?Guthrie. The Land Never Rests.?Recent fientific experiments make, it appear, *ys a writer on earthquakes, that the sur- . ice of the land is never absolutely at rest >r more than thirty hours at a time, 'hus those great earthquakes which make pochs in history are merely extreme lanifestations of forces that rarely sleep. 83T There are men in the world of so ttle importance that they have no enelies.?Neiv Orteans Picayune.