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lewis m. ?hist, proprietor, j |itbtptnbttti JaiiiHj Jor % |)romofion of % ^oliimtl, Social, ^grintlfiiral anb Commercial Jnftmfs of % Soutfj. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. "VOL. 34. YORKYILLE, S. C.. "WELHSTESLA-Y, MARCH S8, 1888. 3STO. 13. Ibe Jtorg ffcller.CORNER LOTS. by egbert howe fletcher. Tulita Anita de Lunavarita stood in the garden, picking lavender. Although the sun shone, and the waters of the bay sparkled, and the distant Coronados Islands and the hills of Mexico floated in a bine haze before her, Tulita had no eyes for the pretty picture. Her mind was occupied with weightier matters. Perhaps sBe was not even aware that 8he herself made a much prettier picture with her girlish figure relieved against the white adobe house behind her, and her shapely head poised on one side, as she critically examined, with her big dark eyes, each spray of lavender. She may even have been unaware that the young man walking on the other side of the rood was evidentljjof this opinion, although when he made a misstep into a chuck hole full of dust, through having his eyes on her, Tulita's rosy lips puckered themselves ud. and a suspicious little movement of her shoulders suggested that she was not entirely ignorant of the young ! man's mishap. But, as has been said, her mind was engaged with weightier matters, and scarcely vouchsafing a second glance at the retreating figure of the young man, she entered the white adobe house' Placftg her fragrant load upon a table, she took up an old copy of The Fashion Guide, which she had left face downward when she went to gather lavender, and consulted it with a studious frown. Then going to a chest of drawers, she procured some odds and ends of ribbons, and, seating herself with a business like air, proceeded, with many references to the instructions, to braid the sprigs of lavender together with the ribbons. "These useful as well as ornamental little articles," the book said, at the end of its disquisition, "are rapidly becoming indispensable in every household. In fact, we know of several young ladies who derive a comfortable income from the manufacture and sale of lavender sticks." "I don't know," said Tulita, to herself, as she regarded her first effort disparagingly, "it seems to me that anybody would be a fool to buy tfiat. But, there," she continued, more hopefully, "you never can tell about these Americans." And, proceeding with the work, she soon exhausted her lavender and ribbons, and had instead a neat little pile of "lavender sticks." "Madre de Dios!" said Tulita, as with her chin on her'hand she gazed at the result of her labors, "if that little mother of mine was to catch me at this, how quickly those things would go out of the window," and she laughed softly at the thought. "Although," she continued, "if she can do sewing for money, why should not I also work? At any rate, I must have omo shoes, that is the truth." And thrusting her foot out, she leaned over the table to look at it It was a dainty, 6lender foot with an arched instep, but the shoe upon it [was unmistakably, hopelessly ragged. "Ah! go hide yourself," saidTulita, severely; "you make me ashamed.". Then sinking back on her chair, she rested her chin on her hand once more, and thought: "Ah, if only I could make enough to buy a _ pair of shoss." And after awhile a tear rolled down her cheek and fell on the lavender sticks. But at this moment the click of the latch on the garden gate made Tulita spring to her feet. With a quick movement she swept the lavender sticks into a drawer, and when the new comer entered the room, Tulita was before the mirror singing to herself, while she braided her Jong hair, which had fallen as suddenly as a southern night. "Is it thou, madre?" she said. "Yes, it is I?all that is lett ot me," said the lady who had entered, a woman whose still handsome face was lined by grief and trouble. "Sainted Mother! but it is warm in j the sim," she continued, fanning herself with that indolent, graceful sweep of tho wrist pe- | culiar to women of the south. Then, pausing a moment, she elevated her head and said: "What is that odor in the house, like sage brush?' "Perhaps it is this bit of lavender," said Tulita, hiding her guilty face behind her hair. "Paugh!" said her mother. "It is too strong. Throw it away." And as she obeyed, Tulita's heart went down into her ragged boots at this unexpected disparagement of the odor of lavender. "Sagebrush, indeed." It disheartened her so that tho idea of attempting to "derive a comfortable income from the manufacture and sale of lavender sticks" was at once dismissed in scorn. Even the possibility of new shoes grew very faint. But with tho next morning's sun tho hope and high spirits of youth returned, and when Tulita started to walk in to San Diego to make some purchases for her mother, the lavender sticks were hidden beneath her shabby little black mantle. Last night, after she had gone to bed, she had lain awake for at least an hour deciding where to offer them for sale. Senna & Squills' drug store was the favored place. It was on tho principal street, and had fine large windows full of fancy goods. It would be a very simple matter to walk in and ask them to sell the sticks for her. Of course she would pay them something for their trouble. Then, too, sbo had heard that very morning there were an unusual number of eastern tourists in town, and' she hurried her steps so as not to lose any chances. " But when Tulita came in sight of Senna & Squills' establishment her enthusiasm ebbed. Sie chided herself for walking so rapidly and getting heated and out of breath. What would the people in the store think of her? Slower and slower grew her pace, until, ar- j riving in front of her destination, she stopped I and looked at the display of fancy goods in j the window. The comparison was not favorable to her lavender sticks. "Perhaps, after all," thought Tulita, "the idea of arybody wanting to buy such things is absurd." Suppose Senna & Squills should laugh at her! She concluded to think about it a little more and walked on. The further Tulita went, however, tho more her courage returned, until, telling herself she was behaving ridiculously, she resolutely retraced her steps until the store was once more reached. But again she paused irresolutely before the Window. Then she crossed the street to look in the window of a book store that might perhaps bo better adapted to her purpose. Deciding against the book store, she returned to the drug store. Then the dreadful thought occurred to her than her movements must be attracting attention. The policeman on the corner had certainly looked at her very hard. What if he should speak to her! This idea.' was so appalling that Tulita hurriedly walked on down the street, without looking to the right or left. It was not until she had turned tho first corner she came to that sho recovered her equanimity. Then scolding herself severely for this panic, she continued on slowly around the block, until once more she found herself in front of Senna & Squills' establishment. Bracing up her treacherous courage with a great effort she walked in. One of the clerks, observing the hesitation of a young and pretty customer, advanced toward her, and, in his suavest manner, said: "What can I do for you today, miss?'' "Is?a?is Mr. Senna in?'' faltered Tulita. "Mr. Senna, miss!" exclaimed the young man, with a look of surprise, "Mr. Senna is dead." "Oh," murmured Tulita, "I am very sorry." And, with burning cheeks, she found herself in the street once more. How far or where she walked after that Tulita was never quite sure. When her thoughts were sufficiently collected she discovered that she was in front of one of the principal hotels. She saw a news stand near the main entrance. On the impulse of the moment she stopped, and, opening her bundlo of lavender sticks, sh3 showed them to tho proprietor and asked him if he would try to sell them for her. He was an elderly man, and while not enthusiastic over tho prospects of a brisk business in lavender sticks, he was very kind to the girl and readily agreed to do all in his power to advance her little venture. Rid of her bundlo of lavender, which she had begun to hate, Tulita turned her steps homeward in high spirits. How easy it had been to arrange the matter, and what a little fool she was to have worried herself so. After all, though, it was much better that she had not left the sticks with Senna & Squills. This news stand was by far the best place, being right in the hotel, where the eastern tourists would be sure to see them. And Tulita fell to wondering whether the man would sell any that day, and how many, and how long it would be before they were all sold. And when she passed a shoe store she stopped and looked at the display in the window to see what kind of shoes she should buy?although, to be sure, the variety of shoes to be had for $3 was not great. Meantime the newsdealer had sold all of Tulita's lavender sticks. Not that they had filled one of the public's long felt wants, for they had all been bought by one person, that person being Mr. Brown, of Philadelphia. Mr. Brown, while leaning idly against the news stand, had seen Tulita come up, and on getting a sight of her face had said to himself in surprise, "By Jove! That is the pretty girl I saw in the garden yesterday afternoon." And although he politely moved away out of hearing of the conversation, he furtively watched the pretty girl, and had no difficulty in understanding the nature of her trans| action with the old newsdealer. "Hard up, of course," smd Mr. Brown, sympathetically. Then as Tulira 'tripped away he returned to bis lounging place by the news stand, and picking up one of the lavender sticks with an air of idlo curiosity', asked what they were for. "They are made of lavender," replied the dealer, "and you put them in the bureau drawer to make your clothes smell nice, at any rate that is what the young lady who left them here say9. I never saw any myself before. I guess I'll sell 'em for souvenirs of southern California. They are made by a native Californian, and it will be a change on horned toads." "That is a good idea," said Mr. Brown calmly. "In fact I have an aunt at home who would not like horned toads, so I will take some of these. How many have you got? A dozen? "Well, vou can let me have the lot." As the pleased dealer was wrapping up Mr. Brown's purchase that gentleman flipped the ash from his cigar and said, after a pause, "What do you mean by 'native Californian?' Is not every one bora in California a native?' "Well, yes," said the dealer, with patient forbearance for the ignorance of this "tender foot," who was so good a customer, "I suppose they are. But when we say native Californian we mean the Spanish or Mexican people, who lived here when the country be longed to the greasers. Have you ever read 'Two Years Before the Mast,' by Mr. Dana? If you haven't I have got a copy here I would Utn coll vnn Mr. Dana was in Ran Dieco back in the thirties, 'lhere was not much here then except a few adobe houses in Old Town and the mission, but he gives you a pretty good idea of the native Californian. Some of them came originally from Spain, and had grants of land from the king so big that they could ride for days as the crow flies and not leave their ranches. They lived like lords that you read about, with a hundred or so Indians to herd their cattle, and every one that happened along was welcome to the best. Helen Hunt gives you a good ; idea of that in 'Ramona.' I would like to sell you this copy; it's the last I got left. You havoreadit? Well, as I was saying, when the Americans commenced coming in here the native Californians began losing their land. They found it necessary to have money to keep up with the procession, and the most of their ranches got pretty well plastered, so that one way or another the big grants got broke up, and so did the natives. I guess there are mighty few of them now that could pan out anything but law suits. I shouldn't wonder now if the father of that young lady once owned a million or so of acres, you cant tell. But, you bet, if he had any of it left, now that the boom has struck the town, she wouldn't be making those things," touching Mr. Brown's parcel. "Not," ho added hastily, "but what they are a first class article in their way. In fact I must get her to make some more, I guess they'll take pretty well. You dont want to buy Helen Hunt's [-book? Mr. Dana's? Well, so long." Shoving the bundle of lavender into the pocket of the light overcoat that hung across his arm, Mr. Brown left the hotel, and with the air of a man who has nothing to do and I all the day before him he walked along the ' streets. Finally he entered a tall frame buildI ing bearing the legend "Furnished rooms to ! let."' Ascending to the top floor, he opened j the door of what proved to be a small aparfrj ment, well filled with a bed and bed lounge, | both presenting evidence of recent use. In a corner before a small looking glass stood a well dressed man of about 110 years of age, carefully arranging a four in hand tie. He turned as Mr. Brown entered, and looked at him expectantly, but immediately resumed his occupation. "Well, old man," he said, "anything new?" "No," said Mr. Brown, throwing his over coat on the bed. I he bundle or lavender dropped out of the pocket, and Mr. Brown, picking it up, shied it after the coat. "What is that?" said the gentleman at the looking glass; "manuscript?" "No," said Mr. Brown, with a slight look of embarrassment; "something I got at the hotel. Why the devil hasn't that Chinaman made the beds up?" he continued, impatiently. "It is nearly 12 o'clock." And going to the door Mr. Brown called out in no gentle tones: "Here you! Sing Lee! Sing Lee!" "My dear fellow," exclaimed his compaion, with an affectation of terror, "for heaven's sake, don't do that! You will stir up the old woman. I spent a whole hour this morning persuading her to be quiet for another week." And drawing Brown back into the room, he tiptoed into the entry, and cautiously peered over the banisters. Then coming back, he closed the door softly, and heaved a sigh of relief. Brown's puzzled expression changed to a smile. "Oh," he said, "I forgot about the rent. But, I say, Benton, we can't owe her very much for this little coop; can't you pay her enough to let me kick that Chinaman into some idea of decency?" "Can't bo done, my dear boy," said his companion. "You must learn to deny yourself these luxuries." "Talking of denial," said Brown, "I am | friglftfully hungry. Have you had your I breakfast?" I "This don't hap{>eii to be breakfast day," , said Benton, "this is lunch day: but we will i have it early, in fact, I was only waiting for you to come in. We dined off the last of my watch last night, you know, so as not to break that So piece of yours." j At this Brown's face changed, and his eyes sought Tulita's lavender sticks, which lay upon the unmade bed. "I'll tell you what it is, Tom," he said, finally, looking up at his friend comically, "you ought to break my neck." "Why?" said Mr. Benton. "Simply because I am not to be trusted ' alone. I threw away of that money this 'j morning. You see," he continued more j earnestly, "I never hud an experience of this J sort before, and I keep forgetting." "Of course," said Benton, sympathetically. >? e i.-uii l rapwt u leoparu to caunge uls I spots in an instant." ^ "Here," continued Brown, taking out his purse, "you take charge of the rest of this." "No. I'll be hanged if I do," replied Ben' ton. "You forget our agreement in San I Francisco after that unlucky stock deal into :j which I got you" ; "And in which you lost fifty thousand to ; my five," interrupted Brown. "You forget our agreement," continued ' Benton, without heeding this remark, "that 1 we were to pool our resources, and share ! equally gains and losses, from a two bit piece i to a hundred thousand dollars." "A hundred thousand dollars," related Brown, meditatively. | "That is nothing," said Benton, "I have j made as much as that before now." ] 'In stocks, yes," said Brown, "but they '< have no stocks here." i "No," said Benton, "but they have some thing a hundred times better; they have a i magnificent climate, and harbor, and everyj thing to make a big city. And you mark ! mv word, there is going to be one of the bigj gest booms right here that the world has | ever seen. Kansas City won't beacircum! stance to it. Why the climate alone" "Oh, come down!" interrupted Brown, ir' reverently. Benton laughed and said, "Seriously, j Frank, if we only can manage to get hold of | some land our fortune is made. I am as sure of that as that at present we are dead broke, j If that wealthy father of yours back in the ! respectable village of Philadelphia only knew what a glorious chance there was to make a million or so right here" and Mr. Benton sighed. "Well, ho won't know through me," replied Brown. "If the worst comes I can always drive a team, but I won't ask him for help." "I think you are wrong, old man." said Benton. "Not on account of the money, but on general principles. However, wo will make our stake just tko same. And now about lunch; I am starved." "I think I ought to be made to eat the lavender," said Brown, looking ruefully at his purchase, as he disclosed the contents of the bundle to his friend. "There, how is that for a $3 investment?' "But what is it?' said Benton, picking up one of tfce lavender sticks and looking at it suspiciously. "Dynamite? Phiz'z'z't! For the old woman?' with an expressive reference to the region occupied by the landlady. "No, you old Anarchist," replied Brown. Then in a fino lady's voice ho said: 'Tis sweet lavender. Placed in your bureau drawer, it will give a pleasing odor to your linen. That's right," ho continued in his own voice, "laugh! I was going to give you one. I shan't now." it.*.. o in ' cni/1 Hon X/1U i/ucji imun u miuvwu iu uv*4\? ton; "otherwise, it is not much use to us." "Use!" said Brown, scornfully; "think of a man who has to go without his breakfast buying $3 worth of lavender!" "Don't make me laugh any more," said Benton; "it is weakening, and wo can't afford it. Tell mo, how did you come to buy those things r' "Whereupon Mr. Brown narrated the story of his purchase. "Young," said Benton, at its conclusion, "and pretty" "I did not say so," interposed Brown. "It was not necessary," replied his friend; "wo must get acquainted with her." "Why?" said Brown, in not altogether pleased surprise. "Because sho may have friends among the natives here, who have land that wo can handle for them. Land, my dear boy, land, that is what we want. You don't seem tc fancy the idea," continued Benton, as Brown remained silent; "but we cannot afford to be romantic just now. It is absolutely necessary to use every chance. You have made a three-dollar investment, and I don't propose to throw it away. I am superstitious in money mntters, you know, and I havo a fancy that this generous act of yours may bring us luck. Three dollars' worth of bread on tho waters, as it were. I shall make a point of getting acquainted with your friend, and I should like to have you stand in with me. If you would rather not, why, of course" But Mr. Brown said ho would "stand in," only, be it understood, for the sole purpose of keeping Mr. Benton's business proclivities within decent bounds. Tulita sat upon the door step of the white adobe house looking out upon tho shining waters of the bay. The sun was sinking into the Pacific behind Point Loma and the soft air was full of a golden liazc. The Coronados islands and tho distant hills of Mexico were outlined in a purple silhouette against the evening sky and everything was still and peaceful?everything except Tulitafc poor little heart. Her mother had not been very well for the last two or three days, and the death of her father was recent enough to cause the slightest illness to fill Tulita with alarmed foreboding. Then they were so lonely, she and her mother, with no one to care for them, and they were so poor; it was all very forlorn, and they had just been crying over it together, they two, in the twilight. And now, with that vague interest which the mind after great emotion feels in trifling matters, Tulita sat on tho door step and idly watched the sea gulls fluttering and squabbling over some scraps thrown from a passing steamer, and then her eyes followed a jack rabbit which loped across the road and disappeared in the sage brush; then she saw two men come along and stop at the house next "to hers. This latter incident rather aroused her curiosity, because, while sea gulls and jack rabbits were plentiful enough in that neighborhood, gentlemen were not, and these appeared .to bo gentlemen. Evidently, from their gestures, they were inquiring for some one; but what was her surprise when these gentlemen left the other house and coming directly to her garden gate opened it and approached her. "Is this tvhere'Mrs. Lunavarita livesV said the elder of the two gentlemen, as they both politely removed their hats. Restraining an impulse to take refuge in the house, Tulita replied that it was. "If it will not disturb her," continued the gentleman, "may we see her for a moment?" At this juncture the senora herself, hearing the voices, came to the door and answered by bidding them enter. "I hope that wo are not intruding^' continued the stranger who did the talking: "my name is Benton and this is my friend Mr. Brown." The senora bowed in a stately way. "My friend here," continued Mr. Benton, "bought some lavender sticks at tho Blank hotel this morning which we understand wece made by you." "Lavender sticks," repeated the senora, slowly, shaking her head; "I do not know what that is that you call lavender sticks. Tulita," she continued, turning to her daughter, "de que esta hablando el caballero? Que son palitos de lavandrila, hija mia, sabes tu?" Yes, Tulita knew. At the sound of tho familiar words her face flushed hotly, and then grew very pale. What was the matter? Had she offended some law in regard to the sale of lavender sticks, and were these sheriffs come to arrest her? Or?more dreadful thought? were hers so badly made that the people who had bought them came to make complaint to her mother? Then she heard the gentlemen say something about souvenirs of California, aunts in the east, all of the lavender sticks at the hotel being sold, and taking the liberty of coming to Mrs. Lunavarita herself to see if she would make him a dozen more. All of her lavender sticks sold! Could it be jxissible? Tulita's heart gave a happy bound, and in the excitement of the moment she turned to her bewildered mother and poured forth her. confession, in what Mr. Brown afterward-declared was the most musical Spanish he had ever heard in his life. This was followed by quick, sharp questions from the mother, and pleading, faltering answers from the girl, and then what seemed a torrent of repreach and protest fell from the lips of the senora. "It seems," said Mr. Benton, in a low tone I to his friend, "that the old lady was not posted." "No, confound you," indignantly whis! pored Mr. Brown, "you have let the little girl in for a nice scolding." Then the Senora Lunavarita, with flashed face and glistening eyes, turned to the two gentlemen undsaid, with dignity and pathos: "Senores, 1 have to make the apology to you. It is my daughter that makes these? these" "Lavender sticks," suggested Benton, pleasantly. "These lavender sticks, and I did not know. She is a young lad}', and I would not have her do work. Sainted Mother! it is bad enough for me, who am old. And I did not know, you understand.' Not that my daughter ever does anything without telling me," she added, hastily; "no, senor, never! She has no secrets from her mother. But her father is dead and we are pour." Here the senora's voice faltered a little, and one of the teal's that had been gathering in her eyes rolled slowly down her face. " Wo are poor, and I have to work, and my daughter, she loves me, and she says it makes her sad to see me sew, sew, all the time sew. and she do nothing, and so she makes these things to help her poor mother. That is the way of it, senor. She is a good daughter, and?and ?" here the senora's feeling overcame her, and, turning to Tulita, who had stolen to her side, with a little gesture of surrender she allowed her tears to flow unrestrained. Quickly putting her arms nrouncl her mother's neck, Tuiita drew her head down upon her shoulder, and spoke to her soothingly in Spanish. Then, turning gravely, almost defiantly to the young men, she said: "My mother has not been very well for the last few days, senores, and to-night she is not herself. You will excuse her." At this, both of the gentlemen arose, and Mr. Brown, speaking for the first time, said: "We are very sorry, indeed we arc. We had no idea that?that your mother was not well. In fact, I hope that you will pardon us for taking the liberty of calling on you about so trifling a matter." Now, although Mr. Brown's apology was not very eloquent, there was a sincerity and sympathetic feeling in the young man's voice that made its way to the hearts of both of the women. The senora raised her head, and, drying her eyes, said, with smiling simplicity: "Ah, scaur, do not feel distressed because I cry a little. I often cry; I am not very strong since my husband died. But it is nothing." Tulita meanwhile, haTing arisen, had gone to the door, in the evident expectation of the immediate departure of her unexpected guests. In fact, Mr. Brown himself stood hat in hand ready to go, but Mr. Benton wa3 lingering to make some reply to the senora's words. Then Mr. Brown, on the impulse of the moment, said to the girl, who stood near him, "You are not annoyed or angry with me?with us, I mean, for coming?" "Why should I be!" replied Tulita, with dignity. "It is of no consequence." "May I hope, then, that you will make the ! lavender sticks for mo? I will call for them, of course," said Mr. Brown. "I will make some moro for sale at the newsstand," replied Tulita; "nodoubt you can get them there," Having administered which littlo cut Tulita turned her big dark eyes severely upon the still tarrying Mr. Benton. Brown, convinced now that their visit had displeased the young lady, also turnod and glared at tho e ..,nu CUUW? U1 UJS UiOUUllUlblUC. ?v 11(41/ ??U.I I.UV** surprise to find that Mr. Benton had ivseated himself and that he and the so*^- ' -d apparently launched into an extended conversation. 'Are you coming, Benton?" said Brown, impatiently. "In a minute, my dear fellow," replied his friend; "I have just discovered that Mrs. Lunavarita and I have a whole lot of mutual j friends up in San Francisco." And the senora herself, turning to her I daughter, confirmed this in quite an aniI mated way, repeating several names, cvij dently those of the friends referred to. Then Mr. Brown's eyes sought Tulita's i with such solemn protest that she in her turn could not help smiling. Common politeness forced her to say, "Will you not sit down?" But no, Mr. Brown would not sit down; ho preferred to do penance standing. Then ho looked so unhappy, casting gloomy glances at his friend, which that gentleman ignored, that Tulita finally began to feel a little pity for the young man. Perhaps she had been too severe. After all he was very evidently a gentleman, and was not bad looking, and he had the good taste to appreciate her lavender stieks. And so, after a little hesitation, she ventured to ask him if lie was a stranger in San Diego. She almost laughed again to see how grateful ho looked for this bit or condescension, in iacc cms young man was so modest and courteous?so different from his companion, for instance?it was really a pleasure to encourage him a little. Then gradually Mr. Brown ceased to cast ramonstrative glances at his friend, and presently, when he saw that he was keeping Miss i Lunavarita standing, ho consented to sit | down. It was growing dark when Mr. Brown again arose to his feet and exclaimed, peremptorily, "Come, Benton, we must go! I don't know what Mrs. Lmiavarit:. and her daughter will think of us." Now, even if Mrs. Lunnvarita's daughter had eared to give expression to her thoughts just then, she was the next moment rendered speechless by her mother's behavior. Giving Mr. Benton her hand as he bade her good night, the senora said, in a pleased and most vivacious manner, "Good night, senor, I shall look for you to-morrow at 10 o'clock, and then we will take our little ride." After leaving the house Mr. Benton and Mr. Brown plodded along through the dusk and dust in silence for some minutes. Then Mr. Benton said, "Women are strange creatures." To which trite remark his companion made no reply. But, having arrived at the end of his reflections, and broken the silence, Mr. Benton continued: "Do you remember my telling you, Frank, that I had a sort of superstition that your $3 investment was going to bring us luck?" And as Brown assented, with a nod of his head, "Well, I think it has, though I had no idea when I inquired thenamo of your friends, of the people next door, that the luck was all ready, laid away in lavender, as it were, waiting for u? to como and get it. Mrs. Lunavarita has 200 or 300 acres of land over on the sea I shore. What do yoa think of that? It is I the same old story. They once owned leagues | and this is all they have left, and they have : got that, as Mrs. Lunavarita says, because it I is not worth anything, although she is wrong j there. At any rate she is holding it for her j daughter, hoping that it may be worth something some day. It is all they have got. Two thousand dollars is the highest figure she has thought of. If it is anything like she describes it, and if she will let me 1 " 1 oinn I UllllUil' IV, J. JJI'OJJUSO III JUUilU 111 nuitu ?ivu,000 in the next year." | "Look here,Tom," said Brown, impulsively, | "if you. do get hold of this thing, you will do ! the best you can by Mrs. Lunavaritn, won't ! you?" "My dear fellow," said Mr. Benton in a I rather cold tone, "is it necessary to ask me J that? I am notadevourer of widows and j orphans." "Oh, bang it, don't be touchy," said Brown. "You know I did not moan anything like that. Only these two women are so lonely, and innocent, and plucky, they really have made quite an impression on me." "I noticed that one of them seemed to," rej plied Mr. Benton, dryly, "but I did not obi serve the other had. As for the proposition, ' if everything turns out as I expect, it was a | lucky day for Mrs. Lunavaritn when I knocked at her door. And now let us quit work for the day, and go and have a respect! able dinner as a send off for the new firm of j Benton & Brown, real estate dealers." !? # * K> # * A year und a half have elapsed. It is | Christmas Eva Once more Tulita is watchj ing the sun set, but this time from another home, where Point Loma does not intervene I its huge bulk, where she can see the golden ! disc slipping down between the blue of I the Pacific and the blue of the evenj ing sky, until the last burnished tip disapix'urs. Then tho soft worm air is filled ' with rich color as the afterglow stains sky ! and water with its hues. Turning away, Tulita proceeds with her occupation of gathering roses which this celestial pageant had interrupted, while the air grows heavy ! with their j?erfumo. Behind Tulita is a largo so called "Queen Anno" cottage, and on the , veranda sits her mother, lazily rocking and j fanning herself. Next to the senora sits i an elderly gentleman, and on the back of the I elderly gentleman's chair leans Mr. Brown, of Philadelphia. As Tulita passes tho side of the porch, she dexterously tosses a rose to the elderly gentleman, and laughs, as he successfully catches it, and presses it to his lips with ; a gaiiam, now. "Well, well, well," be says, breaking the silence. "imagine being out of door without a wrap, gathering roses on Christmas Eve. And , yon really mean to tell me, Frank, that this place has been set out only a year?" "Yes, sir," replied tho young man, "just ; about. You see, father, in this country water | is everything. If you can only get plenty of water, things grow like magic. I remember that is what worried us most when wo put Lunavarita town lots on the market, water | was the great question, and we were afraid we would have to pipe it from town. But as soon as we struck that artesian well we were fixed. Tho property doubled in value in twenty-four hours, and we sold enough lots the first week to pay for laying out the town, putting down water and sewer pipes, and subsidizing a street car line to run a motor out here. After that the people used to come and stand in line all day long at our office waiting to buy lots. We raised the price religiously o:i the first of each month, and now you can't buy a lot in Lunavarita for less than ?100. Water is king in California. There ?- ^ 1 *? if ,lr.vv? fVmtl is a company lurmeu iu nuuic .v.iv..,. the mountains about sixty miles from here; it is a good scheme, too."' j "It must cost a great deal," said the elder Mr. Brown, doubtfully. "Oil, no." said his sun, "a million ought to do it."' "A mere trifle," said the old gentleman, mimicking Frank's airy tone. "Upon my soul," he continued, with sudden energy, "if I stay here much longer I shall be as stark, staring mad as all of the rest of you are. Why, they toll me that that jieninsula over there, with that absurdly big hotel, which they will never iill in the world" "All of the rooms are engaged already," murmured Frank, but his father, with a snort of incredulity, pro* eeeded without heeding him?"with its parks, and its drives, and its zoological gardens. and (rod knows what, begging your pardon, niadnnic, they tell me that that was a sage brush desert last year. I don't believe it?I won't believe it I" "My dear father," said his son, "two or | three years ago San Diego itself was little j more than that?you could have bought j pretty near the whole place for a short bit. But a railroad came in hero and that brought ' people, and when the world at large began to find out what a magnificent harbor" ''There, there!" exclaimed bis father, hastily, "don't get started now. I lmvo heard all about the harbor." "And the glorious climate?" "Yes," said Mr. Brown, emphatically, "and the climate, too." "I am afraid you don't appreciate it, though," said his son, reproachfully. "Just think of the Boston east wind to-night and compare it with this nir,*whero you can feel your lungs grow. "Why, I believe I have sprouted an extra one myself since I have been here." "I beliovo that you have, my dear boy," said the old gentleman, chuckling, "from the amount of talking that you do, I believe that you have. Eh, scnora, I rather think I got liira there? Did you hear that, Tulita, my dear? Ha! ha! lia!" At this moment a carriage was seen coming tltl tliA hill tntCArrl thn linnto "Ah!"cried Tulita, ''here comes Aladdin." The carriage stopped, and Bonton descended. Tulita, waving the bunch of roses before his face, bade him good evening. "Well, sir," said the elder Mr. Brown, "and how many towns have you built today i" "Not many," said Bonton, laughing. Then * driving from his coat pocket a package of papers, he handed it to Mr. Brown, saying: "Here are your deeds and abstracts; they are all right!" "What!" shouted Frank. "Father, have you" but hero ho burst out laughing. "Father," he continued, regaining his gravity, "father, look me in the eye. Is it possible that you, you, a conservative merchant of Philadelphia, have, at the present ruinous prices, been indulging in wild, insane speculation, that you" "There, there, Master Frank," said his father, joining in the laughter; "weall know that you have sprouted an extra lung." "Don't mind him, Mr. Brown," said Ben ton. "You have got a bargain. As soon as you get your vines well under way one year's crop of raisin grapes will pay for it." "Oh, of course, of course," said the old gentleman, "it is a bargain. They all are. Though to my mind," he continued, putting his ami around Tulita and drawing her to his side, "this is the best bargain ever got in southern California." "Yes," said his son, looking at his wife proudly, "and to think that I only had to put up ?3 for the option." "Men arc so conceited," said Tulita, confidingly to her father-in-law; "that was not the way of it at all. It was I who gave a dozen lavender sticks for a husband and the town of Lunavaritn." | JHiocrHancous i'oailiiu]. For the Yorkville Enquirer. ; REMINISCENCES OF WESTERN YORK. Continuing: our narrative of last : week, we will say that it was about j 5 minutes past 12 o'clock M. when ; the drop fell. The taut rope was : wrenched as the culprit whirled hack | and forth in the air. A writhing I shroud fluttering in the wigd, added I nausea to the sickening spectacle. ; After hanging 45 minutes he was pronounced dead, and taken down and placed in the coffin. As the corpse was being lowered, naturally, i a rush was made by the people to | get a glimpse at me supremacy ?ui | : the law of South Carolina, as well as thatdivine law which says: "Whoso ! sheddeth man's blood by man shall | his blood be shed." The guards orj dered the people to stand back. The scene was marked for the decorum of the actors as well as that of the populace. The dignity of law aud order was the ultimatum of those present. Samuel C. Youngblood, (a Western York man) was the sheriff whose duty it was to execute "the sentence of the law," to which the reader's attention, in this, and the previous chapter, has been called. He was a i kind-hearted, good man, and noth; ing but his devotion to duty and alj legiance to the oath of office, could j have induced him to perform this I painful task. It was said that Sherj iff Youngblood, desiring to evade the ; painful task of hanging a man, offered a tobacconists to hang Yickers. This, of course, the law of the State as well the tobacconist's own inclination, forbade. ; The gallows on which James Vicki ers paid the extreme penalty of the I law, was the workmanship of Mr. i William A. Jefferys, of Yorkville, of I whom we have many pleasant recol| lections during the war, and espe! cially during our ordeal at the WinI der hospital, Richmond, Va., in 1863-1 j '64. Many of the soldiers who were j confined there by disease, wounds, Ac., found in him a faithful and true friend. He was one of Dr. J. Itufus j Bratton's most trusted ward-masters, j | and well did he merit that confidence. | He was the soldier's friend. As we have digressed from the j 1 caption of these articles in giving an account of this execution, we might i as well finish it. We have good authority for saying that the morning ; before James Vickers was hanged, I the sheriff made a visit to the cell j where he and his brother, Newton j Vickers, were confined, and asked ; them what they wanted for breakfast. Newton said he didn't care i about anything. James said: "Bring j i me a good breakfast; I want to swing | heavy to-day." The winterof lSoo-'oti. was remark-1 i able for its snow. On Saturday, 21st | of December, 185;"), snow fell and for | five consecutive weeks continued to i fall on Saturday. The result was ! that on Monday, March 10th, 1856, I snow was still lying on the north hill sides?notably between Bullock's ! Creek bridge and the present resiI dence of Mr. Robert WhResides, i seven miles from Yorkville, on the I Howell's Ferry road. The snow was | lying under the shadow of some ; large rocks on the right of the road i between the creek and the top of the | j hill. The spring term of .court was! ] held at Yorkville on the second Mon-1 i day in March, and that was the day. J ; The next day a warm rain melted it. j ; Thus the ground had snow upon it j for 2 months and 21 days continuously. We will now take up the Sharon i congregation. Our first visit to this j church was in about 1848. Rev. R. j A. Ross was then its pastor, and has been ever since. I know of no minis: ter, living or dead, who has served his ! flock so long and acceptably as Rev. I Robert A. Ross. Perhaps Father | Saye, of the Fishing Creek church j is the only exception. From Rev. | Ross' long and acceptable service, as u*nll ns ''f-irvllv \i-nlL- nnrl nnnvpr sation," we conclude that no man in York county has done more to mould religious sentiment than he has. Jn our boyhood days we have heard him make such eloquent appeals to the unconverted as only, in our estimation, Alexander Proudfit could equal. The old meeting house stood J at the south end of the present | j building, which was erected about! 1850, or immediately afterwards. It stood east and west, with the pulpit in the eastend. Over the pulpit was a "sounding board"?the first and only one the writer has ever seen. ! I Dr. Talmage recently referred to it j in one of his lectures. Than this, the writer has never heard any philosophical explanation of its utility. It was an octagonal structure covering the speaker's stand. It was suspended from a beam and hung a few feet above the speaker's head. At first sight, and for a long time afterwards, I thought it was merely an ornament. The officiating elders (as well as we remember) were: Messrs John Kennedy, Hugh Galloway, Dawson Jenkins and Thomas WhiteI sides, (who to distinguish him from several other Thomas Whitesides in that section, was dubbed "black Totnmie"). Messrs. Dixon Wylie, John J. Wylie and Alexander Harbinson were singing clerks. A large, intelligent and orderly congregation attended this church; and the hour or hour and a half necessary for the minister to deliver his sermon, never became irksome to his hearers. On sacramental occasions I have seen the spacious new building crowded with eager listeners until every available spot of standing or sitting room was occupied; while fluttering fans norti'allir tho ar*oalror'a \jC4 i mmj uiwu ii*. v* v i? v. upv-uu*.i u voice. Dr. Ross, can now, after a ministration of nearly, if not quite, fortyfive years, look back to three generations he has served in a ministerial capacity, with the satisfaction of knowing that his labors have been crowned with success. Rev. Robert Lathan, in bis History of the Associate Reformed Synod of the South, antedates our reminiscences, and for the original history of this church, as well a9 the moral growth of this section, we refer the reader to it. Suffice it to say that all matters coming within the jurisdiction of the church session since our recollection has been promptly attended to and permanently settled by it, and that the church to-day is as intact as a body as i t was forty years ago, with a much larger and still increasing membership. The work of the pastor and the congregation has not been confined to the locality in which the church is situated. It has spread its influence out upon the western and north-western States, where large and respected congregations have been built up who owe their existence in great measure to the Associate Reformed Synod of the South, of which Western York forms an important factor. j. l. s. THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR 1000. It was believed in the Middle Ages that the world would come to an end at the expiration of one thousand years of the Christian era. This expectation in Christian countries wa9 universal. The year 1000 was a period of suspense, terror and awe. The histories of this dark period give vivid accounts and incidents of the state of the people under the influence of this awful apprehension. A writer in the Sunday at Home reproduces the picture with much dis tinctness ana reiaies an lnciaeni 01 the manner that the hours were numbered on the supposed final night of the year, which might aptly suggest a dramatic subject for a poet: When the last day of t^e year 1000 dawned, the madness had attained its height. All work of whatever kind was suspended. The marketplaces were deserted. The shops were shut. The tables were not spread for meals; the very household fires remained unlighted. Men, when they met in the streets, scarcely saw or spoke to one another. Their eyes had a wild stare in them, as though they expected every moment some terrible manifestation to take place. Silence prevailed everywhere, except in the churches, which were already thronged with eager devotees, who prostrated themselves before the shrines of their favorite saints, imploring their protection during the fearful scenes which they supposed were about to be displayed. As the day wore on, the number of those who sought admission grew greater and greater, until every corner of the sacred edifices, large as these were, was densely crowded, and it became impossible to find room for more. But the multitude outside still strove and clamored for admisssion, filling the porches and door-ways and climbing up the buttresses to find a refuge on the roofs which they could not obtain inside. A strange and solemn commentary on the text which binds men to watch because "they know not whether the Master of the house will come at even, or at midnight, or at cockcrowing, or in the morning," was presented by the multitudes which filled the churches that night. Watch in very truth they did. Not an eye was closed throughout that lengthened vigil; not a knee but was bent in humblest supplication; not a voice but joined the penitential chant, or put up a fervent entreaty for help and protection. There were no clocks in those days, but the flight ol the hours was marked by great waxen tapers with metal balls attached at intervals to them. Those fell one after another, as the flame reached the strings by which thp\r vrurp Qppnrprl intn o hrn7Pn basin beneath, with a clang which resounded through the church. At the recurrence of each of these warning sounds, the awe of the vast assembly seemed to deepen and.intensify, as each in terrible suspense supposed that between him and the outburst of divine wrath only the briefest interval now remained. .At last the night, long as it was, began to draw to an end. The chill which precedes daylight pervaded the air, and in the eastern sky the first pale gleam of the morning began to show itself. The light grew stronger in the heavens, and the flame of the candles paled before it, and at last the rays of the risen sun streamed through the windows on the white and anxious faces of the watchers. The night had passed away. A new day, a new year, a new century, had begun. The text that says "No man knoweth the day nor the hour," had a new meaning. Cl'LH REI) GIRLS. Sometimes it is thought that if a giri has been educated at a high school. she m ust be eu 11 u red, bu t some such girls are the most uncultured of persons. One need not be rich, or educated, or travel, in order to be cultured ; but only sure that all sides of her being grow in harmony. Culture does not mean music or French, but womanhood. Very few can be rich, a small number educated ; but culture is for all. lie determined to know something, even a little, of the best history, the best poetry, the best biography, the hoot /if art thu ftjnfQ in si>idni>u unrl UtOl \f I (?IVf HIV IHVIO III l^VIVUX Vf the best thoughts of the best mindsten minutes each day, five or six ,solid books a year, not mere stories. The best in style and sentiment is as cheap as the poorest. There is no excuse for reading trash, when the standard works on all subjects are as cheap as the poorest, no more than for walking in the mud when a clean side-walk is provided. Not extensive, but select reading gives culture. Gather a little standard library of your own; you will respect yourself and others will respect you for it. Keep a scrap book ; fill it with the hest things. Nothing reveals a girl's line of thought more than a scrap book. Read and think; read a little and think; read when at leisure, think when at work. A thoughtful, selfish, snappish, cross, fretful, overbearing and dictatorial girl may take the prize at school, may excel in music, and travel round the world, but the more she knows the less culture she has. The commonest country girl with good health, an open brain, and a warm, unselfish, patient, self-con- i trolled disposition, is a hundredfold more cultured than the boarding school girl who is fractious with her mother, cross with her sisters, or knows too much to associate with working girls. Disposition is culture. Health is the soil, intelli- < gence the branches, and disposition the leaves, buds and blossoms, the i robe of living beauty, fragrance, and sweetness with which a young wo- < man is to clothe her life; for without heart culture the finest mental culture is like a tree with nothing but cold, leafless limbs. The cultured young woman is an!t?Uiiol T nin nnr tvhat Cinrl 1 nvOQ hating what God hates, reading his thoughts over after him, in nature, in his Word, and in her own soul, coming into sympathy with him? this makes of art a living life, and lifts the passions, the affections and the will into a region of pureness and joy. Such is the final fruit of the tree for which all the rest are given. This is the highest culture, without which no woman can have her greatest beauty, or power or joy. WASTE. There is much of it in the world. It is caused either by thriftlessness or by extravagance. In the first instance one may not intend to waste, hut he lacks power of judicious management. This defect is visible in almost every department of life. Here is a man in business. He is sober, industrious and honest. He seems to prosper. He has a good trade or occupation, or profession. He minds odds and ends. But somehow his household expenses increase. More and more his family wants multiply. It takes so much to keep his wife and children fed, clothed and educated. Larger and larger drafts are made upon his purse. Debts now press him. Creditors demand payment. And soon he is put into bankruptcy. Inquiry is instituted as to the cause, and it is found that the leakage began at home; that the mistress was no manager; that she was careless about servants and clothing and table; that things were used without any reference to saving; that the children were not trained to frugality ; and that everything was rlrtnp in a vprv thriftlpcs mnnnpr Or the reverse may be the case;the wife may be the economist and the husband the careless party. Sometimes both prove poor managers, when the leaks let out twice as fast as the barrel lets io, and soon there is an emptiness or exhaustion. It matters not who is to blame, or where the fault lies, the point is, the funds have been squandered*and the dire penalty has to be paid. The other source of wastefulness is extravagance. Some persons have no notion of the value of money, or what a thing costs. They want it and will have it. Nor are they content with a moderate priced article; they must have the very best. So they dress in the costliest of silks, wear the most precious of jewels, provide the most sumptuous of fares, travel in the most expensive of equipages, and live in the finest of style, going to the very verge of their means, and even beyond their ability in the^.vain hope that somehow the purse Will hold out and be refilled in due season. They have no just conception of what economy means; never look ahead; live merely in and for the present gratification; and take little account of the day of settlement. They pile up accounts and when payment arrives they feel the pressure, but somehow tide over the difficulty and think they will do better in the future, yet the days aud months and years roll by and no improvement appears, and at last the threatened collapse occurs, when the splendid furniture, magnificent mansion and extensive possesions are sold at a sacrifice and pass into other hands. Spendthrifts soon consume a colossal fortune. Many, left their thousands, are in a few years penniless. Numbers who have suddenly become rich in speculation have in a short period been reduced to want. What comes easy goes easy, has become a truism. Extravagance speedily pulls down the vast accumulations. Wastefulness is sin. To spend foolishly or needlessly has no Bible sanction. God gives abundance, but he requires its right use and proper nreservation. He commits his erood things to us in trust. He regards what we have as loaned, not owned. He calls us his stewards, not proprietors. He holds us responsible for our possessions and acquisitions. He who squanders his revenues commits a gross offence and has a terrible account to render. Large substances wasted are a terrible thing for which to answer at heaven's bar. Riches are not intended to minister to extravagance, or to be lavished on self without regard to a hereafter; but are a gift to be divinely employed and accounted for. Presbyterian Observer. HOW IT FEELS TO FREEZE. Early in January, 1854, I left Red Wing in company with S. J. Willard, John Day, and Albert Olson for a place fourteen miles distant, near where VasaChurch nowstands, for the purpose of cutting and haul- j ing logs preparatory for our settle- j ment at that point the following; spring. It was aclear beautiful day, with the thermometer20 degs. above zero. We had a span of good horses, a sleigh partly loaded with lumber, forage, and provisions for a few days. We arrived at the spot just before dark, and camped in a ravine well sheltered with timber. After making ourselves comfortable with a i good supper, and a blazing log fire, i all four laid down to sleep on a bed made on the snow, with a thin layer of hay on top of some boards, and were well wrapped up in blankets. During the night the temperature 4/> iitMMi L1/v K n v uimugeu iw it tcinuic tuiu, (.in; inclinometer falling to 45 degrees below zero, as we learned afterward. Had we known this and kept our tire j burning, there would, of course, | : have been no danger. But being | ! very comfortable we all fell asleep \ I earfy in the night, and were uncon- j scious of the danger we were in un-1 til awakened by the pain of intense cold, and then we were already so j i overcome with the cold that we | | lacked power or energy to get up or I j even to move. j Comparing notes afterward we! ! found that all had experienced a like j i sensation, namely?first, an acute , | pain, like the point of a needle in I j every pore, but free frora'all men-1 i tal anxiety, except a dull conception ! I of something wrong and a desire to to get up, but without sufficient energy to do so. This feeling, however, did not last long, and subsided gradually into one of quiet rest and satisfaction until consciousness ceased altogether, and without any struggle or pain, either bodily or mental. We had all reached that stage when, by an accident, the arm and bare hand of Mr. Day, who lay on the outside, fell in the snow. This started the circulation in his body, and gave Him such intense pain that he quickly aroused himself and got on his feet, and of course we were all saved. It took a long time before we could use our limbs sufficiently to rebuild the Are, and during that time we suffered much more pain than we had before. I am satisfied from that experience that a person perishing in that way has a very easy death, because he sinks gradually into a stupor, which blunts his sensibility both to physical pain and mental agony long before life becomes extinct.?Minneapolis Tribune. LIABILITY OP PHYSICIANS. In a recent case involving the charge of malpractice, tried in the supreme court of Massachusetts, the presiding judge in charging the jury used the folio wing language: "Whenever men are called upon to act with dangerous agencies, the law holds them to some degree of criminal responsibility. If they are grossly careless or reckless and presumptuous, they are guilty. The same general principle applies to medical treatment. The government must show not merely the absence of ordinary care, but gross carelessness, amounting to recklessness. A man is not to be convicted of. manslaughter merely because of his ignorance. His ignorance is only important as bearing upon the question whether his conduct in the care and treatment of the patient was marked by foolhardy presumption or gross and reckless carelessness. "The defendant is to be tried by no other or higher standard of skill or learning than which he necessarily assumed in treating her?that is, that he was able to do so without gross recklessness or foolhardy presumption in undertaking it. It is not necessary to show an evil intent; if by gross and reckless negligence he caused the death, he is guilty of culpable homicide." Accordingly, it has been held that a dentist or surgeon using an anaesthetic is not bound to look for.any but the probable and natural effects of the drug, and is not liable for results arising from the peculiar temperament or condition of the patient, of which he had no knowledge, although if this were discoverable upon such an examination of the patient as reasonable skill and diligence require, the dentist or surgeon would be responsible for negli gently Jailing to intorrn himseli. The fundamental idea on the subsect is, where honesty, average intelligence, skill and learning are possessed and are applied to the treatment of the case with ordinary diligence and caution, the physician is not liable for any mischance that may befall his patient. It is only where he has been culpable that he is liable in damages. A physician treating a patient in good faith to the best of his ability, is not criminally responsible for the patient's death, although caused by medicine administered by him ; but a person ignorant of the use and properties of a poisonous drug is criminally liable for the negligent use thereof.?HalVs Journal of Health. HISTORIC NINETY-SIX. The old "Star Fort," two miles distant from Ninety-Six, at the former site of the town, then known as Cambridge, is in a remarkable state of preservation for a place so antique in the history of our country. The high walls built by the British as a protection from the American army are still standing, and inside thereof still remains the well that supplied them with water. The tunnel dug by General Greene's army for the purpose of undermining and capturing the British garrison is also preserved. The entrance is somewhat contracted, but by the use of a hoe your correspondent was able to enter. He found the tunnel almost intact. There are two wings, one running to the southeast and another towards the southwest of the breastworks, all along the walls. The traces of the picks are as plain as if the tunnel had been made but recently. Initials of persons supposed to have lived during those times are cut upon the walls, dating as far back as 1787. Vrnm on inniflnnf nnnnonfoH with this forty Ninety-Six is said to have derived its name. The British were surrounded by Greene's army, and an Indian squaw hearing that reinforcements wqre advancing for the relief of the garrison, set out at once in this direction to inform General Greene. She noted the miles, and from her starting point to the fort she had covered a distance of ninetysix miles; hence the name of the historic town. To at least our community this name and the old fort will continue to be reminescential of the olden times that tried men's souls.?Correspondence Columbia Register. Pleasure and Pain.?Thus no one can define life or death, and pleasure and pain are equally incapable of definition, or even of accurate description. We think we know what it is to live and feel pleasure or pain, but when we attempt to express our thoughts by words we discover that the feat is impracticable. The answer to the question "What is pain?" must therefore be, "No one knows." This is hnvv fur u'p hnvp nrru'pprfprt in thp quest for a definite answer. Pain is a sensation which more or less rapidly and acutely assails the faculty of endurance. In its commonest forms it is suffering: produced by nerve excitation, the elements of the nervous apparatus being: either directly or by a transmitted irritation mechanically disturbed. For example, compressed, as in squeezing or bursting pain ; or stretched, as when the pain is aching or tearing; bruised or lacerated, as when the pain is due to a cut or wound of some sort. It is not of course always the fact that these mechanical injuries to nervous tissue take place at the point to which pain is referred, because, being a sensation, pain is felt at some seat of sensation that is in connection with the sensory apparatus affected, although it may be remote from the point where the impression is produced. In short, pain may be a message of suffering sent from some injured part through a chain of nerve elements as a message of word symbols is transmitted by a telegraphic wire.? London Lancet. Quarreling.?If anything in the world will make a man feel badly, except pinching his lingers in me crack of a door, it is a quarrel. No man fails to think less of himself after than he did before; it degrades him in the eyes of others, and what is worse tends to blunt his sensibilities, and increase his irritability. The truth is, that the more peaceably and quietly we get on the better for our neighbors. In nine cases out of ten the better course is, if the man cheats you, to quit dealing with him; if he slanders you, take care to live down his slanders. Let such persons alone, for there is nothing better than this way of dealing with those who injure us. We lament the trials which stir up our spirits and destroy?our peace, thinking they have done us great harm; they have only shown us to ourselves.