Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, Proprietor.! gilt independent Jamily Ueiropapcr: Jor the |romotioit of fltc folitical, Social, Agricultural and Commercial interests of the jsoutlt. {terms?$2.00 a year in advance VOL. 36. YOEKYILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JAJSTTTARY 23, 1890. NO. 4. ^||1HE DIfi I FR0M THE DIAR \t|t| Copyrighted, 1889, cul Arrangement through the American CHAPTER X\. THE SHADOW OVERHEARS SOMETHING OP : INTEREST. ggPjr is by no means ne these houses, on the 1 morning following the day Holbrook J 1 L- Al_. Had oeen surprised oy ms uirre ?iueiy separated visitors bent on the same er- | rand, there occurred a scene which ; greatly excited the interest, no less than . the curiosity, of the Shadow, who occupied the back room of the second floor ; of the bouse in question. On this particular morning, because he ( had been out the greater part of the previous night, and because Tom had in- ] formed him that he would not require * his services until the afternoon, he had i slept late. j The occupant of the adjoining room, . that is to say, tho front room, was an ; old man, nearly if Dot quite seventy i years old. Who he was, or what his be- j longings were, had long since ceased to | be of interest to anybody in the neigh- ! borhood. He was accepted as a fact of ; the locality, just as the corner grocery | and the hydrant were. He was rarely quite sober, and when he was, it was early in the morning before he had had time to make an early visit to the rum mill of which he was the most frequent customer. It had become a settled fact that he j was a man of property, for he had al- j ways enough money to buy drink and ' pay his board bilL From time to time ' he sallied forth from the street, and when he returned it was known that he i was flush, and so the neighborhood had j come to believe implicitly that these ! occasional excursions were for the pur- I ruvia nf f-rtllaf-tino- hia ronfa nnH rfvrpivinc J/VTO O | his interest From his life long habit of spying on ! people, the Shadow had kept an eye on I him. Between the front and back rooms there was a space divided into closets. One was entered through a door from the front room and the other from the back room. The Shadow had long ago discovered that there had been, once upon a time, an opening in the partition which divided the closets, doubtless for the purpose of ventilation. When the closets had been papered this opening had been covered up. By standing on his trunk in the closet he could bring his head on a level with this opening, concealed only by the thin paper. If the door between the front room and the closet were open anything said in an ordinary tone of voice could be distinctly heard. The Shadow had broken a hole into the wall which separated the front room from his closet, on his side. And once, when the opportunity had presented itself, he had slipped into the front room unseen and made a hole corresponding on the other side so deftly that it appeared as if it had been made by a violent pushing of a chair against it. By this means he could frequently determine who were in that room. When he was awakened on this particular morning by a noise apparently caused by the overturning of a chair, he sprang out of his bed as if he had received a shock. That he should go into the closet and place himself at the point of observation was due only to his invariable habit of spying. He saw the occupant of the room sitting with his back to him at a table in the center, while on the opposite side was George Parker, the attorney. "Ah," said the Shadow, "here's mischief. I never knew that old scamp of a lawyer in anything that was not mischief." He climbed to the top of the trunk and listened. All he heard for a moment was the scratching of a pen as it was driven rapidly over paper. Finally he heard Parker's voice. "Now see here, Preston, I have carefully written this story down, and you must familiarize yourself with it" "How much is true and how much false?" "It doesn't make any difference how much is true or false; this story" (slapping the papers) "has got to be the true one. Now, I want you to study over it, and I will come again and again and ' talk with you until you get it pat" "Well. I'll trv it" "If you would stop drinking and get the rum out of your sodden old brain you would get it all right enough. You i used to be sharp enough, in all conscience j sake." "Am as sharp now as I ever w;as, only j I can't recollect as I used to. That's be- | cause Fm getting old." "It's because you are getting your i skin full of whisky every day. Now, ' see here. You are a brother of Charles I Preston." j 1 "Of course I am, or why did he give i 1 me money for fifteen years?" I 1 "What's the use of our arguing that \ 1 point? It makes no difference between ' us whether it was because you were his | hrother, which he denied, or because you j had a secret of his worth paying for. ; For all we want, you are." "Well, I was, I tell you." "Never mind; we can establish, by put- | ting your papers and my papers together, that Charles Pierson was an assumed name; the reason why he changed it; that you were his brother; that he had no relations other than you, and no de- ! scendants; and establishing these facts we can take his property. Now, I don't dare take the first step "before the surro- : gate until I have seen you have got the story so straight you wont stumble i when you go on the stand." \ "Oh, I'll get it, don't you fear." i "Well, I do fear. Then there is the story of your own life, I have written ; that, too." i Parker laughed an ugly laugh. 1 "It was a tough job to reconstruct the < twenty years of your life you Bpent be- 1 tween four stone walls." "Hush," said the other old man, "for heaven's sake don't talk of that." "Well, you served your time out; they i can't take you for it again. It was a I i rocky path that of your life, old man, i < and I have smoothed it very ingeniously." "Keep quiet!" cried the old man, with an oath, "or I'll kick the whole thin; , overboard." < This threat had a subduing effect upon 1 ; Parker. MOND BUTTON :y of a lawyer and the note 3k of a reporter. kRCLAY NORTH. by 0. M. Dunham. Published by SpePress Association. "Well, don't get huffy," he said; "I'll be quiet. But you must be pat with it when you're called upon for It. I don't think you will be, for I doubt if there will be a contestant. But the lawyer whom I shall employ may want to know your story." "Why don't you do it yourself? You are a lawyer." "There are certain circumstances connected with my professional career which make it advisable for me to keep out of court. But I can't idle here. I've got a great deal to do today. Here are Borne papers I want you to sign." "What are they?"'. "The agreements and contracts of transfer to me of one-half of the property when you get it" "Well, I am entitled to the whole." "Of course you are, you old ass; but if you don't give me half you won't have any part of it. Sign, or you won't get a smell of it; and besides, I'll stop your allowance." This was a dire threat, and meant a stoppage of liquor, so he signed with a trembling hand: "James Preston." "Now, wait a moment," said Parker. He went to the window and beckoned to a man who stood upon the opposite side of the street In a moment more the person entered the room. "You are a notary public; I want you to verify these signatures." It was a ceremony soon accomplished, and Parker, placing the papers in his pocket, went off, after leaving a ten dollar bill with the old man Preston. The Shadow remained long enough at his post to hear Preston say: ""Well, there's something crooked about this, but I don't know what Anyhow, I know I am the brother of the man they call Charles Pierson. I can't figure it out, but I can go and get a drink." As the old man went out, the Shadow stepped down lightly and passed into his room. "I don't know that the matter has any bearing on that which the 'Boss' has in hand. I guess not But I will tell him anyhow." When he did tell Tom, that astute young gentleman 6aid: "No, I do not believe it has any immediate bearing on our matter. It has this effect, however, and that is, that we ' *- - 1 i. 1 ?_ won't worry rnucu aoout raia-ei a participation in the matter, for he is not pursuing the line we are and has no connection with it. What he is in for is clear enough. He will make a blunder of it, for he don't know It all, and he'll get in a mess before he is aware of it. I'll drop a hint to the surrogate to go slow on any application made on behalf of James Preston. But, I say, old Parker may be a valuable man to follow up on the line of Pierson. He evidently knows more about him than we do. It will be worth while to cultivate him when we get the chance, but just now there are other things to be done." CHAPTER XVL CUPID THIS TIME FLUTTERS HIS WINGS. tS the time drew near to visit the Templetons, Holbrook found that he had regarded this visit with greater interest and emotion than he had been really conscious of. Such had been the excitements of the two previous days that he had given himself to little sedate or profound thought Events had occurred with such rapidity and close succession that life was really whirling with him. It was only as he drew near the hotel where the mother and daughter were staying that he realized that, after all, the one thing which seemed important to him above all others was this visit Why, he was at a loss to tell, and it was with something of a shock that he ~ it?,1 i< wua ^uui[a;iicu w vwuicoa iv uimscii tuat above all and through all the beautiful face of Annie Templeton had been before him constantly. Men will deceive themselves, just as Holbrook did, when he answered his own awakening by saying: "Her face haunts me as a beautiful picture I sometimes see will linger with me for days." The ladies met him in the public parlor of the hotel. They welcomed him as a highly prized friend, and the trust with which they fairly threw themselves upon him was very pleasant. They had waited for him anxiously, and they were deeply interested in the smallest detail of the business he had undertaken for them. They hung upon his words as if he were to bring them salvation. "My first step," he said, "will be to take out letters of administration for Mrs. Templeton, and this done we can take possession of all your brother's affairs." He explained to them that the proceedings were likely to be long delayed and vexatious, and it was not long before he found himself installed not only as legal counsel, but as adviser upon all points in family matters. It was very agreeable to him, to be the recipient of all the little confidences as to family details, cost of living, the ways and means ? and he, who for twelve years had lived a bachelor life, found domestic considerations highly interesting, especially when presided over oj a Deauuiui girj wno paid special deference to his own wisdom. It was agreed that they should return to their home in Plainfield the following lay, and set it in order for a prolonged ibsence. While they were gone he was to ob;ain for them apartments, where they tvould be at less expense than a hotel md secure greater comforts. He did not tell them of the suspicions mtertained by Tom Bryan and himself, 'or, in truth, he would have found it lifficult to have presented them in an ntelligible manner, if he had thought it vise to arouse hopes he was not certain >f realizing. Touching the murder, he informed them that a series of inquiries had been instituted, but that as yet it was impossible to say anything as to the result Finally he drew away from the subject in which the two ladies were bo much interested, and directed their thoughts to other channels. Thus he induced them to lay aside their sorrows for a time, until the hours passed so rapidly that the clock pointed 11 before he was aware it was so late. He was more and more pleased with the character of Annie Templeton, her artlessness and sincerity and her charms of mind and temper. That night he sat long in his room at the open window over his cigar, his thoughts busy with the charming young girl with whom, through accident apparently, he stood in closer relation than any other man, and he grew very tender over them. CHAPTER XVII. ON A NEWPORT VERANDA. Ijni I two, and we are m a b'u^ overpanse of water, drive, stands a cottage, which elsewhere might be called a mansion, yet as compared with its neighbors it is small. It has many angles, short towers and high ones; many gables, curious windows, like eyes, in long sloping roofs?a recessed balcony here, and verandas cropping out there, in unexpected places, and a jumble of corners, projections and artistic. On the veranda which adjoins the porte cochere, a young lady paces up and down with evident impatience. The sun, slowly sinking into the west, sends its rays shooting under the roof of the veranda and lights up with golden gleams the shining hair of Flora Ashgrove. The house is the summer residence of Robert Witherspoon, and therefore the summer home of the lady. The roll of carriage wheels in the distance attracts her attention, and she leans over the railing. The carriage turning into sight, she views it with great expectancy plainly manifest on her beautiful face. In a moment more she is enabled to ascertain its occupant, and as she does so a smile of relief wreathes itself about her rosy lips. The carriage draws up at the step3 and the occupant who alights is? Harry Fountain. She greets him with suppressed joy. She hurries him off in charge of a servant, bidding him to hasten to a meeting with her on the veranda as soon as he can remove the stains of travel Then she seats herself in one of the willow chairs which invite repose. She leans her head upon her hand, her elbow resting upon the arm of the chair, and she relapses into a deep study. The thoughts she indulges are evidently not pleasant, for she frowns and her face is dark. Thus she sits when Fountain, newly arrayed, rejoins her. Ho says gayly: "You perceive how obedient I am. You command and I am here." She looks at him gloomily and says she is glad to see him. "I should only know it," he retorts, "by your saying so, ma belle." She looks at him angrily as she re piles: "You can be very gay under all the circumstances. Is the distance from New York so great that you feel perfectly at ease here?" He looks down upon her somewhat puzzled, for he is standing in front of her. He draws a chair closer to her and sits down ver^ deliberately. "Flora," he says slowly, but gazing at her steadily, "your moods are inexplicable. For the past three weeks I have not understood you. When I saw you last in New York you were nervousness personified, and you treated me at times with disdain, and sometimes I imagined positively with aversion. Then comes your imperative summons to come hither, disregarding as nothing my reasons for remaining in New York. Now, tell me, what is the meaning of your strange conduct?" "You have then observed my conduct?" she returns, with an expression of contempt as she looks over the water. "Can you find no reason for it?" "Upon my word I cannot. If you have fault to find with me speak out, and don't resort to innuendo." "Innuendo," she repeats, with fine scorn in her tones. "Harry Fountain, are you a hypocrite, or the coldest blooded man who lives?" "I do not think you are well," he replies. "I shall advise your uncle to consult a physician." "Don't treat me as if I were a child," she answers, passionately. "I am entitled to your confidence if to nothing else. Does not your conscience reproach you, or have you none?" "The charge of withholding confidence lrum yuu uuuuea witu uut u& Flora," he said sternly. "I jeopardized my chances of peace, comfort and happi- I ness in this world in order that I might j give you my confidence. You hold every j secret of my life?you know that of me which no other person in this world knows." "Except one?except one," she cried passionately, leaping to her feet and striding up and down the veranda. "Except one, and from the consequences of that one I would 6ave you at the risk of my own life and honor, though it seems to me I hate you, hate you for it." Fountain regarded her with amazement, and his tace grew pale as he muttered under his breath, "Is it possible that she can have been informed by some one?" He stopped her as she passed him, and forced her to sit down. "I do not know what you refer to," he replied. "From the time I confessed my love for you I have concealed nothing from you I considered important, or which could or ought to affect our rela tfons, even remotely." "Oh, indeed I Have I had a record of your daily life?" "No, you have not, nor will 1 give it you. The number of cigars I smoke, the glasses of wine I drink, the passages of the daily life of a young man of leisure, permissible in a bachelor, if to be condemned in a benedict, I have not given, nor will 1 give; nor would any broad minded girl, such as I have regarded you until the past three weeks, demand them." "Passages in the life of a young man of leisure?such, for instance, as strange disguises at late hours of night." He flushed a dull red through his dark skin. "I do not know to what you refer," he replied. "You do not know," she repeated scornfully, and then, lifting her hands before her face as she clasped them so tightly as to fairly pain her, she cried in agonized tones, "I cannot, I cannot bring myself to speak of it to him. My God, can I not hate him? must I go on loving him in spite of myself?" He watched her, strongly moved himself, showing anger and alarm. He muttered, "Some one lias discovered it and betrayed me to her:" finally he said with tujceu cuuuiivos. "I cannot tell what possesses you. I presume in your own good time you will inform me what it is, when I can defend myself as 1 shalL I repeat, the withholding of confidence from you cannot be charged against me. "When I confessed my love for you," he continued, "I told you that I did not have the fortune rumor credited me with; that it was nearly exhausted. When I made that discovery which shocked and nearly crazed me, I came to you at once, offering you the freedom the world did not know you had given up, telling you I was illegitimate. "When I made the further discovery that by an effort I might receive a fortune, but involved in the effort might possibly bo the exposure of my illegitimacy, I came to you with it and you bade me make the effort, promising to face the world with me, saying you had no property and we would fight together. "These are the great events of my life. Is the aversion with which you have seemed to regard me recently due to my illegitimacy? If it is, let me say, as I once said to you before?you can be free. I am too proud in my degradation to hold you against your most slightly expressed wish, though it broke my heart to release you." She shook her head, murmuring: "It is not that; it is not that." "Is it," he pursued, "that we are both poor, and you have finally concluded you cannot face poverty with me?" "It is not that; it is not that," she repeated. "No, I could hardly believe it was, for they are to both of us now old stories, and we have grown accustomed to them. Things are not worse for me, they are better. Providence has removed Templeton from my path" She leaped to her feet, crying aloud; "My God! can he refer to it like that? Is it possible that such a man can live?" She Rwpnt, tin the veranda, so charged with emotion and passion that she could not remain still. He followed her, saying: "Well, I have begun the effort, but 1 will abandon it if you wish. I have taken the first steps. I have even gone so far as to inquire for certain papers, and have called on a lawyer, Henry Hoi-, brbok"-^' She whirled upon him, her face picturing the greatest alarm. "On Henry Holbrook? Are you mad? That man would hang you if lie could. Great heavensl It was to take you from the possibility of meeting that man that I called you here. Do you know that Holbrook saw the murderer of Templeton escape into the park?" She had grasped him by the shoulders and pulled him squarelv in front of her. Before Fountain could reply, a hearty laugh rang out upon the air. "Ha, ha, ha! Good! good! I applaud! Encore! Encore! The scene is good You should go to the front veranda to rehearse, and you would get, immediately, a fashionable audience." They saw a friend of the house approaching by a path some distance off. The next moment he was hid behind Bhrubbery, long enough to enable them both to recover themselves. When next he appeared he was near the veranda. "When I heard that Fountain was due here," he said, as he stopped beneath to talk, "I said to Mamie, 'Now we will have 60rae private theatricals.' And at the first pop 1 catch you at rehearsal. 1 congratulate you, Flora. I was too far off to hear the sentiment, but the acting was realistic." "Glad you like it," replied Flora, "I'll give you a secret?will you keep it?" "As my life." "Then it is a scene of my own compoirftion." CHAPTER XYIII. TOM DISPLAYS THE DIAMOND BUTTONS. fOUNTAIN found excuse to leave the veranda, and go on to the "What infernal scoundrel can have told her?" he muttered to himself. " How could she have found out? And the disguise, too? But who could have supposed she would have shown such passion, such resentment? Yet it is one of those / > things a woman does not forgive. But what could she inean about Holbrook? What does he know about it? Or how can It concern him? I will return to New York and" A turn in tb 5 path brought' him face to face with a man who was trimming the shrubbery. "Hello," said Fountain, "you're new about here. Has Mr. Witherspoon changed his gardener?" "Yes, sir," replied the man, still continuing his work. "How long ago?" "About three weeks now, sir." The man spoke with a strong Scotch accent. "I had not heard of it," said Fountain, indifferently, as he turned away. "No, sir," replied the man. bending down over a bush. As Fountain turned into another path the gardener watched him disappear from view, then tossed his pruning shears into the bush, and saying, "I've heard all I want to know," fled rapidly in the opposite direction. Fountain did not find another chance for confidential conversation with Flora that night again. Late in the evening he did find an opportunity to say to her: "If you will formulate your charges against me, I will try to meet them to your satisfaction. You have been misinformed about something, evidently." "No," she replied in a low tone, placing great restraint upon herself, "never shall I revert to the matter again; I have thought it over, and accept the consequences. I love you too deeply, though I hate myself for it, but I'm yours, and I cast all consideration to the winds. Let it pass." T 1 4.^ 'OJIU.il JL UO UU1U kU DCC JVU aiunu Wmorrow? I must go back to New York to-morrow night." "To-morrow night," 6he said in alarm. "Yes, I must. It is very important" "Is it that enterprise we talked of?" "No?it is not that which calls me back?some notes to meet?some money to raise." "Promise me you will keep out of the sight of Holbrook. Promise me you will avoid him in every way." "We have not been in the habit of meeting." "But promise me faithfully you will seek every way rather than meet him. Ho is dangerous to you." "I do not understand you, neither do I fear him, but I will promise you." Upon this they parted, she retiring for the night. Dick Witherspoon persuaded Fountain to walk out for a 6moke, and they shortly found themselves at a resort much frequented by the young men of that exclusive watering place. A little play was going forward. In a far corner of the room a number were sitting at a table. "Hello!"said Dick Witherspoon, "there ?_ m T? - ? is lOiu m van; wiiutiuijuci uiutuii uiiu^.i him here?" "Who is Tom Bryan?" asked Fountain. "Tho keenest newspaper man in New York, and tho best of fellows, as well as one of the most amusing." The two joined tho party and were warmly greeted, while Fountain was presented to Tom. Tom was telling a rattling 6tory of adventure, in which figured persons known to fame, and which was eliciting much laughter. During its recital Tom placed both elbows upon the table, holding his hands upright to illustrate some point in his anecdote. He was telling the story at Fountain, and did not fail to notice that Fountain looked curiously at tho buttons Tom wore in his cuffs. They were the ones Holbrook had given him. To draw his attention to them was Tom's purpose. When the talo was ended and the talk flagged for a moment, Fountain leaned forward and said: "I beg your pardon, Mr. Bryan, I am not often guilty of the enormity of directing attention to the wear of gentlemen, but tho buttons you have are so curious that I should like to make an inquiry." "Pardon is granted, for I am rather fond of these buttons. They are rare, and as a poor devil of a newspaper man dosen't often mount valuable jewelry, I am distinguished among my fellows for them." "I never saw but one pair like them," continued Fountain, "and they were in the nature of an heirloom. Those buttons were of Florentine manufacture? my friend having had a .diamond insert ed in them. THey had belonged to his grandfather, who received them as a present from an Italian, so he told me." "Yes?" said Tom, dumfounded by the coolness displayed by Fountain. "These buttons were given me by a gentleman? a friend for whom once it lay in my power to do a very great favor." "It was possibly the same person," said Fountain. "Possibly," replied Tom. Tom had expected to disconcert Fountain by displaying them, and was taken aback by the fact that Fountain had directed attention to them. He thought that either Fountain was a man of the coolest nerve, or that the but tons aid not oeiong to nim. no was loath to give it up so, and consequently he dexterously turned the conversation to New York matters, and then watching Fountain so that he could observe every shade of expression, he suddenly said: "I have been given a hint from headquarters that they are on the track of Templeton's murderer." Fountain's face never flinched, and an expression of mild curiosity only arose upon it. "Indeed, 1 hope they may catch the rascal; it was a dastegdly deed." As extraor&inarjTw'was the command Tom exercised over his features at all times, if. is be feared that astonishment, if not disappointment, was visible for a moment However, Fountain had turned to the others as he pronounced these words, and did not notice the fleeting expression on Tom's face. "How long do you stay, Fountain?" inquired some one at the table. - "I return to-morrow night." was the reply "And 1 to-morrow morning," interposed Tom airily. "And as I have to get off at an unconscionably early hour, I shall retire from this enchanting scene of vice, flee the temptation of your seductive society, and say good night" unce on tne siaewaiK, lie strucK ms cane on the stones and said aloud: "Well, he beats the deck for coolness and self possession. I expected to carry him by a coup de grace, but not a tremor, by Jovel He is a man of nerve. However, my trip, as much by good luck as by tact, has not been unfruitful. One or two more turns of the coil and I've got him." After a moment's silence: "Hang it, I'm growing frightfully stupid. Why in the name of common 6ense didn't I ask him who it was who owned the buttons? If there was a convenient 6tone wall here I'd butt my head against it to see if it has turned soft. However, that photograph ought to be ready by the time I get back to New York, and then for the identification. By St. George, the work goes bravely on! So I'll to bed." CHAPTER XIX TOM TELLS A VERY PRETTY STORY. HEN Tom arriv..41 1 tt in New York nm II ony IL was eariy ff? ? *n raorning? I// for he came in up' iw ?n t^16 ^?Un(^ he went straightw a y to Hoi* brook's office. He was anxious to exchange news. He felt that the end of the search was growing near, and while he waited the coming of the young lawyer, he Indulged, in pleasant anticipations of the sin3ation he would create, the largeness of the '"scoop" he would have upon his contemporaries, and he even began to arrange in his mind the details of the narrative for his paper. It was characteristic of the man that ho felt no pity for the intended victim, or gave thought to the distress his exposure would carry into the household of Witherspoon. Not that Tom was an unkindly man. He had only been hardened in the practice of his profession and sought his 1 ends remorselessly. While he was indulging these expectations Holbrook came in. "Where have you been for the past few days?" he said, without waiting for salutations. "I have been seriously alarmed. 1 6ent everywhere for you and could not find you." "To Newport." "A pretty time to go pleasuring," grumbled Holbrook. "I found your Shadow, but he wouldn't tell me anything." "No, he never tells," said Tom, complacently. "You gave me a pretty fright; why < didn't you let me know you were going?" "Hadn't time. But," said Tom, "I'll relieve you. I went on the very business j you think I neglected. Shadow, who < keeps very close to Fountain's man?his valet?and worms everything out of him, 1 came to me hastily before I was out of 1 bed a few days ago, with the information that Fountain had been summoned to Newport, after considerable telegraphic correspondence with the Ash- ' grove girl. Upon the impulse of the moment, I determined to go, and I made up my mind that if I started at once with- ! out delay I could get there before he did. An instinct?intuition?what you willimpelled me to go. So not having time to see you I left at once. I made a big' strike." "Oh, then you have learned something?" "A great deal. Listen. I had not time to pack anything, but I grabbed a i bag I had used on my last trip out of town, in which I knew there was a change of clean linen, and just caught i the train." "Get to your point," said Holbrook impatiently, deeply interested. '< "Take it easy, my boy, it is net to be i told that way. The _beauty of telling a tale is telling it in ^sequential manner; you make your points much stronger, and a clearer understanding is the result." "Oh, go on your own way," returned Holbrook, irritably, realizing that Tom was not to be driven and that interruption only delayed the course of his nar- ( rative. "Well, then, as I traveled on I had time to examine the reasons laying back , of my impulse. Of course, if Fountain went to Newport he would go to Witherspoon's. That several telegrams had passed between himself and the Ashgrove girl, and that Fountain had expressed a desire to remain in New York j a few days longer and had yielded in obedience to the last telegram from Newport, showed urgency. Now, what urgency, and why? That was what I was traveling to Newport to find out if I could." "I should tako it a very poor reason," ' interrupted Holbrook. "The idea of traveling off so many miles upon an impulse." "My dear fellow, your inability to appreciate how controlling such impulses ova nrvr*n onmo tnmnorQTnonfc cIiatitq ma clearly you would never succeed as a newspaper man. I make it a rule of life \ to obey the promptings of my intuitions. . Hence ray success." ( "Well, get on with your story." "After a while I thought I would i open my bag and find what I had with ' me, and to my surprise I discovered a suit of clothes for a laboring man?a working suit. Then I remembered that ! I had used it as a disguise some time ago 1 when I was on another affair, and the 1 thought popped into my head that I could use it again, possibly to good effect After I got to Newport I made my way to the Witherspoon cottage and took in the surroundings. 1 knew what time Fountain was to leave New York, and, therefore, about what time lie would arrive. "I determined to disguise myself as a gardener, get on the grounds, and risl detection. So procuring a pair of gardei shears, I did my working clothes up in i package, smuggled it out of the hotel and on a plausible pretext secured i room in a cottage in the town, where could make the change. About the onl; thing I learned on the stage was expert ness in make up, and when I issued fron the room I was as fit a gardener as yoi ever saw. I loitered around until abou the time for his arrival. I was near tli gates when the carriage drove up, an< quickly followed it. Fortunately fo me, such as were at work on the ground were in front and not in the rear." "Oh, do skip the details, for heaven' sake!" cried Holbrook. "You seem to be nervous this morn ing," rejoined Tom, who, between a de sire to tease Holbrook and an intens relish in his own tale, was indulging hi vein of graphic recital. "Well, I sa\ the Ashgrove girl waiting for him, sa\ her greet him, and then ait down an< wait for hira while he entered the house Shortly ho came out again, and I had ai opportunity to get close up to the veran da out of sight, on the pretext of trim ming some vines. Then there began th most extraordinary conversation." Tom here detailed that scene upon th veranda, of which the reader is fully in informed. During its recital Tom wa not interrupted; Holbrook was too an* ious and interested to lose a word. When he had finished Holbrook said: "That settles it. Fountain is the man. "I think there is no doubt of it," re plied Tom. "None in the least. What power o self possession! Of course he realizei thoroughly what she was driving at." "Of course," said Tom, "but he is sur of her love, and does not propose to ad mit it even to her." "It is only such a firm, determined cold blooded kind of a person who couli commit so deliberate and cold blooded muruer. "True, but 1 think his exhibition o firmness and self possession at the clu was even greater than on the veranda." "How?" "Why, on the veranda ho was sure o the girl, he could depend on her love fo him; but in the club an intimation tha he was the murderer, backed by proof o strong suspicion, would have made eacl man there an enemy." "True," commented Holbrook. "Bu Floral How that girl does lovel It is wild, unreasoning, an all pervading lov ?a love sacrificing everything. I coul not have believed it of her." "Come, tell me," said Tom, "of you doings since I've been gone." [to be continued next week.] THE LARGEST SPAN OF MASONRY. Imbedded in Cabin John Bridge the largest single span of masonry ir the world, is a tablet setting fortl that certain high officials of the Uni ted States government participatet in the laying of the corner stone o the structure which conveys water t< the national capital. This arch which is 220 feet across and 101 fee in height, was commenced in th< spring of 1853, when Jefferson Davi: was secretary of war, and for fou: years he superintended every detai of the great work. Pipes nine fee in diameter carry the water from tin great falls of the Potomac river across this stupendous piece of ma sonry, and it was deemed only jus ana proper that the name 01 jener son Davis should appear on the tab let in question, together with that o Franklin Pierce, who was presiden of the United States at the time th? work was inaugurated, and wh< turned up the first spadeful of earth an example which the secretary o war followed. After the war betweei the States had been in progress for ; short time, it was noticed one daj that the name of Jefferson Davis ha< been chiseled out of the tablet o sand stone, and there was merely ; long line before the title of secretary of war. Numerous reasons hav< been given as to who authorized th< erasure of the name of Jefferson Da vis from the tablet, but all liavi wound up with the commonly ac cepted theory that it was done In order of the great war secretary, Ed win M. Stanton. Gen. Montgomery C. Meigs, win was captain of engineers, was assign fid by Jefferson Davis to duty in con nection with the construction of th< Washington aqueduct, when ques tioned on the subject, said that he xe membered the circumstances ver well. He added: "President Pierce also transferre< the supervision of these works to tin secretary of war, who was Jeffersoi Davis. When he left the war de partment in 18">7 the work was stil being performed under the direction of the war department, and this con tinued until the civil war broke out At that time it was important fo: onxl ncjr\n/?ia1 lir nnmn tu HI J UliU VC^VV-IWAiJ eers, to go to other stations and du ties, and the work of supervising tin construction of the works was turnet over to the interior department whose secretary was Caleb B. Smith One afternoon, in company with i party of gentlemen, Secretary Smitl drove up to the Cabin John Bridg* to see how the aqueduct was progres sing, and the tablet bearing the nam< of Jefferson Davis attracted his at tention. He remarked that such i distinction was too great for such 5 traitor as Jefferson Davis, and th< next morning a workman was sen up to cut out the objectionable nam< with his chisel. On my return fron a trip West in connection with mj duties as quartermaster-general, J visited the new aqueduct span am discovered what had been done du ring my absence. It did not mee with iny approbation at that time and I have never ceased to deprecat< the erasure of the name of an officia who took such an interest in tin aqueduct and who, while in the con gress of the United States, had beei foremost in urging an appropriatioi for the work, which was coinpletei in 185!). By attempting to obliterah the name of Jefferson Davis from tin tablet where it had been properlj placed more prominence was givei him than was even contemplated, fo; the invariable remarks of visitors t< the big arch bring out the story of tin dead secretary of war. I am onlj too grind to bear witness to the fae that Mr. Stanton had nothing1 what ever to do with the transaction, ant it was purely a personal matter 01 the part of Secretary Smith, of tin interior department." "Don't use my name and I wil [?ive you my theory of the present tin usual weather," said a mariner o fifty-five years' experience, who wa: preparing to leave the city last even ing on a sea voyage. "I am no ashamed of the theory, understand but I dislike to have it appear that ! am going about seeking ncwspape notoriety." The desired promise was made am the old sea dog explained as follows "We have really undergone s change of seasons to a certain exten and all this is caused by the changi in the gulf stream. The gulf strean is now running 100 miles nearer tin eastern shores than it was one yea: ago. My idea is that this change i: caused by some unusual upheaval ii the bottom of the ocean, but be tha as it may we now have such a con dition of affairs as I describe. Thi: unusual change has affected ou: weather, and to it is due the frequen and disastrous rains of last summer and it is this which caused such un seasonable weather as we are nov having. The scientist may laugh a this theory, but if you will ask anj old sailor he will tell you that wha I state is true, and it would not be i bad idea for the weather bureau t( take this into consideration in mak ing its predictions. At any rate J think they will agree with me tha there is something out of joint." i IHisdlaumts $cadinij. gj; i soi A TRUE KENTUCKIAN. S?. -[ By special and numerous requests, ca] Mr.'Kumlately prints the following sni ' story, which he has frequently told, ^ viva voce, to gratified symposiums: 0f "Once when I was editing a news- wj 1 paper in C'heyene, having strayed as jn, 4 usual into the rotunda of the Inter- j10 0 Ocean hotel, seeking to discover top- ^hi * ics for editorial mention, I saw that g^ r there was only one man in the room. fro s He was an elderly gentleman in a ^ suit of blue jeans and broad-rimmed cjv s hat, and his moustache and long jjf, goatee were white as snow. I fell an i- easily into conversation with him, or - and 'lie had spoken but a few words for o when I knew that he was a Kentuck3 ian?being a Kentuckian myself. jn v Having been rubbed against the hard wj v side of the world for many years I aj} j can discern the difference between , dialect in many of the southern * States. After a short conversation , the old gentleman interjected: "I gether, sah, from yo' mannah * of speech that you ar' a southern e man, sah. Ef it's afar question, sah, what portion of the south ar' you IJ e from, sah ?" ;Lr L* I reulied 'lam aKentuckfan. sah.' r 3 'Great heaivens! is that so ?" he ex- IU1 claimed. "Look hyar, sah, I am a P? Kaintuckian myself (just as if I P9 hadn't known it), and this is jest );r " about the time of day, say, that I s- am in the habit of indulgin' in something in the nature of a stimulatin' f beverage. Won't you walk with me jv* d in the othah room, sah, and partake un of something of that charactah, sah ?' "?J e Very promptly I responded 'Yes,' ?}* I- and we walked away together. As MV we were going along, he placed his v* [ hand on my shoulder, in a fatherly ^ j sort of way and saia, inquiringly, }?c a "You like a good hoss, sah?" ^ 'Yesj' I replied, 'nobody likes a wa t good horse any better than I do, 001 h rS When we had reached the counter Iiq uoifl fn mo iti on oltnnaf nlpflH. I IV/ DCAAVA IV lliv AAA CVK UtiOV/v 2^ *vv*vk ing tone, as he feared I might 1 do something to belie my nativity, l0} r "What are you going to choose in the * way of beverage, sah ?" ?n< 1 Almost ignoring his question, I "a' b spoke to the gentleman in white on "1* the other side, and said: "Give me ?| t a little cl'ar whisky, sah." ^va a The old gentleman caught both J?1 e my hands in his and said, with an tlP d accent of the deepest satisfaction: mJ 'By grit! Youar' a Kaintuckian, r sah, and I'm glad to meet you, sah.' " ^ DUELS IN THE DARK. JjJJ Several remarkable duels have nn been fought in the dark. In 1800 ^ Isaac Corry and Harry Grattan en- an ? gaged in a fierce debate, which cul- hp \ *vA:?n4-Ar1 IllllltllCU oilj lll^ uiucmiuvvuuj || 1 instead of addressing him, should, if mr - he had his deserts, be standing at a a i 1 felon's bar. The two left the house ^ f immediately, with friends, and al- ^ > though it was pitch dark, a meeting ' < ? was aranged there and then, and at jai t thQ^irst shot Corry's left hand was nrJ 3 shattered. 5 One night at Casala, Signor Rossi r was playing Hamlet and was inter- , 1 rupted by the loud talking and laugh- ? t ing of a young body of Italians. Fi- 11 5 nally he stopped in the middle of a } speech, and walking to the footlights . * said, "I will continue when you will rei t allow me." The chattering stopped; but, at ^ the conclusion of the play, the box- ^11 f keeper handed him a challenge from . c t one of the young men. The actor 1,1 2 did not wish to appear afraid, but it y? ^ was absolutely imperative that he j.ei > should leave Gasala early the next r?1 < v. L j ?. th< L morning, as ne nau iu givu a, pcr1 forinance at Milan. He went to the 1 address of the challenger and ex- ^ 7 plained matters to him, adding: Ir^ ' "If you will dispense with the for- , f mality of seconds, and will accom- Dei * pany me to my hotel, I have a big an 7 room in which we can settle our lit- ^ B tie difference in time for me to get tn' e away to Milan, if you will allow re] - me." . e The proposal was agreed to, and W1 - they repaired at once to Rossi's ho7 tel. But they were not allowed to P1 - fight their duel in peace, for the land- in< lord came to the door and begged to ?.u > be allowed to enter. He had heard K11 - of the challenge, and seeing Rossi re- ^ - turn with a stranger, his suspicions . s we e aroused. It was all in vain 1C? - that Rossi told him his visitor had c? - gone. Nothing would satisfy him S1C 7 unless he could see the light extin- ro,{ guished. "We must humor him," whisper- no 2 ed Rossi. * "It will be easy to take m' i aim by the sparks of our cigarettes." So the light was put out, and the ^ 1 landlord went away{ only, however, a" s to hear in a few minutes two loud taJ - reports, and to find his fears con- ^ firmed on rushing back again. Itos- Pu r si stood uninjured, and his antagonist - lay with a shattered shouiaer-Diaae. ? - * yo 3 THE OCEAN FOG. jg) * The source of the greatest peril to g? ' all ships crossing the Atlantic, and ,,0 that most dreaded by all commanders, is fog, writes Captain Kennedy S0I J in the North American Review. The m( " speed and size of the large steam- SU( " ers in the hands of competent and V(] 3 vigilant men are conducive in Imany }nj instances to their safety; and were ^ 1 it not for this bete noire of the sea, ^ J ocean travelers would have little to ^h< 1 fear. ^ The importance of a code of marine 2 signals, simple in its arrangement r ] for use in foggy weather, cannot be yo i too strongly "advocated. A com- coi \ mander standing on the bridge, his wl 1 ship enveloped in a dense mass of im- gu " penetrable vapor, has but his sense of Gr 1 hearing to depend upon, and can be da > guided only by that. He stands at Bi r his post, every nerve drawn to its frc \ highest tension, listening for sounds wc 2 that for hours do not reach him. 4<\ At last from a distance a faint whis- eit 1 tie is borne on the air, and he is mr J instantly on the alert. set He strains his ear to locate the for 3 sound, for the fog is so dense that lie up ; cannot see twenty yards away. Is W ' she a slower steamship than his own is 1 that he is overtaking, or is it one that mt r he is meeting? There is nothing in wc I that one blast to give him any infor- fir< ] mation, and he can only wait and sh< [ listen. He sounds his steamer's str f whistle once or twice, according as ho " he ports or starboards his helm, wi 1 and awaits the answering signal, lifi 1 Nothing reaches his ear but the one Th 3 blast at short intervals. He can only pk rely on his judgment, and, reducing . the speed, keep on the course he has r 1 selected. lat " The sound becomes clearer. The ed ' unknown ship is approaching, and to ' he realizes that she is drawing near- in " er; so that his heart is beating rap- to 1 idly, and he almost holds his breath Stf ' in the intensity of his anxiety. A pri \ dark, shadowy form jiasses so closely of r to him that for a moment his blood as . runs cold, and every pulsation ceases, th< 1 but the danger is over. She has pei : iliiflntiMrfvl in the foe. and he can cat * breatfie again, for his sTiip and all on ort ^ board are safe. rm 3 This is but one of the thousands of fai ' hair breadth escapes that have occur- col 3 red on the ocean which have never ly r been recorded and which will never wh 3 be known. hat Woman's Physical Superiori- ^ - ty.?True, she cannot sharpen a pen- 1 i oil, and outside of commercial cir- ma i* cles, she can't tie a package to make it tin t look like anything save a crooked wa , cross section of chaos; but see what ma - she can do with a pin! I believe Na 7 there are some women who could al- Bo t most pin a glass knob to a door, try 7 She cannot walk so many miles cht t around a billiard table with nothing Mi i to eat, and nothing (to speak of) to ani ) drink, but she can walk the floor all Ma - night with a fretful baby, without net [ going sound asleep the first half-hour, wh t She can ride five hundred miles with- wa out going into the smoking-car to des it (and get away from the children, e can go to town and do a weari me day's shopping, and have a od time with three or four friends thout drinking a keg of beer. She ti enjoy an evening visit withoul loking half a dozen cigars. 8h( i endure the torturing distraction a house full of children all day, die her husband cuffs them howl* to bed before he has been home an ur. Everyday she endures a dres.' it would make an athlete swoon, e is afraid of a mouse, and run.' ?m a cow, but a book agent can'1 ire her. She is the salt of the urch, the pepper of the choir, the 3 of the sewing society, and about there is of a young ladies' school a nunnery. A boy with a sister is tunate, a young man with a sweetart is happy, a fellow with a cous is to De envied, ana a man wun a fe is thrice blessed more than they .?[Bob Burdette. IP YOU TOUCH ME I'LL TELL. 4 A few days before the election a tie incident happened which moried me deeply," said a business in to the writer. "It happened in is way," he continued. "You see, rnd some business to transact with e of the candidates of the legislare, and as it was something so imrtant I was forced to go out to his use to see him. It was quite late len I arrived there, and I guess he d gone to bed. At any rate, the want who opened the door, showed ; into the parlor to wait for his ister. I was obliged to wait some ae, and while doing this I amused ,Tself looking at the pictures and ler ornaments about the room. On j centre-table, among books and ler bric-a-brac, stood a big fancy an n xirliinn xwi ici iiiiuu >y 1 en nvjuui uuii/ii >ked like whisky. It was a curious >king decanter, and on one side s some fancy lettering which 3 lid not make out. Being rather rious to find out what it said, I :ed the decanter up from the table d tipped it up so that the light fell the lettering. It said : 'If you ich me I'll tell.' 'Curious, wasn't it? But sure nugh it did tell, for I had scarcely d time to read the lettering when 7 ears were greeted with the tones 'Johnny Get Your Gun.' There is a music box hidden in the botn of the decanter, and when it is iped the machinery starts and the isic begins. 'You can judge for yourself how prised and chagrined. I was, for I a never seen tne master of the use before, and he would have a e opinion of me for my meddling alities. Right in the middle ol 5 tune he walked into the parlor, d gave me a curious smile when he ard that music box. It seemed as it would never stop. I tried to ike some sort of apology, but made aull of it, I know, though now 1 I't think for the life of me what I d. 'He saw how confused I was and lghed it off. saying that it was an dity he had found in New York." IAT CACTUS IS To' THE MEXICANS, The remark has been made thai fie cactus has many good points d will not be sat down upon.'1 le remark is a true one, for, as the ndeer is to the Laplander, so is the itus to the poor Mexican. It fur>hes him with a home, such as it is is food in many ways is prepared >m the cactus. Sit down to a meal a wretched Mexican jacal, and i; u do not wish to spread youi lgth upon the floor, you will be of ed a.small wicker stool made froir e tough fibre of the cactus. The itting spread upon the dirt floor lich serves as a table, is woven >m the same material. Jorn meal cakes (tortillas), boiled uns, great fat fellows, and a pleast and wholesome dish of stewed 2tus, cut into small squares, aboul e size of a pea, will constitute voui past of solids. The fruit, withoul lich no Mexican meal is complete 11 be the luscious tuna, which grow? 3und the edges of the prickly leave the cactus, and whicn when grow I? resembles a huge green shield rrounded by a crescent of thornj mbs about the size of a small apple if serving as a protection for tin ider edges of the leaves. In a Mex >? niifAA^o nlnrnira nn/uintr c Ill Uliiiici) 3>vccio aivrajo uv/tuyj c nspicuous part, and on this occa >n the dulce will be the preserved ats or leaves of this same cactus. Though the Mexican people art t a race of hard drinkers, yet al jal times the wine or other fermentliquors are inevitable, and, as the ver class of Mexicans cannot well 'ord wine, you are invited to par Ice once more of this much abused 2tus, this time in the form of teila, a most atrocious drink which )ks like gin, harmless enough te appearances, but which goes dowr ur throat like a wave of fire, and e v glasses of which will make you unk clear to your finger tips ould this prove too much for you u are at liberty to partake of an tier beverage derived from the same irce, but not quite as ardent, i. e, jscal. This liquid leaves a delicat< ingestion of tar and red pepper ir ur mouth, and if drunk after eat* a certain kind of domestic fruit is very dangerous, and in manj ses results very disastrously foi 2 imbiber.?[Correspondence Kan ! City Times. The "Word "Wife."?What dc u think the beautiful word "wife' tnes from ? It is the great word ir lich the English and Latin lan age conquered the French and eek. I hope the French will some y get a word for it except femme it what do you think it come; mi ? The great value of the Saxor >rds is that they mean something Vife" means "weaver." You musl her be housewives or house >ths; remember that. In the deej lse, you must either weave men's tunes and embroider them, or feed on and bring them to decay, herever a true wife comes, home always around her. The stars ly be over her head. The glowtrin in the night's cold grass be the 2 at her feet, but home is where b is, and for a noble woman it etches far around her, better than uses ceiled with cedar, or painted th vermilion?shedding the quiet ) for those who are homeless, lis, I believe, is the woman's true ice and power.?[Ruskin. The Battle Flags.?The leisure, at its recent session, instructthe adjutant and inspector-general collect as many of the flags used the late war as he could find, and deposit same with the secretary ol ite, who is to have them properly ^served. As he is totally ignorant the number of such flags, as well of the names and residences ol iir custodians, he requests that all rsons holding flags will coinmuni:e with him at an early date, in ier that this very laudable object ty be carried out. The legislature led to provide any funds for the lection, and he is compelled to reupon the press of the State, to lose liberality and patriotism he i so often been indebted.?Columt Register. Franks of Politics.?Politics ike queer complications someles. For instance: A Democrat s recently discharged from the ichine shop of the Washington ,vy yard because he helped Wilkes oth to cross the river wnen he was ing to get away. He was disirged at the special request of Mr. idd, who is a Republican contestt; for a seat in the house from a iryland district, and who is also a ir relative of Dr. Mudd, the man o set Wilkes Booth's leg after it s broken and afterwards aided his iperate efforts to escape. ) ROPING WITH THE LARIAT. In the matter of authentic records 1 for roping with the lariat none prob> ably exist. One hundred and six' teen feet has been claimed for a Calit fornia man now traveling with Buf falo Bill's show, while ninety-four 1 feet has been published for a Billings i (Mon.) man, but both of these records are preposterous. The average bow L puncher from Texas to Montana ? uses a rope which barely reaches fifty feet, and from twelve to fifteen feet > must be deducted from this measure ' for circumference of noose. Some! times a so railed "California loop" < exceeds this by nearly five feet. In : catching a whild horse or steer, after 1 the noose is over the animal's neck ' or legs, the end of the rope is swiftly tied around the horn of the saddle, the horse being braced back to resist 1 the shock, which in most cases either ' snaps the rope or sends the raptured animal all in a heap. What the possibilities of roping to catch are is hard to say. No doubt i with a horse at full gallop down hill, the wind favorable ana a good i long rope, an expert may reach 100 feet, but such cases are few and far , between, and most good ropers feel i extremely pleased when they can reach out the full length of their . fortv-five foot rone and catch. i If roping was conducted under the ; conditions to which most athletic i competitions are subjected, as regards ! level ground and standing at a [ scratch, a fifty foot throw would'be i a good record, while a seventy-five ! foot one would be rn extraordinary [ one, and in fact, considered by many [ to be well-nigh impossible. Of i course, in throwing a rope, accuracy [ must be essential. The accomplishment would be a most useful one to i the'mounted police of the large cities, i though the full benefit of the roping s could only be had with the use of the saddle.?[Spirit of the Times. Lincoln's Whiskers.?President > Lincoln's kind heart always responded to a child's advances. He int. dulged his own children, saying, "It is my pleasure that my children are > free and happy, and unrestrained by parental tyranny. Love is the chain whereby to bind a child to its pai rents." ! Before his election in 1860 a little girl of eleven years, seeing his lithograph i portrait, thought nis appearance . would be improved should he wear whiskers. She uttered her childish thought in a letter to Mr. Lincoln, and in a few days received a friendly i answer in which he asked: "As to thelwhiskers, as I have nev er worn any, do you not think that f people would call it a piece of silly , affectation were I to begin wearing ! them now?" i During his journey to Washington, i after his election to the presidency, i the train stopped at W'estfield, Chautauqua county, at which place the little girl resided. "I have a correspondent in this [ place," said Mr. Lincoln, "a little i girl whose name is Grace Bedell,. 1 and I would like to see her." She was brought to the station. , He stepped from the cars, extended his hand, and said, "You see I have , let those whiskers grow for you, i Grace." Then kissing her, he bade , her good-by. ; When he stood up at the capitol to [ deliver his inaugural address, friends were surprised to see that the presi[ dent was raising a crop of whiskers. [ Vexed at his spoiling a face which C expressed power and pathos by wear. ing a coarse, stiff, ungraceful beard of . the blacking-brush variety, they t made inquiries and learned that he > had ceased to shave to gratify a very ' young lady. 1 A Blacksmith Justice.?In the I spring of 1860, in a small town in Iowa, a blacksmith was elected jus[ tice of the peace. He was an honest, f. industrious fellow, a far better black . smith than he was a lawyer. Shortj. ly after he was elected a case of assault and battery was brought up in | his court. Knowing that lie could I not afford to rent a separate room in ' which to hold court, he informed the I lawyers on both sides to bring their r case right into the blacksmith shop and he would hold court there. He [ also stated that for the time being he ; would give up making horseshoes * and attend strictly to the duties of his new office. [ The lawyers departed and informed every one where the justice was ; going to hold court. When the hour f. approached the smithy was crowded. The prosecuting witnesses and dej fendants, accompanied by their atj torneys, appeared. At the appointed time he put off his leather apron, ^ rapped the anvil, and stated that the court was open, j The lawyers for the defence made , a motion to dismiss the suit, as it was L simply the outcome of spite. Rapping on the anvil the son of , Vulcan put the following motion to the spectators: "Gentlemen, you have heard the motion to dismiss I the suit. All who are in favor of it j will signify their intention by saying aye." A rousing reply was in the af' firmative, and the blacksmith ad[ journed court, picked up his hammer and resumed work. The attorney for the prosecution was dumbfoundl ed at such a proceeding, but the prop testations amounted to nothing and . the decision of the court stood.? [Leadville Herald-Democrat. > The Proposed Federal Elec> tiox Law.?Senator Butler, of South i Carolina, has submitted lengthy - amendments to the national election I measure proposed by Mr. Sherman, ; of Ohio. The amendments indica. ted by Mr. Butler include all the es1,1 ~ V 1L? A j senuai ieaiures ox uxe nusuaimu [ system, and all are based upon the . Massachusetts law as at present ext isting. The adoption of the amend. ments would naturally have a very , depressing influence upon the size of 5 the Republican vote in the South, [ but still, what is good law for Massa, chusetts ought to be good for any oth> er State of the Union. Senator But; ler also contemplates snbmitting ad. ditional amendments embracing res strictive features of the English law, > which disfranchises parties convicted ; of certain crimes and misdemeanors. L Other senators on the Democratic I side will, when the time comes, offer ; various amendments, all designed to protect the purity of the ballot, and > if this is what Mr. Sherman is after, rather than counting up in bulk for the Republican party the entire adult male negro population of the South, he will have plenty of assistance in his laudable efforts. The Birds in the Pie.?You all know the old "Sing a Song of Sixpence." Have you ever read what it ; meant ? The four and twenty black-birds represent twenty-four hours. The bottom of the pie is the world, the top crust is tne sky that overarcnes it. The opening of the pie is day ; dawn, when the birds begin to sing, i and surely such a sight is "a dainty ( dish to set before a king," The king, who is represented as sitting in his parlor counting his money, is the sun; while the gold , pieces that slip through his fingers are golden sunshine. The queen, who sits in the dark kitchen, is the > moon, and the honey with which she regales herself is the moonlight. The industrious maid, who is in the garden at work before the king?the sun?has risen, the day-dawn and the clothes she hangs out are the clouds, while the bird which so tragically ends the song by "nipping off her nose" is the hour of sunset. So we have the whole day?in a pie.?[New . York World. t&* It is announced that the negroes of Georgia who twenty-five years i ago were slaves now possess $20,000,000 worth of property.