Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis >i. grist, Rroprietor.J A" Jnd(pciulcnt Jfamily gtapaptr: cvfof t!?i promotion of thq folitiqa:, jSoqial, Agricultural and Commercial Jntcrrsts of the $outh. | TEEMS?$2.00 A TEAR IN ADVANCE. . VOT, R7 YOEKV ILIYE, S. C., WEDKE8DAY, MARCH 25,1891. 3STO. ' I ? ? ? A 3 1 A J CREOLE AN BY T. C. Author of "Four Years lr 1 DEDICATED TO HON. HENRY WATTERSOI UNFORGOTTEN, AS OUR SHADOWS [Copyright, 1890, by J. B. Lippinoott Coi meat wi PART III?CHAPTER IIL KISMET, OR CHANCE? *=3^ ^ ' Latour took the scroll, examining the seal before he answered. "Wo have fixed another excursion," Lord Martindale said, as he approached with the banker. "Mr. Usseler and 1 have to run over to Suez, you know. Rather a bore to him; but suppose we * shall make it bearable to you, Lady Martindale, if it is not on horsebaok. ; this time." Then the British banker, with proper | deprecation (o a British peer and'peer- i ess, elaborated on the novelty of a trip by rail across the desert, on the view of the canal, with its artificial harbor; the excellence of the lunch in prospect, and the coolness of the return by midnight of the same day. "Sir Roger is going, and we count on the pleasure of your company also, Col. Latour," Mr. Usseler added. "You aro very good," Latour answered, waking out of a reverie in time to save his politeness. "But I am doily expecting an embassy from a refractory and very powerful sheik, and must remain at my post to receive it" Sir Roger had said good-night; the party was moving toward the hotel, the banker still clinging to the peer, and leaving Edith to follow with Latour. j She had not spoken since her husband joined them. Neither did he feel like i talking those nothings whicn go ror con- > venation at such times. The past had | come to him at the woman's,,words, ! They had swept across his memory as ! the add sponge sweeps over the palimpsest, and the characters of the dead long ago stood ont clear, strong, and with new meaning now. Again he was the callow cadet, untutored in the world's ways and in woman's. Again he wandered round "Flirtation,'' with a soft pressure on his arm and a soft voice in his ear; with strange, deep eyes searching his. At the hotel Mr. Uaseler left them, | with elaborate obsecration of Providence I far pleasant dreams. - Then Lady Martindale spoke for the J first time, bat in voice so low that it ! could not have reached her husband, | striking a fusee on the bottom step: "Can you forgive my selfishness in re- j calling the past?" Her eyes were raised to his. In the ; moonlight they shone a fathomless black, and she dropped them quickly as he an- ' swered low: "Forgive! Do you know what I owe you for the present?" "Have a smoke as you walk?" Lord Martindale broke in cheerily. "Not half bad these, you know; some my cousin Hoyne-Cecil has from Cuba? By George! awfully stupid of me really, but I quite forgot that an old friend of yours" It is dreadfully late, Lord Martindale," his lady said in her beet society tone, "and we have monopolized CoL Latour all day." "Yes, so we have, really," responded her husband. "Have a light. But I really forgot to mention that at HoyneCecil's in London and constantly atParis we saw" "Really, my lord," Edith again broke in, rather hastily this time, "you should defer your story for daylight. I am sure CoL Latour must need conge after his long tour of duty with us today. Good night" She extended her ungloved hand. It rested in his no second longer than the strict limit of form, but there was that in the touch which thrilled the strong man like electricity as he Btrode off into the shadows of the palm trees. Reaching his quarters he Btood long at the window, gazing out toward the dim 6hadow of the distant Sphinx. And as he turned and threw himself upon his bed he muttered: "She spoke truly of the statue; woman is the riddle of the ages." But early next morning his adjutant k>ivm4a>1 tJiB ?mHaa?v of Shflilr Abou-Ali luul appeared, a small body of Bedouin horsemen, who had pitched tents some three miles south of the city, but made as yet no sign. Knowing the Arabs' way Latour took his morning tub and coffee with unusual dispatch, heard morning reports and ordered the day's routine. The Arab might arrive at any moment?might delay his . visit even for days. But he had scarcely finished his work when a noble looking Bedouin rode alone and slowly to the . gate and looked around with curious * * cfcelfeafcessofBbvelsurrounttngs. Then he dismounted from his magnificent desert mare, strode past the sentry without pote of his "carry" and was ushered into the commander's presence. For a moment the Arab stood like a statue, his white bournous drawn closely about his tall figure, the soft folds of his ample white turban marking more strongly his dark bronzed face and keen thin features. An old man certainly, he was erect and agile as a youth, his firm tread and dignified port marking the warrior. At length the Arab saluted by placing the back of his open hand upon his brow and lips, not adding the more effusive gesture often used of pressing it alan nnon his heart. La tour saluted courteously and in silence, motioning his visitor to a seat upon the divan. Then the servant brought coffee in egg shell porcelain cupe, and the chibouque-ghi swiftly filled the bowls of pipes with the fragrant Latakieh tobacco. At last the Arab spoke. "Salaam aliekoum?" ("Peace be with theeO he said gravely. "The great Sheik Abou-Ali sendeth greeting unto Tam^il Pasha, viceroy of Egypt, whose warrior thou art. I am his messenger, Mohammed-ben-Zizi, sheik of the BeniAli." "Peace be with thee, also," Latour replied in Arabic. "It is well; and thou, 0 sheik, art welcome. We will speak further of thy message frtm the great Sheik Abou-Ali, whose name is well known to me." "Nothing have I to speak of with thee, O warrior," replied the Arab, sedately. "I am but the bearer of this writing for the hands of Ismail, the grandson of Mehemet Ali." He produced a scroll addressed in Arabic characters and tied by a Bilken string, sealed with a heavy signet in black wax. Latour took the scroll, examining the seal before he answered: "ThiB writing shall be sent at once by special courier to his highness, Ismail, king of all Egypt." "It is well," the Arab answered. "But D PURITAN. I)e LEON, i Rebel Capital**," ".Tuny," Purpowen." N\ IN MEMORY OF SCHOOLBOY DAYS, STILL LENGTHEN TOWARD THE SUNSET. aipany, ami published by special urrangeth them.] know, O warrior, that Ismail, son oT Ibrahim, is the ruler o/ Egyyt, bat not of the tribes of the Beni-Ali. Only one master know they?the great sheik of all the Bedouins, whom men call the Vfag of Syria." "Thou hast spoken, O sheik," La tour replied with equal gravity. "The writing shall go to his highness tv'^ very hour. For the other matters thou speak- ! est of?thou art a soldier as I am. We | I listen only and obey." "Thou sayest wisely, O warnor," re- : sponded the sheik. "I will await under my tent the return of thymieeenger. Peace be with thee!" And he rcee to de*part "Peace be with thee, also," again an! swered Latour. "I do not make thee, O ! sheik, the empty offer of a palace within ! our walls; for well I know that the chil| dren of the desert breathe not freely unI der a roof." Without reply the Arab again made gesture of salutation and departed slowly. Latour wrote and sent lids dispatch to the minister of war, took his noonday meal and smoked a chibouque. Then he picked up a volume of the new "Upton Tactics," liberally margined with notes of his own. Over the page danced diagrams of the Military academy, with memory traced maps of its favorite walk. The pressure of duty over, reaction had come; the unwonted scenes of the past night dominated his thoughts and ! a restlessness possessed him which his pipe and his divan could not overcome. So, throwing on a white mess jacket, he strolled lazily out into the stifling air of the narrow streets. Mechanically he crossed the Ezbekieh and approached the Hotel d'Orient, never noting his route until he almost ran against Lord Martin dale's man. "Why, Harris!" he exclaimed, "you here! Has Lord Martindale already returned?' "No, your 'ighness, 'e 'aan't," answered the man with woful failure of a military salute. "'Is ludship will not be 'ome huntil hafter midnight, but Hi was left because 'er leddyship was hilL" "Her ladyship ill!" Latour repeated. | "Not now, your "ighness; not now," : Harris replied. "But she was bo hill this mornink that inelud Martindale ; could 'ardly consent to leave 'er. Honly i 'er leddyship hinsisted, in 'er hown way, : so Pearson 'inted to me. Hand wen 'er J leddyship liinsists, wy 'is lodship 'as ; honly one thinlc to do?Hi beg your 'ighness' pardon," he interrupted him- , self suddenly. "Hi 'ope your 'ighness H hoverlook my repeatink of Pearson's | hindecent" "Hold your tongue! Come with me," i Latour answered turning into the fruit shop near. And soon Harris, as penance for too loose a tongue, was staggering under a hamper of those fruits rarest to western taste, accompanied by a note penciled on his card, to regret her sickness and proffer Lady Martindale any possible service during her husband's absence. Suddenly the Creole's restlessness all disappeared; he found the heat outside unbearable; so, returning to quarters, he threw himself on the divan and read Upton, qnite understanding!}-. Ere long Harris, now quite taciturn, | brought a note of thanks. Lady Martiidale was quite recovered; would again trespass on Col. La tour's goodness for horses for herself and groom. She j < felt the need of a gallop, and Lord Mar- j tindale would be absent until midnight. I Of course the reply was that Col. La| tour begged to accompany her ladyship, after evening stables. i J PART III?CHAPTER IV. PROM THE TOMBS OP THE PAST. I | I "At last! My Launcelot!" Just at sunset La tour lifted the lady to the back of his best Arab mare, Har- | ris painfully mounted the cavalry horse, and the Nubian syce ran ahead, waving his white wand and shouting his warn- | ing to pedestrians: "Oa! yer ragl! Oa! oa! yer bint!" , ("Get out of the way, man! Get out, i woman!") And at the moment from the lofty I minaret of the Mosque el- Aksar near the j evening stillness was cut by the voice of [ the muezzin intoning his musical call to ' j prayer: "Allah il Allah! Mohammed resoul ' I il Allah!" ("God is God! Mohammed is God's prophet!") Little looking the invalid, her close fitting habit emphasizing every curve of her queenly figure, her eyes glowing and a soft flush creeping u nder the olive skin, Edith Martindale looked down on the ' man arranging the skirt about her stirrup. "Quite apropos," she aid. "While j we may not worship M hammed we ; surely may worship native. I do not care for the Nile and the palaces tonight. Let us gallop over the desert." "As you please," the man answered, lightly swinging into saddle. "Your . will is my law." But as the conventional words struck his own ear they seemed to him more the answer to his own thought than to I her speech. The Arab mares champed the foam from the bits that restrained their impatience through the narrow^ streets, already beginning to fill with evening pedestrians. Behind, in seeming great discomfort, jolted the Cockm y groom, his clumsy hand upon the ' arkish curb restraining his spirited h< rse into a restless curvet, racking equally to rider and to ridden. For the Arab horse knows : but two gaits?the springy walk that carries him over ground as fast as the j average trot, and the long, swinging galj lop that skims the ground with the grace and almost the swiftness of the gazelle. As they neared the ancient masonry j of Bab-el-Nassr, or Gale of Victor}', the moon rose over the eastern desert full and clear, throwing her light in patches through the houses and leaving the shadows blacker i:i the contrast. 1 Latour called in Arabic to the sinewy ! syce, whose one white garment flickered j iu advance without hint of his dusky legs and arms in the shadow. The man halted, stood aside for them to pass, then ran back in the direction they had come. ! "I sent him back," Latour said, "as we are now past the streets and will meet no passers on the desert." But ere the lady could answer a swift, sidelong swerve of the mare she rode shook her in the saddle and almost slung ' her from it. At the same instant Latour's mare planted her forefeet, and > with straight stretched neck peered into j the heavy shadow of the gateway. One flashing glance of her rider's ! quick eye assured him that Edith had her horse well in hand, then it turned to the shadows for the cause of alarm. A tall Arab leaned against the stones wrapped in a dingy bournous. Near ! him, within the gate, leaned another, i equally motionless, the gleam of their drapery frightening the sensitive horses. ! But their intelligence quickly over- j mastered fear, and in less time than it I takes to tell, both broke into their long ; stride again. Not so Harris. His horse, less from j sympathy than from bad handling, made a series of plunges that sent the cock- j ney, stirrupless, upon his neck. There j he clung fiercely, despairing terror on his face and clammy perspiration on his brow. "Harris will never live through this ride," Edith said, in amused pity. The next instant La tour's horse wheeled; he gave Harris his conge, drew up again at the lady's side, and then cantered easily through the ancient gate, past the still motionless offenders. ' La tour's trained ear caught the guttural words of the nearer one, "Ingleeze etnainl" ("English, both/') But the clatter on the stones drowned all of the grunted reply save the words: "Binta quiesa?bnkara?quiesa kittee r!" ("A beautiful woman?to-morrow ? very beautiful.") Low as the words were Edith's ear caught something of the sound, if noth- i ing of the sense. "What did those men say?" she asked, j "They are both Arabs," he answered with a smile, "yet they told one truth. The first one said we were both English ?by Jove!" he suddenly interrupted himself, "they must be strangers. Almost every Arab in Cairo knows me; j every one of them knows my horses! Some of the sheik's tribe probably." The Bab-el-Nassr was left behind. The horsas, scenting the desert, stretched into a sweeping gallop in the freshening evening air. The moon, now hanging her silver disk clear above the horizon, melted the yellow sands into a placid ; sea and her light toned the shadows of the Tombs of the Caliphs. On slender minaret and tumbling arch the moon gleamed with softening touch, and be- i hind them she tipped the towers of the , citadel and domes of the mosques with ] molten silver. Suddenly Latour broke the silence. "Thank you, so much!" he said simply. ?4nil fnrvorv little." flho answered. not hesitating one instant. "Even in the east I do not need the harem guard. What an absurd paradox is tho thing ! we call 'society,' that an absurdity like i Harris could condone our indiscretions" j ?she paused imperceptibly?"were we I indiscreet? I have been long, and often, i alone with you, with curious eyes to follow us and busy tongues to comment, too. What was correct for Edith Van der Huysen is surely seemly for Lady j Martindale." In the softening moonlight her face was turned full to him. It seemed less I the face of yesterday than that of long ago; tho eyes deeper, darker, more tender than he had ever felt them. "But I do thank you!" he repeated ' earnestly. "As you say, the gossips are j absent; and you are now?married!" She did not answer, but Bhe looked at ; him again with a strange expression on j her face. The moon, gleaming white i and strong, made even distant objects ! plain as day; and had Latour glanced j behind him he might have noticed a j Bedouin mount his horse amid the ruins I of the caliphs' tombs, ride out into the shadow of a great dome and watch their retreating forms from under his hand. ' To the southward a few dark specks : dotted the desert like molehills?the ; only breaks in that moonlit sea of sand. "What are those low hills?" Edith asked, as she pointed her whip south. "I do not remember them before." "They are tents, not hills," he replied. : "The messengers of the recusant Bheik : for whom I gave up the Suez trip ar- j rived only at dawn." "How 1 should like to visit them!" j she said with eager interest. "I have j heard so mnch and seen so little of these desert kings. Can we not ride that far?" , "Easily; it is not far. But not tonight," he answered. "The Arabs keep j early hours always, and these are in open j disaffection to the viceroy. When his ' answer comes we can arrange a visit? i unless," he added, with a laugh, "they ^ fold their tents and silently steal away ! meanwhile?with some of our horses." j "I should hate to be disappointed," j she rejoined. "I do not bear disappoint- j ment well, even in small things. And j you know"?she paused an iustant?"I have had great ones." For a while they galloped on in silence, the detour bringing them into the Shoubra road, their path back to the I city. But they were not now the sole night riders on the desert The Bedouin at the tombs, still watching them, now j gave rein to his steed, glided out of the j shadows and sped straight for the dis- | tant tents. But, looking only at the ; companion by his side, Latour took no ; note of him; only spoke abruptly and in- ; consequently: "It seems to me but yesterday!" "To me it has seemed so ever since we came," Edith answered instantly, as though continuing a steady conversa- i tion. "It may be that the air about us dwarfs those long ten years to nothingness, but somehow I seem to have lost reckoning of all those days between West Point and?this!" "And was their memory so pleasant to you?" "Yes; the memory was pleasant, spite of the pain it gave," she answered sim- j ply. "Pain!" Latour echoed. "Why, you : were brilliant, envied, ever surrounded by men" "Whom I despised!" she broke in passionately. "Adrien Latour, were you blind then? Are you blind now? Boy though you were in those days, experi ence should clear your vision as you look back at them!" The man did not answer. A thrill ' went through him, half hope, half dread, j The white moon, higher overhead, re- i fleeted from the yellow sands in saffron gleam. In that silence Latour seemed to hear the wild beating of his own heart, and twice the words forming in j his brain had rushed to his lips. But twice those portals of speech remained closed. At last the woman spoke, and again as though continuing a subject: "Yes, there is a world of things from those days that I recall so well. You remember one walk around Flirtation, when \-nn answered mv badinaire about Arthur and Guinevere? When we parted, four 1 lands crossed; and, as you reminded me just now?I am married!" "I recall the day as clearly as yesterday," he answered. "When the hands crossed, you said, 'Farewell, Sir Launcelotr "Would you have had me say, Welcome, Sir Lauucelot?" A hot flush rose to the man's face. He drew a quick breath, about to speak, when she went on, quietly: "Ah, wo were younger then, in years; very children, in world knowledge. Since I have lived ages in experience. Now I know that the legend oA Guinevere does not belong to ancient Britain. Indeed, it is no legend, but the crystallizing of a living, bitter truth. It belongs to all nations today, as it ever has and ever will! Who may say but she, that archetyi>e of woman"?she waved her whip to the Sphinx, towering grim and hoar in the moonlight beyond the river?"was the Guinevere of some immemorial Arthur?" "Who knows, indeed?" Latour replied. "You yourself have told me that woman is the riddle of the ages." "Yes," she went on; "a Guinevere in ancient Memphis may have inspired the Titanic poem yonder. In Rome she would liave spoiled, the pretty moral fable by listening to the Tarquin. In France [ and England today she is the victim of convenance, that octopus grasping all that is beet of us to crush relentless in. . its slimy tentacles. In Paris she may drive her pony phaeton in thoBois, la riene du demi-monde; in London she only lunches with his Highness of ' WalesI" There was bitterness in the tone, | though it floated low and musical upon ' the desert night; and the eyes that held him in their darkening gleam grew ; blacker still as she added slowly: "Who among us, without sin, dare cast the first stone at her? I shall not I pity her?sympathize with herl" By deft touch upon the bit she checked her speed so suddenly that the man had to throw his mare upon her haunches to keep beside her. They were close upon those magnificent memorials in Saracenic arcliitecture, reared to departed glories of that line of Memlook sultans who seized the Egyptian throne in mid Thirteenth century and held it 800 years. In the white moonlight the fretted minarets glittered like frost work, coldly pointing to heaven from the immemorial past The silence befitting those mausoleums of an antiquity almost forgotten brooded over the lovely picture, unreal and fantastic as a mirage exhaling from j tne aesert sanus. "How cool and restful that depth of shadow looks!" Lady Martindale said, pointing to the massed blackness thrown almost over them by the mausoleum of the Sultan Bergook. "Its invitation to dismount and share its quiet is resistless." Without reply Latour threw himself | from the saddle to assist her easy dis- j mount, looping the bridles of both mares j under their fore shoulders, more from habit than through fear of desertion. Then the woman sat upon a fallen pillar, the man pacing now in the moonlight, now in the deep shadow, through which her form gleamed vague and j ghost like in the gloom. Not of the dead past, but of the living present, seemed the thoughts of both; j and she went on as though not interrupted: "And you remember how I jested about her and Elaine? Poor little Elaine! Shfe?the type of weakness ana unresist- | ance in that grand epic of the passionswas the type of woman, too. And Elaine of our day went?downward with the flood I" The man stood still, his face in full light Over it passed a flickering memory; but an impatient gesture was his sole reply. "Ah, strange, truly, are those revenges brought in by the whirligig of time," Edith wenton slowly. "But stranger still the reversal of that epic's moral; for 'twas godlike Arthur's self from whom Launcelot would have borne her back to" On his face the memory came back, deepening to wondering pain: but he only gasped: "Great God! You know?" "Yes, I know," she answered in unchanged tone. "The clash of sabers by moonlight is too romantic not to make echo, and sudden vanishing of maidens from enchanted towers may be followed by quest too eager even for most discreet ogres to keep secret. Besides, Capt. Arnold entertained us at Newport that summer; and you know what sieves young officers are!" "And the?she fled from him after that night?" There was neither pain nor eagerness in La tour's voice?only a dull curiosity. "Yes; she fled from New Orleans. But"?and genuine surprise crept into the woman's voice?"do you mean that you did not know?" "No; how should I?" and he resumed his restless pacing on the sand. "But in all these years have you never made inquiry about her?" "Never once. Why nhould I?" he answered steadily. "Since the last night I saw you on the Huclson?that night Bhe sold herself as a pasha sells his female Blave?her name has never passed my lips." Edith rose quickly, as though rrom impulse, advancing a step toward him. "But you?loved her then?" she asked in low, eager voice. "Did I? Perhaps." His voice was calm and steady as he added, "I thought I loved her enough to have made her my wife, had she not lost; my respect the first time she sold hex self?the right to any man's, the second time." Perhaps it was well for Lady Martindale that her face was in the shadow as he spoke. Over those well trained features passed a flash of joy, quickly clouded by a shadow of doubt. When she spake her voice was calm and low, but ite. music thrilled him strangely. "Yet you did love her at West Point," she said. "Not as you might have learned to love, Adrien, but with the first wakening of the boy's heart Had you forgotten that?" "I had forgotten it," he replied calmly. "The whole past was as deeply buried as the Caliphs whose tombs these axe. And you knew it, then?" "Knew it!" she echoed. "How could I, feeling as I felt then, fail to see what omers sawr x our xent mate Knew it. She, too, knew it; and her dotard of a husband knew to his cost" She checked herself abruptly. The caress in her voice had died as she went on, replaced by the vibrance of an almost fierce triumph as she stood there Judith the vengert But it came back, a3 she stole nearer to him saying: "Forgive me, please. I was selfish in the memory of my own loss then to call those specters out of your past, which I would help you exorcise! And how 1 did it I cannot guess, for only last night I twice stopped Lord Martindale's abrupt mention that we had met?him!1' "Dale Everett?" This time there was eager interest in the man's tone. Noting it the woman turned away her face, an ugly shadow over it, and the j lips curled in a strange smile. But she j answered simply: "Yes; he was the guest of our cousin, i Hoyne-Cecil, of the guards." "Did you talk of me?" The flood of j recollections sweeping through the man : trembled on his voice. She turned full to him again, gazed at i him earnestly one instant, then answered 1 coldly: "No. why should we? He never mentioned your name. In Loudon 1 was coolly courteous to Cecil's guest; in Paris j I barely recognized him. You have rea- i son to know that I am no prude, but an 1 open scandal liko" "Pardon me," Latour interrupted. "I j had forgotten that in boyish memories or nun." "And of her?" she rejoined quickly. "I have answered that already," he j said quietly. "She has been dead to me ten Ion/? years. You are too much a woman of the world to hold the man j responsible for the follies of the boy." "The world does not teach us wisdom i always," she answered, with thrilling j pathos. "Tho weakness of our youth pursues us often. Aman may crush?a ; woman only Buffer for it!" They were face lo faco in tho broad i moonlight. A tenderness unusual to it j swept her faco and settled in her eyes, gazing into his, dee])?dark?passionate! i Impulsively ho seized her hands, half drawing her to him, as ho whispered: "What do you mean?" Sho did not answer; her eyes fell before the hot eagerness of his. "Tell mo!" ho urged. "Do you mean that in tho past I was blind enough" Gently sho withdrew her hands. Her bosom rose and fell in tumult, as sho answered, very low: "HushI I was weak then, but then I hod tho right to weakness. You yourself reminded me that now I am safe with you?that I am?married!" He drew abruptly off, turning to release the horses. Sho looked after him. Over her raised faco u hot flush rose, and burned there. Her eyes gleamed black as night. In them were some wonderment, much tenderness; but through both gleamed tho hot light of triumph. He stooped to make his hand her step to saddle. With a sweep of his strong arm be raised the lissome, regal figure high as the seat. Somehow the perfect French boot, clinging round the still j more perfect ankle, slipped from his | hand. The beautiful form slid down j between the horse and man, pressing heavily against his breast, as the soft perfume of her breath warmed his cheek. The cry that would have escaped another woman Latour'did not hear. He only heard the throbbing of his own heart, only felt the fluttering of hers, as though struggling to break through the sculptured bosom. In the impulse to break her fall, he had thrown his arm about her. She did not recoil; a wild joy thrilled through him that she nestled closer in its pressure. For what might have been seconds, might have been ages?for all the man recked?they stood thus. Suddenly the stately head, resting on bis bosom, was uiiea; tne race, glowing and tender, was raised to his, and as ' the lnminons, liquid midnight of her ! eyes melted into his own it fell upon his shoulder. A dizzy whirl mounted to his brain as he felt the warm Bfyb from the parted j Bcarlet of her lips! His own crushed ! down upon them in one long, clinging, j passionate kiss. Slowly her long, lissome arms stole up ! about his neck, the strong, slim fingers j interlaced as to unlock nevermore. And 1 again those eyes burned into his soul as, the glow of passion hot upon her cheek, ; her lips again sought his, with the ; whispered sigh: "At last! My Launcelot!" [to he continued next week.] ! ^tiscciluucous folding. THE DREAD MAFIA. How the Members Wreak Vengeance j on their Betrayer**. The La Mafia is a secret organiza- J tion composed almost entirely of Bicil- | ians, and was founded by an Italian cut-throat named Mafia, at Palermo, an hundred years ago. The members are, for the most part, criminals and counterfeiters, and hesitate at no atrocity. The inhuman cruelty of some of the Mafia agents is almost beyond human credence, and savors of the brutal barbarity of the middle ages. Vincenzo Arditi burned a victim's house in New Orleans, hoping to burn the owner at the same time. He was sent to the penitentiary, organized a branch of the j Mafia?for house breaking purposes only?among his fellow prisoners, got out, went to St. Louis and murdered a foe of the Malia there. He went to Chicago, opened a saloon, enticed an obnoxious fellow countryman into it and stabbed him in the back with a knife so long that it stuck out on both sides of the dying man as he fell to the floor. He went to New York, opened a store, fired it to get the insurance, and was unsuccessful. He vowed vengeance and La Mafia on a fellow countryman I who he believed instrumental in causing his defeat. He invited his victim to a private apartment to have a glass of beer, offered a beaker with one hand, and with the other, by one stroke of the razor, laid the poor wretch's face open from his forehead to the point of his chin. When the wounded man, almost by a miracle, recovered and was able to leave the Chambers' Street Hospital, he was afraid to complain against Arditi, who went scot free. In October, 1888, Antonio Flaccomio was assassinated in the shadow of the Cooper Union building, in New York city. Flaccomio had been adjudged a traitor to the organization, of which at one time he was a prominent member, and it was said that Carinello Farach, who was murdered in the Staten Island woods four years before, had been enrolled in the same society. The unjustifiable killing or raracn was one of the causes that led to Flaccomio's removal, but the cause of his assassination was the testimony that he gave shortly l>efore his assassination against some of his countrymen, who were counterfeiters as well as brother members of La Mafia. Flaccomio was sentenced to death, and two brothers, Carlo and Vincenzo Quarrara, were selected to kill him. The former plunged the stilletto into the doomed man's heart. Signor Ratllo of New York city, the Italian consul, is authority for the statement that the first that was really known of the order was at the beginning of the present century, in the town of Silini, Sicily, where a family of nine named Glavanni, of considera1.1 -I..! nnniCnn tl'OI'll Til 11 ft! <>l*<>d 111 Ull' aucilll jiuamuii, nviv ...u.-v.vv. ... as many weeks. The father went first, being found at: his very doorstep. Seven days later the mother followed. Her dead body was found in almost the same location as that of her husband. The authorities were unsuccessful in tracing the murderer or murderers, and several days afterward the bodies of the two oldest children were found dead in bed. The others followed in rtgular order, until the family was completely annihilated. A tough character of the town named. Kipoli was arrested on suspicion and confessed. Me revet.led the existence of the order, and said that Giavanni and his family had incurred the anger of the band by betraying a criminal, who was a Mafia, to the authorities. Sipoli had been instructed, among others; to commit the murder. He was tried, and although the best counsel was employed to defend him on a plea of insanity by t he Mafia, he was convicted and sent to prison for life. Several witnesses for the prosecution were afterward murdered by the Mafia. The government, becoming aware of the lawless nature of the organization, at once took measures to have it suppressed, but the efforts proved futile. La Mafia continued to grow. A police officer took measures to have it suppressed, but the efforts proved futile. La Mafia continued to grow. A police officer, in 18(itt, in Milan, discovered a mark by which a member of the La Mafia could be known. It consisted of a small sear immediately under the ear, caused by burning. In this way great numbers of criminals were afterward run down and brought to justice. The society then gave lp the mark, and the police officer cue year after was found dead, stabbed to the heart. La Mafia is a modern organization based on medieval sentiments. It is related to the ("amorra, of Naples. It is a society confined not to Italians, but to Sicilians, the baser kind of Greeks, who bring their national customs, their secret societies and traditions of murder with them. If a Sicilian believes that ie can provide for the protection of his person and property without having recourse to law. that person is a M.diosa. He may he a bully, a blackmailer, a murderer, hut in whatever he does the public opinion of Sicily supports aim still. The code of ethics which maintains him is called "omerta," or manliness. Not long ago a wealthy proprietor was driving to his home in the neighborhood of Palermo. Six bullets whizzed by him. None of them hit him. No complaint was made to the police, yet within a few months everybody who had taken part in the attempted assassination was himself assassinated. A Malia had attacked a Maliosa. He was more powerful than bis assailant. Sicilians justify these crimes. Everybody knows the authors, yet nobody interferes. Said u guide of a recent traveler in Sicily: "Yonder borne belongs to a most respectable man?a highly ifespectableman, sir. The other day he killed his cook. One of the most respectable men in these parts, sir." Murder is the corner stone of the social fabric of Sicily. A Sicilian wishes to sell a farm. A Copo Mafia wishes to buy it. Nobody dares to bid against him. If anybody is so foolhardy lie would be shot next day from behind a wall or the corner of a house. If a Copo Mafia runs for the mayoralty of a village nobody runs against him. He invariably has a unanimous election. His hands may be red with a dozen murders and his pockets full of black mail. Not a servant can be dischaiged without reference to the unseen Mafia. The Mafiosi rule their districts as depots. If they have rivalries the knife decides it. The Camorrista of Naples live in Italy and thrive, just as the Mafiori of Sicily. The political power of the Cammorals is broken, yet it maintains an underground existence, and has three grades. A novice in the first grade is 11 ^J Al \foloirita " /n vniltll I'UUtU UUA^UIIC U1 IliHIU T *yM JVM?? of bad life.) The more advanced pupil is styl?d "Pieciotto di Sagarro." The finished--scholar is the Camorrista. The novice marks out the victim, follows liim and plays detective on him. The Ficciotto is initiated into the secrets of the confraternity. He merely gets a handful of sous from the Camorrista. He lives in hopes of reaching the third grade, and some day, by mcuns of an artistic stab or unusually long term in prison, he is advanced to the sacred band. He takes the oath on crowned knives with his hands immersed in his own blood. He is then licensed to murder whomsoever he pleases. The Camorrista has two degrees of punishment?one is spreggio, or a slash from a razor; the other is the eollettatti, or stab with a knife. COLD BLOODED GENERALS. The great general should have a double nature. In order that he may make prompt and well-reasoned decisions, he should be calm and incapable of excitement in great and sudden emergencies. But, in order to animate his soldiers and keep them up to a high moral pitch, he should be capable of enthusiasm and high spirits. It is needless to say that the two qualities are HOI oneil ptna-uj unacu, aim that when they are found so joined the result is a military genius. General Grant was one of the coolest men in the world ; hut his splendid confidence and cheerfulness often partook of the nature of enthusiasm, and inspired his soldiers, as well as in after years his civilian fellow-citizens, with ardent admiration and sympathy. It is a somewhat strange thing that France, the nation of hot blood, should have produced a long line of generals who showed the com pie test sang froid on the field of battle. Napoleon sometimes assumed ardor, but nothing could excite him if he did not choose to be excited. Murat, Napoleon's dashing chief of calvary, whose splendid enthusiasm won many desperate charges, could be as cool as his master, upon occasion. At the taking of Moscow, while the troops sat in their saddles under a murderous fire, Murat received a dispatch to which an answer was required. Though his mettlesome horse was trembling, Murat laid the reins upon the horn of the saddle, took his note-book in one hand and a pencil in the other, and began to write a response. Suddenly a shell fell and exploded on the ground close by. The horse leaped into the air and swung wildly around. Murat simply transferred the pencil to the hand that held the notebook, calmed the horse with the other hand, and went on writing his dispatch as if nothing had happened. 4 uViAiit nf n/lmirntirm wnnt, un llloilC | OI,UUV MMM4..MV.W.. ?X O the line. Murat saw that the enthusiasm aroused by his trilling act had created a favorable moment for a charge. He gave the order, and his men swept clear through the enemy's line. It is said that General Reynier once saved the French army in Calabria, in 1806, from a complete rout, simply by the manner in which he smoked a cigar. The English infantry fire had compelled the French to retreat. Reynier, fearing a panic, remained to the last, and brought up the rear, and though the English fire was murderous, he had lighted a cigar, and his retreating men noticed that the pulls ol smoke went up, as his horse moved slowly on, with absolute regularity. Putt'! Await. Pull'! Another wait. Puff! The enemy were pouring on, firing vigorously as they advanced, but nothing could accelerate Reynier's smoking. His soldiers rallied under the inspiration of the queer spectacle aud got off in good order. "Perhaps the most cold-blooded i commander who ever lived was the | French general, Saint-Cyr. He was a j great tactician, but greatly neglected : the morale of his men. He was never i seen on horse-back, and never showed ! himself before the lines. On one oe! casion, when he was simply a general I of division, the impetuous Marshal j Oudinot, puzzled to know what to do I in an emergency, asked Saint-Cyr's ' advice, frankly telling him that he i was "nonplussed." : "You, monseigneur,'' said Saint-Cyr, j "are a marshal of the empire, and I I am a general of division. 1 shall faithI fully carry out your orders, but it j would not be becoming for me to adI vise you." ! Later on Saint-Cyr succeeded to | the command of the army, and then j adopted a peculiar method ofgeneral! ship. He formed his plan of battle, . clearly, precisely, and with admirable j foresight. Then he sent his orders to ! his surbordinates, and shut himself up | in his quarters, absolutely forbidding entrance to a single soul. Then he i took out his violin and went to studyj ing a hard piece of music as tranquilly : as if he was in the midst of profound peace. The battle which won Saint-Cyr his baton as a marshal of the empire was 1 fought while he was fiddling in his j tent. He had apparently foreseen 1 everything, and the carrying out of ! his plans completely crushed the enemy. ' ?Youth's Companion. ? A HAT STORY. The question is frequently asked, ! whence the name of Thompson Pond, | a sheet of water in western Maine, ex tending through tour towns ami ijuig 1 partly in throe counties. Tradition says it was named from the first settler. Joe Thompson. During his sojourn : he was seriously troubled by rats, lie first provided himself with a stout leather bug of the capacity of four bushels. He then placed an empty j hogshead in his log hovel, leaving the bung-hole open, through which he dropped a small ipiautity of meat . scraps and crumbs of bread. Hag in hand lie retired outside to 1 watch proceedings, peeking through a . small crevice between the logs. Presently lie espied an old gray veteran approaching the bung-hole. He takes a peep, then sniffs, then looks cautiously about and then enters, lie soon emerges from the hogshead and quickly disappears. In a trice he returns followed by a drove amounting to hundreds, which, one by one, disappeared through the bung-hole. ' Now," chuckled Joe, "is my fun," as he skipped calmly through the door and adjusted the open mouth of the bag to the small aperture, at the same time rapping the hogshead with the toe of his boot, which produced a loud i ringing sound. With loud squeals and fierce struggles the frigntenea rats oegan to scramble through the bunghole, all landing in the bottom of the bag. His first thought was to drown them by sinking the bag in the pond, but being in a rather gamesome mood, as was often the case, he concluded to put the bag in his boat, and after rowing to a good distance from the shore, then release them, and, with his oxgoad, have a good time knocking them in the' head. Rowing out several rods from the shore, and being in high glee at the thought of wreaking vengeance on the "varmints" which had given so much trouble, he, without hesitation, untied the bag, expecting to see the frightened creatures at once leap into the water, but he quickly found himself mistaken. Instead of fleeing, or even retreating, the rats charged in a body, and with teeth and claws so severely lacerated his face, neck and hands as to cause him to leap from the boat and swim for the shore, leaving the craft in possession or lus one-time victims.? Lewiston Journal. WE LEABN BY DOING. No amount of study and theorizing will make a fanner or a mechanic, or a surgeon, or an engineer. The way to learn how to plough is to hitch up the team, to know how long the traces should be to plough a certain depth, or to reduce the depth ; to plough a straight furrow is to look at two objects in line with the objective point. And so we might go on giving practical cases in point. We learn by doing. This is the reason for every apprenticeship. Here we have the secret for manual training schools. Here also we have the manual of arms for every military academy. The perfect soldier is the perfect machine. Standing at the right of a regiment in perfect training wc see only the motion of one man. Now to come back to the farm. Take the act of milking a cow. The learner is taught to take hold of the tcut with the hand and then gradually close the hand by commencing with the index finger and euding with the little finger ; that is the theory,jbut the learner will be apt to extract little milk at first; gradually, however, he learns to use his fingers so quickly that he becomes unconscious of the move raent; he seems to close all 01 ms fingers simultaneously ; and yet they move in succession, or else he fails to draw the milk. A youth is told that there are three or four' particular modes of grafting known as cleft grafting, side grafting, etc. An expert shows him how to do it; he attempts to improve the lesson but fails, because he has been oblivious to the fact that the bark of the graft must meet exactly the bark of the root. Now he goes into the workshop of the nursery, where many hands are busy at this time of year at root grafting. He is given a tray upon which are roots ready prepared and grafts ready to he set. He is told to select one of each of the same size and match them exactly, and take of the waxed twine as many coils around the graft. If the pupil is conscientious he will complete comparatively few the first day, but as he proceeds his eyes become quick to select two of exact size and his fingers become nimble, and thus he leams that "practice mairps nprfpet." A farmer, to be successful, must know some things of many trades. If he would perfect himself in these he cannot do better than to take a course at a manual training school. There he will he taught how to work at a forge or ait a lathe; he will be taught how to set and sharpen a saw according to the wood he intends to Mork, whether green or seasoned, how most effectively to use an axe or a hammer, or a lever, all of which will save labor, time and strength. He is obliged to practice to improve the lesson. Frequently we see teams so hitched to a wagon or machinery that they work to a great disadvantage because they are too far removed from their load. A lever is most effective when used at its full length ; horses can draw more when nearest to the load. Two little affairs which were taught me many years ago : To make a round wooden pin, the pin should first be made square. Well, says the objector, who does not know that ? I did not until my attention was called to the ease with which the pin can be shaped round after it has been made square. Again, in nailing up my furniture boxes my boards all split. Says a ffiond tn mo nlnce the Hat of the nuil with the grain of the wood and your boards will not split. I tried it and found it true. This seems to have been the idea of the professor in the Illinois Agricultu- I ral College. When he had obtained the consent of the curators to purchase a much needed engine, he asked permission to make, instead of buying one. He and "the boys" made it, and it proved a great success.?Chas. W. Murtfieldt, in St. Louis Republic. Thk Bright Side.?Look on the bright side. It is the right side. The times may be hard, but it will make them no easier to wear a gloomy and sad countenance. It is the sunshine and not the cloud that makes the flower. The sky is blue ten times 1 when it is black once. You have I troubles; so have others. None are j free from them. Trouble gives sinew and tone to life?fortune and courage to men. That would be a dull sea, and the sailor would never get skill, where there was nothing to disturb the surface of the ocean. What though things look a little dark, the lane will turn and night will end in a broad day. There is more virtue in one sunbeam than in a whole hemisphere of clouds and gloom. See how the mist flies before the brightness of one little darting ray. So will trouble disappear before the ever-cheerful. Dealing With a Ji'rv.?A distinguished judge once addressed thepris- | oner as follows : "Prisoner at the bar, j vour counsel thinks you innocent; the ! ! counsel ior me jiruMTunuu mumo , innocent ; I think you innocent. But I u jury of your own countrymen, in tiie ! exercise of such common sense as they j possess, which does not seem to he : much, have found you 'guilty,' and it , remains that 1 should pass upon you the sentence of the law. That sentence is that you he kept in imprisonment for one day, and, as that day was j yesterday, you may go about your husi- j ness."?Dry Goods Chronicle. Faith in Conkkdkratk Monky.? \ Mr. Jas. \V. Corbin, of Grillin, Ga.. i has an abiding faith in the ultimate ; redemption of Confederate money, j On Tuesday he sold four pigs to a ' neighbor for $;l,00l) each, in Con led- i crate money, thereby adding $12,01)1) i to the immense amount he has thus accumulated since the war. Mr. Cor- j bin has a large pond on his place, well J stocked with iish,and he issues permits 1 to anyone to fisli a day for $2"> in this currency. He probably has a larger , amount of Confederate currency than any man in the South. ? > t ' feir Gambling stands in the same relation to stealing that dueling stands to murder. In both cases the victim is a willing victim, and takes his chance j of being the victor. Gambling is essentially a mean and vulgar habit, and i ought to excite contempt and indignation. So long as good men justify any i form of gambling or betting, the evil cannot be elleetually cured. SlUdlUUl IV 1UU uunuui Where a Woman Always Goes When She Has an Opportunity. That is where she always goes on entering an apartment?straight to the looking glass. People do not expect anything else. If she should fail to do so, suspicion would be excited, and observers would be apt to mistrust that there was something wrong about her. Why does she do this ? Who can answer the query satisfactorily ? In railway depots, where is the oilcloth in the ladies' room worn to rags before it sbows signs of breaking anywhere else ? Why, before the lookingglass, of course. A lady will enter the waiting room on the coldest day you ever expert enced, and she will ignore the stove entirely until after she has been to the looking-glass. She will take off her veil and give a good look at herself before she does anything. Then she will draw her hat up a little and settle it back again with evident satisfaction, sure that it is occupying the proper place on her head ; and she will pull the little curls down on her forehead and then brush them back a trifle; and she will repin her necktie and brush some dust from her shoulders, and wipe her mouth lightly with her handkerchief, and turn away reluctantly to make way for another anxious one. After she has got warm and has observed the dress and bonnet of every other lady in the room, she will return to the charge and go through with just about the same performance again before she goes out. What is it the Scripture says in this regard ? "Man looketh in the gloss and goeth away, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he is." We may not have got the quotation verbatim, but that is the gist of it, and we think it must have been intended to read woman instead of man, for if appearances may be trusted, woman is continually forgetting, and her memory needs constant refreshing. How does a man ao u r w ny, ue feels none of a woman's self-possessed assurance when he looks in the glass. He knows it is not just'what people are expecting him to do. He knows he will be stared at while he does it. He approaches the glass circuitously, and tries to give the affair the appearance of accident. He tips his beaver a little on one side, pulls the ends of his side-whiskers, and wipes an imaginary cinder from his eye, to show the observer that it was necessary that he should look in the glass. Sometimes he adjusts his neck tie and whistles softly to himself to cover the transaction. Not that he would insinuate that men do not "primp" quite as much as we do, but they do it in private, and are embarrassed if caught at it, while women do it everywhere openly, and quite unmindful of observation.?New York Weekly. JOE AND THE BABY. Joe Shields of Cincinnati, who bobs up in Salt Lake every once in a while, had an adventure in St. Joseph, Mo., a few weeks ago, says the boys. Joe was stopping in room 52, Pacific House. In room 53 was a young couple and a baby. Now it so happened that Joe was ill and retired to bed about 8 p. m. He had scarcely lain down, and was just beginning to doze off when in came a woman all dressed as if to go out. She carried a baby which was vigorously nursing a bottle, and as she entered the room she walked hastily over to the bed, laid the infant down and remarked, "Now, George, you take good eare of Freddie, and as soon as he goes to sleep cover him up. I think he will sleep all right till I get back from the theatre; by, by, dear; Mrs. Cochran is waiting for me," and witlj these words she stooped down and gave Joe a kiss, and was gone before he could open his mouth to express his astonishment. Joe got up and turned up the gas and looked at the infant. It was really a pretty lad and he seemed to enjoy himself as though he was in his papa's custody. But Joseph didn't relish the idea of having to play the part of nurse for about three hours, and remembering that he had seen the child with the couple next door, determined to restore the youngster to its rightful owner. . So he put on his clothing and, going to the next room, knocked. To his surprise, no answer came. He opened the door gently; the room was empty. Here was a pretty mess. But very likely the sire of the sleeping infant was down stairs, so he would hie himself down and request him to come up and remove his progeny. He went down and looked all through the billiard room, the reading room and the wet goods annex, but nothing could he find of the parent. A happy thought struck him. He would go up stairs, put the infant in the other room and go to sleep. So, after smoking a cigar, he prepared to put his plan into execution. He picked up the sleeping infant and carried it to the next room. The door was locked. The husband and father had been up while Joe was down stairs, and, presuming that his wife had taken the child with her, had locked the door and gone out for a stroll. Here .was a pretty kettle of fish. Joe didn't want to call a maid, because it might be embarrassing to explain where lie got the infant. He was certain that he couldn't find the papa, for he hud gone out. So he rang the bell, ordered two cocktails, took them without allowing the boy to come inside, lit I a cigur and laid down beside the baby to wait until the woman should come home. In a few moments Joe was asleep. About 11.HO that nignt tne gnosis 01 the hotel were aroused by a shriek, followed by cries of "My baby ! oh, my baby !" All the guests rushed out in the hallway?no, not all ; all but Joe. The cries awoke him, also the infant, who squalled lustily. Hastily picking him up, Joe rushed into the corridor. "Here is your child, madam," he remarked in his bland style. I found the youngster in my bed and concluded he had been put there by mistake. I have been sitting up with him ever since. He was asleep until your cry awoke him. Nice little baby that, too. J like babies?oh, no trouble, I assure you. Am more than repaid for my trouble by the little fellow's companionship." The lady thanked him in a confused sort of fashion, the guests retired, and Joe?well. Joe ordered two more cocktails und went to sleep. The mother sought Joe the next morning and made him promise never to tell any one how he got possession of the child. And this is the way he kept the promise. ? Not Pi?ii?ors.?The Washington Post credits Secretary lilaine with telling a story illustrative of President Lincoln's somewhat free manner of receiving dignified officials. At the beginning of a session of congress Mr. lllaiuc had been appointed by the speaker of the house of representatives a member of the joint committee to wait upon the president and inform him that congress had duly assembled. Senator Foot of Vermont, one of the most dignified of men, was chairman of the committee. On being ushered into the presence of the president, Mr. Foot involuntarily struck an attitude and proceeded to say, in his stateliest manner? "Mr. President, we have been appointed a committee on the part of the. ! two houses of congress to apprise you are ready to receive any communications which it may be your pleasure to make to them." As he concluded Mr. Lincoln stepped up to him, and, taking him familiarly by one button of his coat, said: "Now look here, Foot, if it is a matter of life and death with you I can send my message in to-day; but if it isn't, I should like to keep it till to-morrow to slick it up a little." THE EARLIEST "LORD'S PRAYER." The following specimens are the earliest examples of the "Lord's Prayer" now knoun to exist. Besides being literary rarities in themselves, they , illustrate in a striking and interesting manner the progress the English language has made and the changes it has undergone during the last 700 years. The first is in "old ?ugiisn," nears date 1160, and is as follows: Ure Faec er thu the on heofene eart, syo thin name gehaleged. To oomethin rioe, geworde thin wifie on heofene and on earthe. Syle us to-day nrne daifrhwamliche hlaf. And forgyr us ore geliies swm we forgyfath aelcen, there the wlthusagyeth, ana ne laed thou us on costnnuge, ac alys us fram yfele. Amene, The next is from a thirteenth century manuscrip t, now in the British Museum, and hi as follows r Fader oire that art in here, I halgoed be thl name, I cume thy kinereiche, y-wor the thi wllle don as in neve and in earthe. Oure iche-dayes bred gyf us to-day, and forgyf vs c ore gultes also we forgyf oure Siltare, and ne led owe nowth into tonngge, auth ales owe of harme. Amen. The next is from Wycliffe's New Testament (1360): Our Fadir that art in hevenee, halwid be thi name, Cbi kyngdome cumm-to, be thi will don vi in hevene and in earthe; gif to vs this day our breed ouer other substannce, and forgeue to vs ouer dettis as we forg aue to ouer dettoura. And leede vs not in to temptacioun, bat delyere us fro yuel. Amen. From Tyndale's New Testament, 1525: O oure Cither which art In heven. Halowed be thy name. Let Thy kingdom come. Thy will be fulfilled, as well in in earth as hit ys in heven. Gere vs this day our dayly breade. And forgeve as oure trespasses even ss we forgeve them which treipas vs. Lede vs not Into temptation, but delyvre vs from yvell. Amen. The next was the Geneva version of 1560; almost exactly like the authorized version of 1611, with which everyone is well acquainted.?St. Louis Republic. OLD TIME TOOLS. A very interesting discovery has been made at the Roman city of Silchester. The excavators came across a dry well, which, on being explored, proved quite a little museum of antiquity. Some 15 feet down, a Times correspondent says, the diggers found an urn shaped pottery vase, abont a foot in length, nuite intact, and. curiously ? a?7 / # _ enough, protected by lumps of chalk built around it. The vase, which probably originally contained some precious substance, was, however, quite empty. Above it were desposited a great number of iron implements, most of which were in a wonderful State Of preservation. They seem to have been the tools of a carpenter and a coppersmith or silversmith, with some miscellaneous objects of blacksmith's work thrown in. The principal specimen is a carpenter's plane of quite modern type, although unquestionably more than 1500 years old, three or four axes, retaining their fine cutting edges and still quite serviceable, a number of chisels and gouges of all shapes and sizes, hammers, adzes, saws, files, etc. In the smith's department may bo specified a brazier, for burning charcoal, quite complete, two or three anvils of different sizes or shapes, a fine pair of tongs adapted for lifting crucibles, a curious tripod candelabrum lamp, or candlestick, and several other curious objects, the precise uses of which have not been determined. In addition there are several large bars of iron, a couple of plowshares and a broken sword. Probably more will be found deeper down in the well. This is undoubtedly the most important find at Silchester, since the discovery of the bronze Roman eagle, now at Strath fieldsaye, some years ago. Inexorable Facts of Heredity.? "I have drank whisky every day for thirty-five years," remarked a gentleman of sixty, rather proudly, "and I don't see but I have as good a constitution. as the average man of my age ; I never was drunk in ray life." He was telling the truth, but to learn the ^ hole truth you would have to study his children. The oldest, a young lady, had perfect health; the second, a young man, was of remarkably nervous and excitable temperament, as different from his phlegmatic father as possible; the third, a young lady of seventeen, was epileptic and always had very poor health. Did the father's whisky drinking have anything to do with these facts? The instance may be duplicated in almost every community. Think over the families of your acquaintance in which the father has long been a moderate drinker and observe the facts as to the health of the children. The superintendent of a hospital for children at Berne, Switzerland, has found by careful observation, that only fortyfive per cent, of those whose parents used intoxicating liquors habitually had good constitutions, while eighty-two per-cent. of the children of temperate parents had sound bodies. Of the children of inebriates only six per cent, were healthy. Can any man "drink and take the consequences," or must his children take the consequences? 1 # t i An Evidence of Weakness.?Every established local newspaper receives subscriptions from large cities which puzzle the publisher, but which The New York Times explains as follows : "A wholesale merchant in the city who became rich in the business says, his rule is whenever he sells a bill of | goods on credit, he immediately subI -"."l..... f"? tt,.. Iioivcnuiiarnf his I suniiua 1U1 11IV. uv IT njm^/v V* ? ... Si) long a.s the customer advertises vigorously, the merchant was satisfied, hut as soon as he began to contract his j advertising space the fact was taken | as evidence that there was trouble | ahead and the creditor invariably went | for the debtor. The merchant said | that the man who is too poor to make i his business known is too poor to do I business. The withdrawal of an 'ad' I is evidence of weakness which wholeI sale men are not slow to act upon." 1 Bfciy The late Henry Ward Beeeher once received a letter from a young j men who recommended himself very | highly as being honest, and closed with j the request: "(Jet mean easy situation, that honesty may be rewarded." To ! which Mr. Beeeher replied: "Don't be ' an editor, if you would be easy. Do not try law. Avoid school-keeping. Keep out of the pulpit. Let alone all I ships, stores, shops and merchandise. Be not a farmer nor a mechanic, neither I a soldier nor a sailor. Don't study, ' don't think, don't work. None of them are easy. Oh, my honest friend, you are in a very hard world. I know of j but one easy place in it. That is the I grave." Oru Railroads.?Nearly 100,000 miles of railroads are in active opera' lion in the United States, and they employ about 51,000,000 people in various ! capacities. During the last yeur $1,000,000,000 was spent in railway freights, and, figuring upon a basis of 02,000,000 j population, this would make $16 for j every man, woman and child in the . country. This sum would pay the na. tional debt or supply free education to all the children in the country for a 1 long period.