Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis imc. grist, proprietor. J 5U Jfnbejpbcnt Jfitmilj ftttospajjer: Jfffr fjjc ^wntolioit of ffjE |loilifit8l,jifocral, ^?ritttlfural,anil Commercial Interests of % jsoufjj. |terms--$2.50 a year, in adyance. VOL. 33. YOEKYILLE, S. O.. "WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1887. NO. 42. geUctti f flfttg. I WONDER. I wonder when that day will be, When death shall come to tell to me The story that we all must hear ? When, with silence drawing near I feel my hold on earth so weak My pale lips have no power to speak Of anguish or of ecstacy. Ah, lowly house tKe grasses under, When will ye ope to welcome me Your silent guest to be, I wonder? I wonder if it will be spring, When o'er my head the birds will sing Their first sweet song not set to words ? And which of all the many birds Will be the first to carol there, When I, forever done with care, .TnitiiVn a rthild tired out at nlav.< Sleep all the night and all tfie day So peacefully my green roof under, Will it be autumn-time or May, Winter or summer time, I wonder? ^yonder if I shall be glad TV leave the pain I long have had ? * Or, if from friends who love me so, But with reluctance I shall go ? Go out upoxi thartoumey long ~ So voiceless I shall sing no song, Ah, chain of life's fair warp aq,d woof, When will your bright links drop asunder ? When will I sleep beneath the roof Thatched with the violets, I wonder ? 5 JNtial ftotg. . ILL TBI MILD ATM. BY WALTER BESANT. CHAPTER VII. THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR. Bay followed day, and season followed season. I had been with Lady Campion nearly two years. I had been so long in the great, quiet house, where no footfall was ever beard on the thick carpets, so long with the stately lady who saw everything with blind eyes, that the old life seemed quite gone and lost. No more running and singing; and if, as happened sometimes at first, a sense of weariness would fall upon me, who divined everything, would admonish me: "It is for Will's sake, Pleasance." And for his dear sake, what labor, what weariness, cuuiu uov ue imiioi We did not stay all the time in the city. Lady Campion hod a house at Cbertsev, whither for three months in the year we repaired, governess, lessons, and all. 'There a home was kept for my own riding, and a groom to protect me. When September vanished, and the leaves were yellow, we left Chertsey and drove bock to our city house,in a carriage almost as grand as that of the lord mayor. No letter from Will all this time; not one line. We kept up the deceitful correspondence between Will and his mother. What travels we contrived for him! What adventures John Huntspill and I imitated from books, or invented out of our own head! What hair breadth escapes! What romantic incidents! Madam had no suspicion. She watched for the arrival of the letters; she bad them read and reread to her; 6he learned them all by heart; she quoted them as admirable specimens of the best modern style; she dated events from incidents in the letters. They were all victorious in those days. Surely there was never a time when a nation was so brave as in the time of that long war. There was no note of hesitation then?no -. timid counsels. Girl as I was, I gloried in the spirit of the country, when, with one consent, the nation flew to arms to resist the threatened invasion. Every day after breakfast I read aloud The Morning Post, especially that portion of the paper which gavo the naval intelligence. One morning I read the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The list of casualties would be published iu a few days. John Huntspill and I went about with beavy nearts. jue cuu not aare to meet my'eyes, for his Portsmouth correspondent bad found out that all four were on board the Victory. We hod illuminations in the city to celebrate the event on the Day of Rejoicing. We drove in state to church to offer up our far from humble offering; we invited guests for a feast of thanksgiving; we sent money for the poor in token of gratitude, and we gave orders thai the rejoicings of the house of Campion & Co. should excel in splendor those of every other private house. The front of the house was covered over with a trellis work, on which were fixed thousands of oil lamps of different colors, arranged in patriotic designs. In the center was the lion and unicorn, with the words "God save King George 1" Above was the union jack, with the legend "Honor to the glorious dead I" I drew out the plan by madam's instructions. She thought me wanting in enthusiasm and delivered a little speech on the part which should be borne by women in the glory of their . country. Above all, she said?her words fell upon me as a bad omen?above all, women must be ready, for the sake of their country, to imperil without a murmur the lives of husbands, lovers or sons. On the morning of this joyful day John Huntspiil, in paying bis daily visit to madam, handed me quietly a letter. It was addressed to me?I had seen the writing once before, in the parish register?by the rector of Rousdon. Could it be from Will? I hastened away and tore it open with trembling fingers. It was not from Will It was from Don Gulliver, and it was the saddest letter that ever a girl received. "My Dear Pretty" (said poor old Dan)? "We have made the port of Portsmouth, with the admiral aboard in his coffin. Jeplilhah was killed in the action with a round shot, which cut him in two pieces. My poor, pretty Pleasance! don't cry too much, but Mr. Campion fell overboard on the way home, and is consequently drowned. This is bad news for you, I am afraid, and for me too. Job sends his love, and lie says he is alive, and he wishes it bad been him Your affectionate Dan Gulliver." That is the news which greeted mo on the day of illumination for the victory of Tra (alpr. My governess came to me. i sent her away with some excuse and sat down by myself, saying over and over again, so that I should be able to feel the whole bitterness of despair: ''Will is drowned I Will is drowned! We shall never see him again 1" John Huntspill came in search of me. He saw by my face what had happened. He took the letter from my lingers and read it. "Poor Pleasance!" be said. "Poor, poor child!" 1 think he must have sat with me all that morning. 1 know he talked from time to time, but I forget what he said. Presently I began to understand something. "We must not let madam know," he repeated, "She must never know. We will prepare a letter from?from her son"?he paused, and for a moment his voice broke?"stating that he is going on some expedition up the country; and then no more letters at all will come afterward and you will mourn together?you and his mother. But she must never know her son's real end." Had I had my will I would have gono straight to madam and told her all. But it seemed more merciful that she should be spared the details, which he wished his mother never to know. "For his sake, Pleasance," urged Johu Huntspill, "for his sake be brave; keep your heart before her. Let not my lady's pride, as well as her heart, be broken. She must never know. For his sake she must never know." He would not leave me till I promised that I would do my best. During the rejoicings X too would seem to rejoice. Oh, heavy dayl Oh, day which seemed as if it would never pass! At 1 I was called to luncheon with madam. She was in excellent spirits, happier than I had ever known her. Presently she asked sharply: "What is the matter, Pleasance? You are crying." "I was thinking, madam," I sobbed, "of the brave fellows who are killed." "Yes, but there is a time to mourn and a time to rejoice. You were thinking, my child, of my son." I did not answer. "Come to me, Pleasance." She was sitting after luncheon in her arm chair beside the window. "Come to me." I knelt at her feet and buried my head in her lap. "He is a long time awiayt is he not / But I write to my son and tell him about you, y child. When I wrote him last I sent him ci word that I would not oppose his desire. ? Yes, Pleasance, I have watched you more oi narrowly than you know. You will make my son happy. Take my blessing, my dear." w She laid ber hand upon my head solemnly, tl Ah, if she knew?if she only knew 1 In the evening, at 5:30, we had a great diu- ki ner, which lasted until 9:30, and then we all w sallied forth, including madam, iuto the street, protected by a body guard of the af house's porters armed with stout cudgels, la The streets were full of people, shouting, is fighting and drinking. If they passed a w house without illumination they broke the ti windows. Should we never finish? I thought al Midnight came at length, and the boat, S' with the sailors, came back to the square. 50 The puncheon of rum was rolled into the square; there was more shouting, more fighting, until the contents were all gone. We ^ were at the open window, looking on. At last the rum was all drunk up, the mob dis- & persed, the oil lamps went out one by one and sa we were able to go to bed. "Good night, my daughter," said madam, * as she retired, exulting and happy, to her ^ room. It was the^ first time she Juul called ^ me Zier uaugnter. un, tne Ditternessi mat m such a day of death and bereavement should gl be chosen for this ucc of grace and kindness! at This torture endured for a fortnight. Then the end came, in a way which we little ex- ^ pec ted and had not guarded against. It was in the forenoon, about 11:30, beforo John Huntspill had left inadam, and before the arrival of my singing master, who was due at 12. I was aloue in my own room, free for a moment from tutors, governess, and my lady?free to think of the past, my only ^ solace. My own maid?she was the only one _( in the house who knew that I had some secret ?c sorrow?came to tell me that there was a sailor, an old sailor in the hall who wished to ^ see me. Who could it be but Dan Gulliver? It was indeed old Dan himself. He came nc up stairs in his slow and quiet way. I saw ht him before he saw me. He was dressed like Jt a common sailor; his hair was grayer and Oi his deal- old face graver; there was 110 other th change. I, He stood in the doorway. He actually did th not recognizo me. la "Don!" I cried, springing into his arms. "Dan! Don't you know me?" a, Then he did, and laid his hands upon my f0 shoulders, holding me back and looking at th me, before he kissed my cheek. <je "My pretty!" he said, "and growed so tall I m And such a lady I To be sure, she always hs was as sweet mannered as any lady in the ja land. And oh, my pretty 1 he's gone! he's po gone! Don't take on 1 don't take on!" wl "Tell me all about it, Dan. Tell me. And de poor Jcphthah gone too!" m( "Cut iu two halves, he was, with a chain ca shot Died in action, my boy Jephthah. Bat ^ Mr. Campion, poor young gentleman, he died 8hi by drownding. Fell off the yard in the js night, and never was seen?how could he be Nt seen I?afterwards. Poor young gentleman!" th "Oh, Dan?Dan?my heart will break!" thi "Cry, pretty?cry as much as ever you can. foi But cryiu' won't bring him back. Cry now, thi while I tell you all about him. gl< "They knowed our story aboard the Vic- of tory. I was Smuggler Dan. The boys were coi Smuggler Job and T'other Job?because, I'm it sorry to say, they mariners aboard his ret majesty's, ships never knew which was to which. And so Jephthah, who is now cut in ca two pieces, was never knowed as such. And no Mr. Campion they called Gentleman Jack, coi Now remember?some young gentlemen after ho getting a three years' billet in the fo'ksle for wa smuggling -would ha' sat down and grizzled. sec Mr. Campion wasn't one o' that sort 'Pro- na vidin' always,' he says to me?'providin' al- Fr ways, Dan, as my mother never finds ont, Be why, what odds is a three years' cruise?' And of merry with it Once he ketches hold of a his fiddle, the fo'ksle'a alive; when he began to du play you'd ba- thought the fiddle was talkin', rec not him a playin'. All round him the men bu would be sittiu' on' singiu' till the whole ship be was as good tempered as if there wasn't nary Po a bos'n nor petty officer aboard. bcw "Well, you may depend on it, pretty, xhat Ja it wasn't long before the officers got to know bu what an uncommon sailor they'd got shipped th? aboard the Victory, for a little run us he'd wa made across tho Channel one fine night; and wa it wasn't long before Capt. Hardy hisself, on finding Mr. Campion on the quarter deck, Th axed him?ay, before the admiral?who he wa was and how he came aboard. Mr. Campion, an no more afraid of speaking to the captain on than to the carpenter, he told him, touching to his hat, that he had been caught smuggling; gn that they'd all got off with three years for ] the ii; formation they gave to the Admiralty, ati and that he hoped to give satisfaction to his an honor so long as he was aboard, after which mi time, he said, he should give up sailoring be- pa fore the mast. Capt. Hardy he laughed, and yei the admiral laughed; and then his lordship, cit who ought to know, said, in his quiet, easy un way, thai, a man was 110 worse sailor for 1 being a gentleman born, but that gentlemen in ought not to run cargoes across the Channel. wa After that I think the word was passed down ho to make some sort of difference with us. an Anyway, the worst of the bos'us never laid ac< rope's end on none of us four. hii "Come the action off Trafalgar. My pret- ul\ ty, we done our duty?Job and Jephthah and ces Mr. Campion and me?till that chain shot an came, and all I saw o' my boy Jephthah was aU two halves and a pool of blood. of "When the admiral fell they told me to , carry him down. That took best part of a tin quarter of an hour. The action lasted half Sh an hour longer. When the firing ceased and wi one could look round, I saw Mr. Campion ne alongside of Job, alive and hearty. As for sat Jephthah, that poor boy was throwed over- hei board in two halves. 1 "We had nasty weather on the way home. to One of the prizes foundered. And one dark I c night, in that nasty weather, all in the dark, m] poor Mr. Campion fell overborad and was en drowned." evi I listened to the story, my head in my sid hands. When Dan finished I buret out into pr< fresh sobbing und crying. I forgot about in Lady Campion and everything. I never dee looked up. While Dan told his story I lay cui hiding my face in the sofa and crying, while coi the door stood wide open, and madam herself cri stood there listening to every word, and with wc her John Huntspill, with white cheeks and lib troubled brow. I looked up in my grief, but W sprang to my feet, terrified by the look of ] madam. She was drawn to her full height, we leaning on her stick; her face was perfectly we white; her lips trembled; her sightless eyes afl seemed to pour lightning on poor Dan; she was terrible in her despair and wrath. th< I "Tell me," she said?"not you, girl; not ydu du ?tell me, man, smuggler, sailor, whatever wi vou are. who was this All'. Oaninioii who fall v... overboard and was drowned ?" mc "He was your ladyship's son, and my Pleas- nu ance's sweetheart," said Dan, simply. ye, "And he was a smuggler, too, was he?" So "No, madam, not a smuggler; only once, or for a boyish freak, he must needs run across coi with me for a single venture. And when we were all tried, my lady, at Dorchester 'Sizes, on we got oft for three years abroad, 'acause of tin the news we picked up 011 our way back." ne "Tried!?my son was tried!?with common Jo sailors! He was tried and 'got oft!'?he was nij sent to sea!" ha "And he is dead," said John Huntspill, in toe solemn sadness. Mi "He is deadl" echoed his mother. "And ah you, girl, knew ho was at sea, a common tui sailor?" to "Alas!" I moaned, "I knew only too well." ' "That you concealed from me. Did you tec know on Illumination Day that my son was 1 deadf tin L'liAtv Khnt. flioti " T vonlinH ?1 ?MV? ?? ?* 'V^iVU. WU She was silent for a space. Her eyes were we dry and her lips parched. Had she wept one tul might have had hope. l'ai "All that day," she said, "you gazed upon wu a rejoicing mother who had lost a son; you, boi who had lost your lover, rejoiced with the sui rest." dri "Nay, nay I" interposed John HuntspilL tht "She pretended, to save you. Listen, madam. del It was by Mr. William's own wish?nay, ' command?that you were kept in ignorance tht of whut had happened. I knew; I agreed till that it would be better. As no letters came pri from Mr. William, we wrote letters and pre- tht tended they were from him?for his sak6; we to read them to you for his sake. When the fee dreadful news came I resolved that we would use keep up the deception?for his sake, so that me you should never kuow when and how your tht son had died." int "Get me my desk, John HuntspilL" AL He went obediently and brought back her to great mahogany desk, in which were Will's 1 pretended letters, all neatly tied up. She ex opened the desk and found the parcel. up "Take them 1 Henceforth, John Huntspill* du ou are no longer my confidential friend. I mnot trust youl Trust you? O Heaven I in I trust any one? Is there man, woman p child in this great world that will not lie?" Poor woman! poor mother!' She stood here she had heard the whole, just within ie doorway, John Huntspill beside her; be>re her, Dan Gulliver, amazed, and not aowing what to say or do; and myself overhelmed with misery. "We must put some kind of order into our lairs," said madam. "You will send my .wyer to me at once, John Huntspill Life precarious, even with the old as well as ith the young. I must make new disposions. And I would be alone?altogether one?in this house. You will take away the irl. If she wants money, let me know. My in's betrothed must not starve because my in is dead?is dead!" she repeated, with a sad popping of ber voice. I threw myself at her knees and caught her It the hand. "Oh. madam! dear madam! forgive me! ly tnat you forgive me, for Will's sweet kel" "Forgive 1" she echoed, in a hard voice, forgive! what does it mean? I shall not ek to do you harm. You shall have money. rhnt mora rfn vnn wonf.l Vnn hnvn a and played with too. Yon bavetcmpted y son to destruction, you and your smuger friends. My son. who should have been i honor to me ana to this city, like his ,ther before him, has died in disgrace. Forve you? Yes, I will forgive you?when the a gives up its dead." CHAPTER VIIL OUT OF THE GOLDEN MIST. We were back again atRousdon?Dan Gulrer and Job and I?to begin again such poron of the old life as was possible. "We will > on," said Dan, sadly, "just as we used to > on before ever he came. We will forget at ho ever came. You will forget that you e a young lady." Alasl not only was the old time gone, but ithing like it could ever come again. Will id torn up the old time and thrown it away. was dead. But the memory was left, tie could sit and think till day after day at summer of 1S03 unrolled itself again, and 20uld remember every word he said, even e lightest, with every gesture and every ok. The people at Lyme welcomed us all with cordiality which meant not only gratitude r the past, but hope for the future. Since at dreadful day of rebuke when Joshua's ilivery of goods was discovered to bo so uch sea water and nothing (lse, the town id been without brandy. Campion's ilno old maica rum, well enough in its way, was a or substitute for the right good Nantes lich Dan had provided. A taste had been veloped which was doomed to disappointing for no one succeeded Dan. A man nnot suddenly become a smuggler. Relions have to be established on the opposite ore, a connection to be formed at home; it a business which is the growth of years. )w Dan represented the third, and his sons e fourth generation, of a long career in 0 trade, during which the whole business r this part of the coast had dropped into 0 hands of Gulliver & Company, smugire to the nobility, gentry and clergy Lyme Regis and the surrounding untry. Imagine, therefore, what a blow was to the district when the fatal ar + kAMMAMnrl /nllrtwn/1 VvTr tKo A t'OO r? fll 1 Hifi. >U liappCUCU) J.uuuntu */jr wv wivuuiui V??# very of the sea water. So that, when we me home again, there were visits paid to us t only of congratulation on our return, and ndolence for poor Jephthab, but also of pe and temptation. Mr. Mallock, J. P., dked all the way from Lyme on purpose to i his old friend again, and to hint that the ked condition of his cellar, as regarded ench brandy, was deplorable. The Rev. njamin Burden, who, long before the end Dan's two yeare' captivity, had got through i four kegs, come 10 say that he was reced to cider, and that of the thinnest Dan eived these visitors with great politeness, t held out no hopes that the old trade would revived. First, he said, the Dancing lly was gone; he should never again find a it he could trust so well; then his nephew, 3hua Meech, was gone, pressed while sy with the ke^s; though how ;m kegs turned out to be sea iter he couldn't say; and Jephthah is gone; and be was getting old, and a secd conviction meant a capital sentence, en his money in John Huntspiil's hands ts bringing him a little income by itself, d be had given his promise not to smuggle y more. I think the old man had learned look on smuggling, compared with the jat game of war, as a small thing. [t was strange to come back to this queer nosphere, in which crime appeared no sin d law breaking was encouraged bytbe adnistratora of the law. The strangeness ssed off after awhile, and then the two ars of life' in the stately house of the old y square appeared, in its turn, dreamy and real. We came back to the old place, and began a broken winged way to resume the old iys. Then, naturally, I began to make the use and the housekeeping more in accordce with my recently acquired ideas. Dan juiesced, wondering; Job tried to adapt uself to my ways with the good will which vays distinguished him, but with less sucs. He betook himself to work on the farm, d 111 assuming the smock frock lmmedi>ly changed, just as he used to do, the roll the sailor for the slouch of the laborer. John Huntspill wrote to me from time to ae. Madam made 110 sign of relenting, enever asked for news of me; she had thdrawn her confidence from him; she ver spoke to any one about her son; she ; silent all the day long, pale and stern. Her art was full of bitterness. When Dan began to talk about Joshua, and regret the misfortunes which 1 efell him, onsidered that it would be well to conceal r share in them, and the fact of his treachj. When he came home again?should he er come home?it would be time to coner what steps should be taken. For the ssent it seemed better to leave the old man the belief that Joshua's troubles were unserved. Indeed, it would have been diffiIt to persuade him that his own nephew ild be guilty of so foul and dastardly a me. For my own part, I hoped that he iuld never come home again. "A life for a i" I said bitterly. "As he destroyed my ill's life, so let his be taken away." It was in the dark days of December that 1 came Dack to Rousdou. The wintry :ather suited the misery of my mind. Yet ?r a time the old charm of the sea fell upon ) and soothed me. Dan painted and calked 3 little boat. I put out to sea in her again ring the soft, smooth mornings common in nter 011 the south coast, when the sun floats thed in a soft vellow mist, itself a disk of ilten gold; when, if you see a boat, her ists and hull are wrapped round with a llow haze, like those of a float in a dream, metimes Dan came with me, and we sailed rowed, silent, thinking of the days that uld come no more. 'There was no one like him," said Dan, e day when we had Been sitting quiet in i bout for an hour aud more. "'There ver was 110 one like him, and never will be. shua had his good points. For a rough ;ht at sea and a ready hand, Joshua never d his equal. But Joslrun was grumpy. He )k after his father in :>uch respects. Now *. Campion, he was always laughing, vays talking, always ready to do u hand's n for everybody. Nobody like him. And think or' 'Don't, Dan 1 don't!" I murmured with the trs coming into my eyes. IVe had a dreary Christmas that winter, )ugh after service in the poor old barn, lich had gone nearly roofless sinco Dan ut away, the Rev. Mr. Burden came to ce his dinner with us. A turkey from th o ui yard furnished the meal, and afterrd Dan, with a guilty look, produced a ? c m? T> l?? i,:? iw>?,i L/lIt3 Ui i UIIL. iUl . JL>U1UCU SUUUh. ilia ucuu lly, but spent thereat of tho day over the Ink in company with Dan, and departed in 5 evening with legs which showed u tenicy to tie themselves into knots. L'hen tho days began to grow longer, and > spring 1 lowers-appeared on tho Undercliff, all the ground was ewe rod with the pale mrose. It must have been about this time it overything began to lookas if it belonged a dream. I am not sure when that strange ling began; I know, however, that Dan (d 10 follow mo about, and was loath to let i go out of his sight, for fear, I suppose, it, being in tills di-enmy way, I might fall o mischief ami do myself some injury, so, he began to talk of doctors, and going Lyme for u cha nge. Poor old Dani ["lie place was so quiet, so remote from all ternal influences, that one fell back easily on one's own brooding thoughts; I had no ties and no distinctions. Dan was not a great talker, and Job was actually dumb, so that I lived in a dream, and it was a dream of the past One night I could not sleep. It was in the middle of August, when there is little darkness on the sea, but only a luminous twilight I rose about midnight, and dressed myself quickly, thinking I should escape Dan's attentions, and stole down stairs into the open air, just as I had done two years and a half before, to watch for the return of the Dancing Polly. It was not, as then, a rongh and boisterous night; there had been all day a fresh breeze blowing from the southeast This had died away and there was little air leftS I slowly passed down the well known path, to sit by the shore and think of my poor dead Will. I sat there while the night slipped away. I was facing the mouth of the little creek, looking straight out to sea. When the moaning broke there was a light fog upon the water, which the sun, when it rose, colored with a beautiful hue, changing every minute. I remembered then?heaven knows how!?that it was the 14th of August, and three 5 ears, since first I saw my WilL. As 1 gazed seaward, looking through the fog, I became aware of a ghost. It was the ghost of about shining In. the.. golden mist, all gorgeous with colors. The hull was yellow and blue and crimson, the colors changing every moment; the sail looked like a sheet of azure silk, and the spirit who stood behind the mast?it was the spirit of my Will?was all glorified. I stood fuite still, fearing that the vision would fade. had often, before this, seen him in dreams of the night, but never in the broad day, and in dreams ho vanished so swiftly that I could never find time to speak to him. The boat seemed, at first, to be floating on the waterbut she was not. In the light air of the morning she was slowly making for the land; and presently she passed through the mist, and lost all the gorgeous colors which the fog had lent her. But tho gbost of my Will remained, pale, as all ghosts of drowned men should be. He saw me, as the bow of the Bbafc grated on the stones?ho cried my namehe threw up his arms?he leaped ashore. "Oh, Willi Willi" I cried, falling upon my kness before him, "let me speak to you. Do not go away, as you do in the dreams. Let me speak to you. I know you would some day think of me and come up from the grave. Oh, what am I to say, now you aro here? What can I say, dear Willi poor Willi my dead lovo, my lost darling! come from heaven to comfort my poor heart? Oh, it is breaking! Will, it is breaking with grief and pain!" "PJeasance," he cried, lifting me in his strong arms and folding me to his heart, "Pleasance, I am not dead?I am no ghost, my darling. I am come back to you again, alive?alive. Can you not-understand? Oh, my love, my darling!" Pltasance, lam not dead I" I could not understand at first, nor for many days afterward. But jov does not kill. Will had, it is quite true, fallen overboard. But ho was picked up by a F. ench chassemaree, and taken to France, where ho lived among the fishermen, no one betraying him, till he could persuade one of them to trust. him with a boat. He promised a large price, should he reach England in safety. It is needless to say that he kept his promise. When I was able to listen to it all?when I could sit with my hand in his, in such happiness as never any other girl, I believe, experienced?he beuun to talk about our mairiage He wanted to see liis mother, but he would tell her himself, not write to her. And he could not go, he said, unless I would go with him. What could I savf Of course wo were married, just as ho wished, be and I, in Rousdon church, by the Rev. Benjamin Burden. Will doffed his sailor clothes for the first time, and apjteared dressed as a gentleman. Dan gave me away. It was agreed that we should ride straight from the church into Lyme, and thence post direct, without stopping, to London. We left Dan and Job and the poor old reotor at the door of the ecclesiastical barn. Will lifted me into the saddle and we rode slowly away, poor old Dan crying and Will promising soon to bring me back. We had ridden half a mile or soon our way along the Beaton road, when I saw before me, just before you come to Colway lane, a figure which seemed familiar to me. It was, indeed, only a part of a figure, consisting of a man's trunk and a couple of very short wooden stumps, on which the owner was pegging his way, literally, with uncommon vigor. 1 was right. The back of the man was familiar to me, for the face, when we came up with its owner, was the face of Joshua Meecli. He looked around at the sound of the horses' feet. At first he did not recognize us. I was dressed in a dark green riding habit, and wore a veil. "Joshua," I said, softly, "do you not remember us?" "Joshua Meecli, my boy," cried Will, who knew nothing of what had happened. "How goes it, mate? Whero did you lose your legs, man?" -Where u good many lost their heads, Mr. Campion"?he spoke quite cheerfully, while a horribly guilty feeling seized me?"at Trafalgar. Glad to see you safe home again, sir. The villain who did the mischief, he's well | punished, he is; and serve him right." Now 110 one, except myself, ever knew who I the villain was. Later on, when Dan came to see us in Lou- j don, ho had a good deal to tell of Joshua. Tue mill was set going again, after he I lound liis money by means of a mysterious letter with a London postmark. Ic had become ruinous, but the wheels were there, and J oshua begun agui to i . notice his ancient craft. Ho went no longer to chapel, but became a lirm pillar of the Established church, having been converted on board ship. The way of his conversion wus simple. He once, in his early days aboard, begun to urgue a point with the chupluin, who was so amazed at tho audacity of a common sailor pretending to be skilled in theological subtleties, that he complained to the captain. The captain, a choleric man, ordered an application of the only remedy then employed for offenses und disorders utsea?three dozen. Before the lirst dozen had been received Joshua felt conviction pouring in. About midway through the second, the force of tho conviction wus irresistible. By the end of the third he had steadfastly resolved oil adhering, while 011 board, to tho Church of England and Ireland, as by law established. And ufter coming ashore ho continued this godly habit. It is tho lust scene of my story. A bright morning in autumn, when even tho city houses look pleasant, and the trees in the city churchyurds have not yet lost their leaves, and are pleasant to the eye. We go to the house in the square, Will and I, followed by John Huntspill. Madam has not gone to Cliertsey this year. There are 110 servants to meet us. John has taken cure of that. We cross tho hall and mount the Stairs, covered with their thick Turkey carpets, which deaden every footfall. On the lunding we can' look into the great room which madam always uses as her own. Wo can see madam herself, sitting by tho window, pale, rigid and stern. No one moves, 110 one whispers. The tears come into Will's eyes as lie looks upon his mother. Presently John Huntspill takes my hand und leads me quietly into the room. Madam looked up in her quick, interrogative fashion. - "It is I, madam,'" said John. "Is there nnvthintr of imnortanee. John Huutspiilf Unless you have news to tell mo, why do you comet And who is with you?" "I have to say a t hing of great importance, madam. I bring with me n girl who has suffered much. I ask for your forgiveness for her, and for myself, for the deceit wo practiced upon you." "Oh, madam!"?I knelt at her feet?"we have l>een very unhappy. Forgive me, and let us be as happy together?as wo can." "I said, Flcusance," she replied, "that I wouhi forgive you when the sea gave up its dead. But that will be long, perhaps. We should wait?till the Judgment day. My dcur, 1 forgive you, for the sake of him whom wo both loved. Fleasnnce, child"?she held out both her hands?"come and let us weep toget her, anil go in mourning and sorrow all our days." M2?ot in sorrow, madam. Oh! not in sorrow, but in gladness. For look, the Lord is very merciful. The sea has given up its dead, and here is your son home again, and in your arms!" the e.vd. A coquette is a woman 'thout any heart that makes a fool o' a man without any head. piscfHancous Reading. PRIMITIVE WORSHIP. The colored population have been for something more than a week holding a camp meeting near Hillsboro\ 111., and it has been largely attended. Elder Jackson, 70 years old. with a great 9hock of snow white wool on his head, is the leader and controlling spirit, aDd to him is due the conception and carrying out of the affair in which the great campraeeting culminated. This was the Enactment on two days of scenes illustrating the Biblical parable of the irruujgai oon. THE KILLING OF THE CALF. Thursday was the time set for killing the fatted calf. Shortly after 2 o'clock the unconscious victim of th^ sacrifice was led to the place of execution. It was a spotted calf about two months old. A portly bu&berjJKho had done much similar service, stood ready, sharpening a nuge'ljutcher knife. The colored members of the meeting congregated on the grand stand and consoled the trembling victim by singing, "Fear not, it .is I," and while the singing progressed the butcher took his axe and slew the victim, and in a few moments the life blood was streaming out on the sacrificial altar. As the last death throes of the animal ceased the choir started up the tune "I will walk through the gates of the city," to which the portly butcher decapitated the sacrifice, and made it ready to serve its future use. THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. The next scene was enacted Friday afternoon when the Prodigal Son returned. It was witnessed by an immense throng of people, white and black. A few minutes before 3 o'clock a blast on an old plantation dinner horn warned the assembling multitude that something was about to happen. As the echoes died away the procession of elders marched up on the raised platform. After the singing of several hymns Elder Jackson arose and delivered a sermou on PrnH I era 1 Snn Af the Pnnflll V11V JL A VUlgMt K^VUt AAV V>?V vw?? v? v> sion of the sermon several of the elders made mysterious motions with their hands, as if beckoning to some one; but the Prodigal Son, concealed behind some shrubbery in a distant field, had forgotten his cue, and it was not until the white haired Elder Jackson seized the dinner horn and blew a long, loud blast that the ebony hued prodigal realized that it was time for him to appear. All eyes were turned toward the field, and as Elder Jackson ceased blowing, the Prodigal Son was seen approaching. He wore a ragged red coat, and all his garments were literally in tatters. He enacted his role well, and when the fond and feeble old father rushed d(jwn from the raised platform and ran to meet the prodigal the scene was emotional. After some sensational shouting and singing and praying, the fatted calf, which had been killed on Thursday, and roasted on Friday was served out with great hunks of bread, and the two thousand people present feasted, the returned prodigal holding the post of honor. GEX. LEE'S BIBLE. Twenty-five years ago a regiment of Maine soldiers were encamped on Arlington Heights, and the boys, understanding thatanything belonging to the Confederates was common property and, therefore, subject to confiscation, ransacked the old Lee Mansion pretty thoroughly. They captured old pipes and cigars and everything that was portable. Of course, they did not need many of these things. Such articles which had belonged to Gen. Lee had a peculiar interest and were very desirable. One soldier who had arrived after the desirable articles had been taken, found the old family Bible and sent it down East to his home in Maine. There were Bibles in Maine, but none like this. After the war was over this soldier returned home, and found to his surprise that the Bible contained all the usu- j al ingredients, including the ten commandments and Apocrypha, but in addition to these, between the Old and New Testaments, was a complete family record, giving the histo- j ry of the Lee family for the past two ! hundred years. The soldier was sorry that he had j taken the book, but too proud to ac- ! knowledge tne tauit, ana so neia nis i peace. In the meanwhile biographers were at work on the life of Gen. Lee, and certain dates regarding the birth *and marriage of his ancestors were wanting. If an old family Bible could be found it would | afford the necessary information. Advertisements were inserted in all ! the papers, and by and by came a i letter from Maine saying the Bible i was in the possession of a soldier's ! widow, who would gladly restore it i to the owner. Before the property i could be recovered, however, the widow died, and then came another long wait until the estate was settled. But at last the book was fully identified and turned over to a messenger, who passed through Boston yes- I terday carrying it to its place at Arlington Heights. The foolish act j of a boy soldier has hindered the j completion of an important histori- j cal work for years, but the Bible is J at last restored to its owner, and the | biographer can now complete his I task.?Boston Globe. BURGLARS AND CHLOROFORM. A correspondent asks this question, and were we to answer from our general knowledge obtained from reading the newspaper accounts of burglaries and robberies committed while the inmates of the house are fast asleep, or base our opinion on the very uncertain knowledge derived from reading novels, we should answer in the affirmative. Our knowledge of the characteristics of chloroform and its physiological action on the human system, however, make us answer deeidely in the negative Thia in urnliohltr u enaction about which it would be difficult to i convince the public, but facts are ! very stubborn things. Careful inquiries among the detectives and police authorities have failed to show one single instance where these officials, after careful examinations, have become personally convinced j that persons robbed have been chlo- j roformed. All have heard of such i cases, but not one has come within : their own knowledge. Having so ! far convinced ourselves that these j cases do not occur, we will look a > little further and try to prove that | chloroforming a person while asleep ! is impossible for sound physiological i reasons. Chloroform, as all physi- j cians know, is a decided cerebral ' stimulant; that is, it is really a con- i centrated alcohol, administed by in- ! halation, and produces intoxication, j All physicians who* have ever ad- ! ministered chloroform to a patient know what resistance they encountered. Any sleeping adult not under the influence of a powerful hypnotic, would certainly be awakened if an attempt were made to make him inhale chloroform. Besides all this, we are always told that the per sons who were chloroformed and di robbed recovered. Every physician th knows that unless chloroform is care- cl fully administered with a proper ad- S< mixture of atmospheric air, the pa- y< tientdies. Now why should a sub- tt ject in the hands of an ignorant ei burglar, inhaling chloroform, have y< a better chance of recovery than a cl patient in the experienced hands of w several skilled and trained physici- h< ans who have previously examined w the actions of his heart, who cautiously watch his pulse and closely ad- oi just the amount and quality of the n< chloroform and atmospheric air ad- re ministered. And yet we hear con- te stantly of death by the administra- ti tion of chloroform by physicians' it hands but never a death when given cl by thieves. Furthermore than this, fe we are told that burglars can admin- si ister chloroform to several persons r sleeping in the same room and pro- tl duce ansethesia. Of course it would et be sheer nonsense to talk of burg- T lars impregnating the entire atmos- A fYtAQnVtnra nf on nnni?f tvionf urlfK olilri. iiiuopiicic ux nil n^uiiiui/iiv nun viiiuroform, for that would necessitate I many hours labor with an atomizer, in a supply of more chloroform than cs burglars would carry, and would se leave the air irrespirable by the w thieves. These statements, which cc any physician will confirm, we think, ac Erove clearly that chloroforming by P urglars is a popular myth.?American Analyst. of y< OLD TIMES IN TENNESSEE. ie Great houses were built and filled to overflowing in Greenville with 811 great piles of light bread and pies of every description, and great ditches .M were dug in which to barbecue hun- 1!J dreds of beeves and sheep, and tables al a mile long were filled with every thing good to eat in the memorable j: campaign of 1840, when Andrew 10 Johnson and William G. Brownlow were the champions of the Democratic and old Whig parties. An- ^ drew Johnson was a tailor and made the suit that he was inaugurated , Governor in. c,< Along the present line of the East ai Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia st Railroad, the old stage coach was the PJ only mode of public conveyance ex- ^ cept the old flat-bottom boat that J3* calmly waited for a freshet to float it down to the mouth of the Tennessee " river. Goods were hauled from . Augusta, Georgia, in a six-horse *r wagon, making the round trip in "( six weeks. Salt was hauled from ^ the "salt works" in Virginia, costing *r twenty-five cents a bushel. Land plaster was taken out of the "plaster s' bank" in the vicinity of the salt ai works, in lumps weighing many 01 tons, broken up and sold at the bank for $2.50 per ton, and sold when ground up at $20 per ton, and was a* the only commercial fertilizer used. , Sown upon red clover in the Spring at the rate of 200 bushels per acre it tr produced a rank growth upon the s very poorest land. P1 Almost everything upon the table was "home-made." The finest appie and peach butter was made by ? boiling down sweet cider and thick- D< ening it with apples or peaches. P1 When cool it could be sliced like J? cheese. The finest molasses I ever D! saw was made from the sugar maple; al boiled a little thicker it made the ^ famous maple sugar that we used to P' carry in our pockets and give to our sweethearts. Buckwheat cakes and u molasses was a common breakfast ^ dish; twenty bushels of buckwheat " to the acre was grown on this land. tr Molasses was also made from apples, n persimmons and pumpkins. Cider u.'o? hnilprl dnwn and Irpnt. <awppt. nil ^ the Winter. Even small farmers ir would kill twenty-five to thirty hopes. J* The rivers were so full of fish that it took two men to carry them, and j.r they were caught in fall traps during ^ a freshet. There were no telegraphs iL nor telephones then, and letter pos- 01 tage I believe was twenty-five cents, ^ paid when the letter was taken from Tl the office. Goose quills wTere used K for pens, and much of the ink was 31 from pokeberries. e' I never saw a "twister," shuck collar, or double linesto a plow-horse in Tennessee, and rarely ever saw a 0 two horse wagon. Corn husking, ^ apple cutting and sugar making gave ^ ample opportunities for social en- 1 joyments. There was no axle grease P then, but the "tar bucket" hung 13 from every wagon coupling pole. Wheat was "tramped out" with ?f horses in the barn floor and cleaned 11 with a wind-mill. Rye was threshed v. out with a flail. Taxes were collect- 31 ed by the Sheriff, while on the rounds *! on other business. The college con- M sumed one day in examinations be- f! fore all the trustees and only one day 11 in declamation ; the rate of tuition P. was SI per month, divided between i5 the President and Vice-President. t # t ai Haves' Good Intention Towards the south.?Hoi). Guy M. 3t Bryan, ante-bellum member of Con- !r gress from the Galveston, Texas, dis- Pi trict, and class-mate of ex-President 01 Hayes at Kenyon College, in a com- ^ munication to the Galveston Neics regarding Gen. Hayes and the man- w ner of his election to the presidency, ?c makes a new and interesting state- lc, ment touching the personal views 0 of President Hayes toward the South n' following and during the great presi- ? .1 i! .1 . I 1 n n< uenuai crisis. Maonei uryan says: : "Shortly after Gen. Hayes was iuau- !r gurated president he wrote me to y come to Washington, saying, 'you c can ,help me.' I was his guest during the adjustment of the troubles in Louisiana and South Carolina. u? He confided in and trusted me. He V1 told me then what his difficulties ra were, and that they were inherited ?f from his predecessor. Pie said: 'It to is not my place, but that of the legis- vt lature of each State to determine on P' questions which circumstances bring th here to me for my action. I am de- ut termined that the legislature shall ot not be trammelled by the military, P< for the troops shall be removed, as ot soon as I am informed the legislature re is organized.'" Commenting on these resolutions to of the President, Colonel Bryan says: th "At this day one can scarcely realize w or appreciate the courage and patri- }8 otism that were required to enter- >s tain, to avow, and act upon such n opinions that would restore home bi rule, not only to the people of Loui- rft siana and South Carolina, but to the 01 whole South. His acts were hailed su U i I . /\ CJ /\ < 4 V-v A MM M A A 1 A 111 < 4 ti A n 4 L ai ft f uy uie ouuwiciu pcuyic wiiu cuuiusiasm as the dawn of a.new era in be reconstruction, and had Southern sti Congressmen met him half way he Kr would have been able to have carried th out a policy that would have done much good to help the prostrated ti( and suffering South. That he failed to accomplish as much as he attempt- ^ ed for the South is attributed to the hostility in his own party, and want of confidence on the part of Southern leaders in him." ^ Work Now.?Young man, do not ga leave it to a future day, but do it bo now. Man of middle age, you have ap a vivid sense of the rapidity with go which your years haye gone, but wi they will go just as rapily in the eri future as in the past. Man of old Fi age, you have to make haste?you th have no time to lose. as The ancient law said concerning A1 the sale of an estate: "According of to the number of the years thou shalt uo iminish the price." The nearer ley were to the jubilee year the leaper they were to sell their land. ) the nearer you come to the end of Dur days you ought to hold earthly lings more loosely and prize heavily things more highly. When iur business day is drawing to a ose, you hasten to conclude your ork, dispatching sometimes in an Dur more than in all the day that ent before. When Napoleon went on the field f Marengo it was late in the afterDon, and he saw that the battle was sally lost, but looking at the Wesirn sun, he said: "There is just me to recover the day!" and giv ig out nis orders wiin rapid and mracteristic energy, he turned deat into victory. So, although your in is near to setting, there is time to icover the day. Avail yourself of 18 eventide lest your life end in ernal failure.?The Rev.. Mm. M. 'aylot, I\. D.t in 11 Joseph as Prime Minister." I?-Thomas Jefferson, speakiDg of itoxicating liquors, said they "ocisioned more injury to the public irvice than any other circumstance hich has occurred in the internal mcerns of the country, during my Iministration of "two terms as resident of the United States." Hon. D. B. Culbertson, a member f Congress from Texas for many *ars, has contributed a remarkable ttertothe Democratic-Prohibition 'mposium of Texas statesmen. He iys: "The evils of the liquor traffic in !r. Jefferson's time pale into utter isigniflcance beside the monumenthorrors that stalk through the land >-day hand in hand with this traffic. he feeble and insignificant power r harm exerted by the saloon in the irlier days of the republic has grown ? be an overshadowing despotism. ; assumes to control the franchises ' freemen. It sets at defiance the w8 enacted to preserve the good orsr of society. It enters the high id low places of authority, and amps its will over the will of the ?ople. The wrecks of manhood hich fill the land ; the distress and mkruptcy wrought by its power; le onerous burdens of taxation saped upon honest industry to deay the expenses of crime, the legitimate offspringof its power?all show dw deeply the public welfare is inmlved in the evils of the liquor afflc. For one, I believe the time as arrived when this despotism lould be broken and overthrown, ad the welfare of the people eraanpated from its thralldom." Chances in Life.?This is a good je to be born in ; the infant of toay whose life is prolonged to the alitted term will see more wonders rnn any of his predecessors have sen, and if the world continues to rogress as fast as it has been proressing during the past seventy ears, theopportunities will be before im of a fortunate career. He will ein a larger sphere and under greatr responsibilities, but the more that required of him the stronger will e his power of achievement. Men Iways rise to the occasion. If any ork is to be accomplished, some dy is sure to come forward.and take rin hand. No matter how arduous me undertaking, if it is within the :ope of human prowess its compleon will not be suffered to fail. It jay be hindered, thwarted, misdiicted, but in the end it will he sucjssful. Rivalry is the powerful mo>r by which great enterprises are npelled, and the zeal with which len are competing with others for le foremost places in the domain 6f ldustryand of art, makesthe contest >r superiority intensely exciting. Iverybody wants to be in it; to stay ut is to be lost sight of. And so ear by year multitudes of new aspiintsare entering the lists; the strife >r position is increasing, and the reilts of the honorable emulation are xceedingly beneficial. After the Battle.?The aspect f troops of all arms of the service, -rifpsj Pnlnnpl .T R (innrlnlfn. in the t. Louis Globe-Democrat, is very difsrent in battle from the trim and eat parade appearance, but nowhere i this difference so marked as in the rtillery. It was always most inter3tiner to me to watch a battery going ito action. The artillerymen were ery careful at all times to dress rictly in accordance with regulaons and when a battery took posion every cannoneer looked as if he adjust prepared himself for inspecon. Nothing could be neuter and lore uniform than theirappearance. ut this did not last long. As the re began to get hot a jacket here nd there would be thrown off; next le collars would go, and often the lirts. The men were soon bathed i perspiration, which they would astily brush off with their powderlackened hands, leavinggreat marks herever they touched themselves, /hen the men began to fall and ere carried to the rear by their imrades, blood stains were added i the powder marks, and at the close ' the tight the artillerymen, so relarkable for their fine appearance ; its opening, presented the mo3t arrible spectacle that can be imagled. But they soon removed all ace of the fray, and by the next ly were as neat and clean as ever. ? ? ? Be Useful.?To every good and jeful thing there are always certain did objections, which could not be tised if that thing were any less >od or useful than it is. The uuali' that gives to any person peculiar due in one place, or at one time, is etty sure to bo the very quality lat makes him just as peculiarly idesirable in another place or at anhertime. The man of social dis)sition is more likely to incommode hers by untimely visits than the cluse who seldom or never visits at 1; but the recluse is correspondingas useless a member of society as e social man is useful. The man ho is capable of fervor when fervor needed, is likely to oea man wno hot-headed and rash when cooliss and deliberation are needed ; it society can better put up with shness than it can pet along withit fervor. In the ripening of the mraer grain there is the element the sunstroke ; but the world can itterafford to take the risks of sunroke than it can to be without ain. One who would be useful in e world must take the risk of being i occasional annoyance or obstruc>n. Chivalry of Phil. Kearny.? ir recent correction of the stateent about the death of Gen. Phil, earney may create a desire among me of our readers to know more out him. He was one of the most llant and chivalrous soldiers ever irn on American soil. After his pointment to the 1st U. S. Draons from the profession of law he is soon afterward sent by the govnment to Europe to report upon ench cavalry tactics. He entered e military school at Saumer, went a volunteer in the chasseurs to Igeria and was awarded the cross the legion of honor lor his conspicus gallantry. On his return to America he served in the Mexican war and lost his left arm at the city of Mexico. He again went to Europe, was in the battles of Magenta and Solferino and was again decorated with the cross of the legion of honor by Napoleon III. At tne battle of Seven Pines the Sixth S. C. V. made as gallant a charge as was ever known in American history. Col. John Bratton, the commander was wounded and captured. He gave up his sword to Phil. Kearney and was sent to Fortress Monroe. In a few days the sword was returned by Gen. Kearny who complimented Col. Bratton upon the gallantry of the Sixth, saying he would not retain the sword of so gallant a regiment. He also sent his check fer $250 (we believe was the amount) and requested Col. Bratton to draw on him forsuch further sums as he might need during his imprisonment. Phil. Kearny did not belong to the to of:n X'Uia&Ci UUWU| N M Dilil UUIO" ing sectional hate, but he was a true soldier who could and did respect a gallant adversary. We venture to say that no Confederate soldier who fought has to this day ever cherished or expressed an unkind feeling for the dead soldier.?Abbeville Medium. ANALOGIES IN NATURE. "Why should.it be thought with you an incredible thing that God should raise the dead ?" Things all around us suggest it. On what grew all these flowers? Out of the mould and the earth. Resurrected! The radiant butterfly, where does it come from? The loathsome caterpillar. That alabatross that smites the tempest with its wing, where did it come from? A senseless shell. NearBergerac, France, in a Celtic tomb under a block, were found flower-seeds that had been buried two thousand years. The explorer took the flower-seed and plantea it, and it came up; it bloomed in bluebell and heliotrope. Two thousand years ago buried, yet resurrected. A traveler says he found in a mummy pit in Egypt, gardenpeas that had been buried there three thousand years ago. He brought them out, and on the fourth of June, 1844, he planted them, and in thirty days they sprang up. Buried three thousand years, yet resurrected. "Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you that God should raise the dead?" Where did all thissilk come from? the silk that adorns your person and your homes? In the hollow of a staff a Greek missionary brought from China to Europe the progenitors of those worms that now supply the silk markets of many nations. The pa geantry of bannered hosts aud the . luxurious articles of commercial emporium blazing out from the silkworms. And who shall be surprised if out of this insignificant earthly life, our bodies unfold into something worthy of the coming eternities? Put silver into diluted nitre and it dissolves. Is the silver gone forever ? No. Put in it some pieces of copper and the silver reappears. Ifone force dissolves another force organizes. "Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you that God should raise the dead ?" The insects flew and the worms crawled last autumn feebler and feebler and then stopped. They have taken no food, they want none. They lay dormant and insensible, but soon the south wind will blow the resurrection trumpet, and the air and the earth will be full of them. Do you not think that God can do as much for our bodies as He does for the wasps and the spiders and the snails? This morning at half-past four o'clock, there was a resurrection. Out of night, the day. A few weeks ago there was a resurrection in all our gardens. Why not some day a resurrection amid all the graves??Talmcige. Fix Firmly.?It is possible for a fact, a truth, a face, a form, a sentence, to be so vividly impressed, in an instant, as to be permanently retained and made readily available, but these occurrences are so rare as to be highly improbable in our experience. A single impression seldom suffices for permanency. It is, as a rule, only a question of time for the erasure of the impression of anything seen or considered but a moment. Nevertheless, the keener the attention when anything is learned, the less repetition is required, and it becomes a time-saving process to acquire such skill in attention as to reI iinpo thp u/flqfp nftime in reconsider ation to the minimum. Into everything that is well learned we spin a part of our best self, our thought. Our knowledge, when it is acquired with interest, is like the web of the spider, who puts himself into it, and still retains such a sensitive connection with it that to touch any thread touches the spider and awakes him from sleep. Our knowledge should be such that to touch it at any point istorjfiakeeverythingconnected with it alive in memory.?Journal of Education. Why we Should be Happy.?It is a poor specimen of a man that can wade through the benefactions of earth and not haye his heart throb and beat with the pulsations of gratitude ! All these beautiful, delicious, sublime things; grateful to the taste, the touch, the smell, to the ear, the sight, the mind. Pleasantlightsand shadows, sweet perfumes and sounds, golden grains and luscious fruits, lovely features, forms, flowers, grass, landscapes, flowing rivers, cataracts, mountains, lakes, oceans, skies, coming in multitudes which no man can compute, call for songs of ceaseless praise. Truly has our heavenly Father done enough to draw us to himself, in the beautiful world which he has made for our enjoyment. He hath adorned it with sapphire splendors, carpeted it with green, curtained it with golden sunsets, fringed it with vine clad hills, and landed it with healthful and bounteous sustenance. If we would only view it rightly, we would see and feel that the "lines have fallen to us in pleasant places." A Siioht Sermon.?What a mania people have for gossiping ! No wonder the divine writer said, "Bridle the tongue." What a disposition to talk about persons instead of things. But then this is easily accounted for when we remember that any fool can talk about persons, but it requires sense to discuss things. There are a few people in every place who seem to delight in running about and telling every little thing they hear, and the worst of it all is that they do not always confine themselves to the truth. With some it has grown to a disease. They just must talk about somebody. It is a great source of evil to a town or a community, and the devil wants no better agency than this to accomplish his design, and the person so engaged is doing for the devil what' he won't do himself. Stop talking about people, and go to reading ana studying and learn to .talk about things. A cross old bachelor suggests that births should be announced un der the head of new music. A