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- " A' . _ ^ lewis m. grist, proprietor. J gin Jndfpciidcitt Jftmilg Ucurapapcr: Joi| flip $romotioit of flic folitiipil, Jiopl, g,gt[itulfui|itl 1111(1 l|ommfr(iill Jntcrifsfs of tltJ| JSouth. I TERMS?$2.00 A TEAR IS ADVANCE. VOL. 37. YORKYILLE, S. C., "WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1891. 3STO. 44. I . .i. _*r :~-i- ill.- - 1?^ | TTo-oi rrn- CiU* by Hlfl NAME.? THE MAN Wl ( BY W. C. Whose Nora tie Plur Author of "The 1 [Copyright, 1891, by Ca&sell Publishing C ment wii SYNOPSIS. Chapter 1.?John Dorison, son of the head of the house of Dorison A Co., deceased, returns after eight years of wandering under a cloud, to the old home in New York city. The basement is used as a saloon, and stepping in Dorison makes a chance acquaintance with Job Nettleman, who knew the Dorisons in their best days Chapter 2.?Nettleman leaves the saloon and in a few moments blood is seen trickling from the ceiling. The saloon keeper ahd his customers rush to the front stairway to reach the floor above. S Dorison goes up the rear stairs and find a a young woman weltering in blood. He wlao discovers a miniature portait of his father and a familiar ring on the stand, both of which he secures. A scrap of paper in the dead woman's hand and another on the floor are also taken and secreted. The entry of detectives and police Slace him under suspicion. The room i used as a oostumer's establishment by Mm9. Delamour. Chapter 3.?Dorison, using the alias James Dudley, calls on Dettleman to help him oonoeal his identity. At Nettleman's office he meets Simon Cathcart, a private detective, who engages him to assist in working up the murder case. Dorison's father died while writing the letter, which apparently accused tqp son of grave crimes. The scraps found in the costurner's room are in the handwriting of Dorison, senior, and appear to relate to the subject broached in tne unfinished letter. Chapter 4.?Madame Delamour, the coetumer, is Mrs. Farish. Cathcart goes to her private house and finds that she has been murdered in the same manner aa the young woman in the oostumer's shojw The .latter was Mrs. Farish's daughter Annie. A mysterious young man called on the Farish's at intervals, and on his last visit went away angry. Cathcart finds a man's glove near Mrs. Farish's body. Chapter 5.?Mystery in the Farish house. Mrs. Farish assumed mourning, Annie withdrew from society and a son disappeared, all about the date of Dorison's death. The glove found near Mrs. Farish's body lias an extraordinarily long thumb. Chapter (I?Cathcart starts Dorison out as a young man of fashion to discover the wearer or tha glove with a long thumb. Chapters 7 and 8.?Dorison saves a young lady from being run down by a carriage on Broadway. She is the daughter of an old friend of his father, Mr. Eustace. , Chapter 9.?Dorison protects a woman from insult and arrest, and discovers a man with a long thumb. Chapter 10.?The man with the long thumb is Charlie Eustace, brother of the rescued girl. Chapter 11.?Dorison dines with young Eustace in a restaurant, while Cathcart looks on and concludes that Eustace is the man with the long thumb. A man believed to be the myterious caller at the Farish's is ''shadowed" as suspect No. 2. Chapter 12.?The new suspect is Harry Langdon, a dissipated young man who has been in company with Annie Farish. Chapter 13.?Harry Langdon was an occasional caller at Farish's. Cathcart secures a lancet found on the floor of Mrs. Farish's room after the murder. Langdon associates with crooks. Chapter 14.?Dorison learns that Charley Eflstace, though educated, in surgery, never owned an instrument, hence the lancet was not his. Harry Langdon has forced himself on the Eustace's through the physician of the family, Dr. Fassett, and is secretly intriguing; with young Dorothy Eustace. Chapter 15.?A close intimacy existed in bygone years between the elder Eustace and Dorison's father. Cathcart puts Dorison on track.' --Chapter-1&?Dorison joins a theatre party with young Eustace and his sister Evelyn. Langdon appears. A woman warns Dorison that ijangdon Tseeks to harm him. CHAPTER XVII?Continued. "Saved yon from rnin by taking charge of your estate, which yon had enx dangered by extravagance and recklessness of life, lending the aid of his finances and credit?" The face of Mr. Eustace flashed deep ly, and looked with no little anger upon bo coltn ftnd immnhilo face of the de tective. "It is true, nr." he replied, with his stateliest manner; "but how you came to know it 1 cannot tell." ' I have finally won Mr. Dorison's executor to a belief in the innocence of the sou. He has given me access to all of the papers of the estate." "You are at no pains to make your words gentle," said Mr. Eustace, with much dignity. "I am a surgeon with a probe. I cannot expect to escape inflicting pain. Justice delayed eight years demands the truth at all cost. 1 have read you very inaccurately if 1 am mistaken in assuming you to be a man of strict honor, high regard for justice and a deep sense of the obligation a man owes another in distress." -Mr. Eustace colored under the flattering estimate of his character. "1 asked the question from no idle curiosity, nor from a desire to inflict pain, but in order to confirm a theory I had formed as to the relations existing between you and Mr. Dorison. Such confidence and reliance as you gave him begets a return. It is knowledge of Mr. Dorison's life 1 want, not of yours. Now, sir, up to this time you hare accepted me on the strength of my own statement as to what 1 am. 1 am about to ask yon questions which you should not answer a stranger or one having no reasonable right to ask them. Do me the favor to examine my credentials." He handed Mr. Eustace a package of papers he drew from an inner pocket, and lay back in his chair patiently awaiting their examination. In time Mr. Eustace returned them. al am satisfied, sir; some of them credit you with great eminence in your profession." "1 have done some good work in my time," replied Cathcart indifferently. "It j'oa are satisfied as to my identity we will proceed." Mr. Eustace was evidently greatly im pressed with his visitor, and yielded to him as most men did. "1 apprehend." said Cathcart, "that we will make greater progress if I submit my theory to yon and try to see whether we can erect it into a certainty. Yon will perceive in that unfinished letter a direct reference is made to a son. The writer seems to be borne down by the fact that all the evils be has recited are to attributed to an ungrateful son. Now, inasmuch as he had but one son, the superficial and perhaps natural supposition would be that that son was referred to. But we are immediately confronted with the fact that nothing in the life of the young man can be found to justify the charges. "Upon the contrary, we find abundant evidence that that son was treated with confidence, pride, affection and generosity, which the son repaid with an affection and attention quite as strong. This certainly is contradictory. But if further evidence is wanted it is to be found in the almost frantic endeavors of the young man himself to disprove the charges?endeavors ill directed and ill advised, as might be expected in a boy only twenty-three ? throwing himself open to the most rigid examination, and, further, that after having brooded on these troubles for eight years, he has set the inquiry on foot again. Those who are inclined to look leniently on the young man Bay that the elder Dorison most have been stricken with an insanity which was a precursor of his death, or, that if he had been permitted to finish the letter it would have been found that he would havequalified the charges. Others, and by far the majority, including the long and clear headed men of the police, insist that the charges are direct and unequivocal. I disagree with all." Mr. Eustace, who had been sitting in his easy chair, with his elbow resting upon the arm. supporting his chin. TK A THUMB? HUDSON, ne is Barclay TVorth, Diamond Button." 'ompany and published V>y special arrargeth them.] )traightened np and looked with rising ;olor upon the old detective. "You will uotice," continued Cathcart, taking ont the copy of the unfinished letter, "that in the reference to this son ho uses the term, 'an uugrateful son,' not my ungrateful son, nor the ungrateful ion of my heart or life or old age, as men often speak. He uses the indefinite article, 'an'" "And you reason there was another ion," interrupted Mr. Eustace excitedly. "1 do," replied Cathcart firmly?"an illegitimate son. Therefore, believing that to be so, and knowing the relations existing between you and Mr, Dorisoa, 1 am come to know whether you have anything in your possession?any knowledge ?'which justifies such a theory?" Mr. Eustace rose from his chair impulsively, and rapidly walked up and down the apartment with long strides, avidently much agitated. "You are touching upon sacred confidences," said Mr. Eustace finally. "1 do not know" "One moment," interrupted the old j detective hastily; "I am not without J knowledge that the elder Dorifton had j some relation with a woman?just what ; it was 1 do not know, but his portrait, j his seal ring and parts of letters written | by him were found in her apartments, j But stronger than all is this: For a number of years, that is to say, for twentyfive years, this woman occupied a house down town, the title to which was vested in her name. This property was transferred to her April twenty-second, eighteen hundred and fifty-four, by Richard Basselin, the consideration being eleven thousand five hundred dollar:-. 1 find among the papers of the Dorison j estate a voucher, a check drawn on the > Chemical bank for eleven thoujand five hundred dollars, in favoi of 1 Richard Basselin, dated April twenty- j second, eighteen hundred and fifty-four, J signed by Reuben Dorison, certified by the cashier on that day and indorsed by t Richard Basselin. Subsequently, Rich- j ard Basselin removed to Buffalo, where j he died a little more than a year ago. You perceive that a connection is e.itab- j lished. The nature of that connection ! is what I now desire to ascertain." Mr. Eustace had stopped in front of ! Cathcart as the latter talked. He asked suddenly: "The name of that woman?" "I prefer to follow my own plan of inquiry and endeavor to elicit information before disclosing it. 1 have no objection to giving it and will do bo before I leave. The important thing is not to satisfy your curiosity but to justify my theory." Mr. Eustace turned an irritable glance upon the old man, sitting so calm and imperturbable at his fireside. He resumed his walk. "1 have some information, no doubt, that will assist you. What you are telling me is wholly new. The question in my mind is whether 1 should tell that which was given me under the solemn seal of secrecy." "Have you the right to obstruct the search of a young man leading to the restoration of his good name? I appeal to you as a man of justice. I appeal also to your recollection of Reuben Dorison, and ask, if it wer& possible for him to appear here for one moment, whether he would refuse you permission to unlock your lips, when the doing of it would tend to remove the disgrace from a son he thought so much of, as you have yourself testified. Finally, I say to you, not in the way of a threat, bat as a simple statement of fact, that there ia another phase of this case that sooner or later the officers of the law must take hold of, where you will be summoned to tell all you know, unless you evade it by telling me now." All of this increased the agitation of Mr. Eustace, and he said: "The strongest appeal is the one to my memory of Reuben Dorison. I think yon are right there." He sat himself down in his easy chair and looked into the fire burning brightly in the grate a long time. Cathcart sat silently by, but presenting a firm attitude of irresistible pertinacity in his determination to get the story. "I have a strange tale to tell," finally began Mr. Eustace, "and yet only the ' outlines of it. When Reuben Dorison was a young man, subsequent to his father's death, perhaps then twenty-two or twenty-three years old, before be was married to Mary Jlavering,a distant relative of mine, he laetand fell in love with a beautiful young girl in a rank of life much lower than his own. Where he j met her, or how, 1 never learned; but her father was a costumer to one of the j theaters of that day, and had a shop in ; Chatham street. She returned that love ' and they desired to marry. Her father ! however, for reasons he would not give, i refused to give his consent, grew violent I when it was talked of and finally put her away so effectually that Dorisori could learn uothing of her. When next he heard of her she was married, and to a j man at the command of her father. | This story I had from his lips. "I cannot recollect that 1 ever heard | her last name or that of the man she 1 married. In speaking to her he called i her Emma. Dorison's mother w;is bent } on his marrying Mary (Jlavering, and in | time brought about the match. Dorison must have become reconciled to't," con- j tinned Mr. Eustace musingly, more to himself than to Cathcart, "for in those days he seemed very happy, and his home in Bleecker street was as pleasant - * I_ i.L- -Ji... ana gay as any in mo any. u.o iym ciceedingly prosperous in business, and | the only cloud 1 could see dimming his : happiness was the death of four children, j leaving him only one, the youngest, a ; boy. In eighteen hundred and fifty-one, ! Dorison moved from Bleeeker street to Twenty-third street, and a year later his i wife died, the boy then being four or five years old." Mr. Eustace got up and going to his : desk took from a pigeon hole a little book. Turning over its leaves ho examined a page of it attentively, and returned. "I am correct in my recollection, j One afternoon, three years after the death of his wife, he came to me in ! deep distress, saying he must relieve his i feelings by talking with some one he could trust. He said that two years previously he had met his early love, and discovered that she was a widow?that ! her husband had treated her ill all his j life, and had several years previously j ; gone to another part of the country, i rontributing sufficiently to her support ; to escape charges of abandonment; that she had had advices of his death by j I letter from one of his companions who | had sent her his private papers; and that ! she was childless; that he found his love | ! for her returned, and in haste and with- ! j out considering consequences had mar- j j ried her. For reasons which he did not ! j give me, he said he determined he would j I not make the marriage known until he ! could carry out successfully his retire1 ment from business and permanently ! invest his property. So ho had rented a I house and was providing for her as a husband should, but still keeping the ! fact of the marriage secret. He had retired and was about ready to announce his second marriage, two children hav- I I ing been born to them in the meantime, ! when the first husband presented himself alive and in person. "Though Dorison had been compelled | to pay tieavuy to prevent the husband from making a scandal, from prosecuting his wife for bigamy and to go his way and leave her in peace, the fact remained that she was not his wife, and could not be recognized as such. Though he was the father of her children, he said the woman insisted on an absolute severance of their relations. She said they had sinned, but sinned innocently, and that they could repair their wrong only by separation. He had tried to combat her resolution, but she was immovable and he was almost hearts broken, saying his love for her was never so great as when she had shown such nobility of soul: that she should be surrounded by every comfort and that her protection should be his care. Again he refrained from the mention of names, and handing me securities to the amount of fifty thousand dollars, asked me to hypothecate them on a long term." "My theory is confirmed," said Cathcart "Did he ever refer to it again." "No," replied Eustace, "except once in tttkon a aoiil O4* UllbWtr IU U Ijucouun, >? ucu uo onm kuuk affairs had settled into a sad acd quiet rub and he avoided thought of it as much as possible. Not long after this affair occurred my own financial troubles, and after they had been straightened out, upon which he labored much, I went i abroad in the diplomatic service. While our warm friendship was never broken, our confidences, by the faot of separa- j tion only, ceased." ' "Urn," said the detective. "Is that all yon have to say?" "No. One more point. In eighteen hundred and sixty-nino I returned from the continent on a short visit, leaving my family behind me. The night before 1 was to return, Dorison came to me, begging to be excused for troubling me at such an honr and time on such a matter. He said he was in great trouble, the causes of which were too many and involved too long u story in explanation to give them. He had with him a small tin case in which were contained one hundred and fifty thousand dollars of government securities, which he said he desired me to retain, subject to his order, the reason for which he would give me some time. He had a receipt prepared, simply reading, 'Received from Reuben Dorison government securities to the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.' which he asked me to sign, and I did. " 'I am preparing,' be said, 'for a storm. You know the unfortunate affair I became involved in. This is intended to be some reparation to the children whose paternity 1 am compelled to deny < ?one child perhaps it were better to say. In view of the fact that Emma's first husband is yet alive and makes demands on her. 1 don't think it wise to hand i them to her yet In view of certain demands on me, of matters occurring and < likely to occur in the future, they were better out of my hands. I can think of no better place than to put them in the hands of a friend I trust as I do yon. A demand will be made upon yon, sometime. When it is, yield them up only on the presentation of this paper.' i "He showed me a paper written in red ink, the edges of which were notched. 'Here,' he continued, 'is another piece of paper, blank, which fits into these notches. 1 fitted them and saw they compared. He went away. I never saw him after, and I yet have the piece of blank notched paper in my safe. The bonds are in my possession, swollen by interest and compound interest to nearly a quarter of a million of dollars, and no * * - e n aemana nas yet oeen rnaue iur iubui, I "And never will be." said Cathcart positively. t i CHAPTER XYHL THE STORY PIECED OUT. The old man leaped to his'feet and thrust his hands into his vest pockets. Mr. Eustace was evidently much astonished and impressed by the positive ( tone of the old detective. "Why? What do you know?" The old man ignored the question, but , asked another* , "Did you never hear anything more ( on the subject?" "Yes. A year later, in a letter to me at Paris, Dorison said that he did not know but events were shaping them- j 6elves so that he himself would be com- i pelled to demand a return of these se- j ( curities, but 1 never heard more from j him on the subject." "I am inclined to believe," said Cathcart, after some poments of thought, 1 "that that unfinished letter was intend- J ed to be addressed to you?" I "To me? Can you mean it?" "Yes, I do; and the more I think of it i the more confirmed 1 am. See! He 1 gave those bonds in trust for a person whom he protected by not handing them to her, but to you. The necessity for her possession of them did not arise ' during his life. If he were to approach death then he meant to give the order to her, but he was carried off without a 1 moment's warning. But that is not my j 1 direction. He knew they were in your i hands, recoverable by him at any time. I He intimated in one letter to you that he j might be compelled to demand possession j 1 of them himself. What is that letter | you have read but an explanation of the reasons why he wanted them? Had he been permitted to finish that letter he would have wound up with a demand for their return and for further assistance from you." 1 "And he should have had it," said Mr. Eustace fervently. "I owe everything to him." 1 "I see it clearly now. He had hy- 1 pothecated all his securities. They were 1 in danger of lapsing. He wanted the j proceeds of these bonds and your assist- j ' ance to redeem, thera. His real estate | 1 was mortgaged to its full value; his j other means were exhausted, and so, j ' without the aid of those bonds and your ; assistance, he could not redeem the I ' pledged securities. By his sudden death j they did lapse into the hands of those i who had advanced him money." I 1 "But what did he do with all the , money he raised?" asked Mr. Eustace, i 1 bewildered and astonished. "He tells you in that unfinished letter. ; ! You ask me how I know no demand ; will ever be made upon you. I will tell, I 1 and in so doing will piece out the tale ; you told me. First, there is no one to : make the demand. They are dead. The j woman Mr. Dorison married, only to find she could not be his wife, was Mrs. 1 ' Emma Farish, living at number ? East I : Sixteenth street; the two children of | 1 which Mr. Dorison was the father were ! 1 a boy and a girl. The girl's name was i ' Anne; the boy's name I believe to have j been Harold?of that I am not quite ' ' certain." i 1 "How long have you known this?" 1 asked Mr. Eustace in open astonishment. I "Since you told me your tale." ! ' "I cannot comprehend." ' "Possibly not. I have been studying, j searching, delving, dreaming and work- 1 ing on this case for two months, and I have only just comprehended it." , "Then these bonds which Dorison in- 1 tended for this woman, should, if her j identity be established, go to her?" "That is impossible." ! "Why, indeed?" 1 , "She is dead; sc is her daughter." "Oh." "Have you forgotten the Farish mar I till der?" - yo "Great heavens! Are those the people?were they the victims of that lior- to riblo butchery?" bcj "The8ama. Now see how marvelously Aj the affairs of this life are adjusted. I da am employed by the younger Dorlson to ^ endeavor to explain the riddle of that letter, which has covered him with dis- bit grace. These murders are committed, be and I am solicited by the police authorities to hunt the murderer or murderers Ca down. I have two cases on my hands as Qu widely separated, you would say, as they could well be. I take my first step. In the room where the daughter is killed a ne portrait of Mr. Dorison and his seai ring are found, and in one of the hands of the murdered girl a scrap of paper torn from de a Irtffwr- unnthpr on the floor. Thev are jQI both in the handwriting of the elder Dorisom My 6rat determination is what? Why, 1 have not two cases on hand but ono?to reveal the mystery of one is to reveal the mystery of the other. How Er Bhall you account for these things? A ve man in a western city Bets tne to work in jn New York in u case concerning him 'nl alone, and coining here with some repu- l)e tation the police employ me on the ( murder, and lol they are in effect the dr same case." ca "The ways of Providence are past find- 1?' ing out," said Mr. Eustace solemnly, aghast at the information forced upon 55 him. "But where is the son?" he asked, < suddenly and eagerly. ( "I don't know," replied Cathcart ? "He disappeared from his home when about eighteen, and, I should say, mys- ??h teriously." 1 "Oh!" said Mr. Eustace, cast into pro- In found thought by the answer. "I am quite certain," said Cathcart, \ "that those murders hud their origin in It 1 an endeavor? Phew" 1 The old man leaped to his feet with a ""Y long, low whistle. Hnd thrusting his hands into hi9 vest pockets, began treading the floor, suying to himself: "Let ? me think! Let me think! Ho, ho! let me think! Ho, ho! let me think!" "V Mr. Eustace, startled by the abruptness of Cathcart, began to ask him questions, but the old detective'waved him ) to silence with an imperious gesture. Thus he continued to tramp for fully ten j. minutes. Then he resumed his seat Th "Now listen." he (mid bending for- \ ward earnestly. "Inquiry has determined that the murders were not com- nu mitted for the sake of robbery, that is J for the sake of obtaining jewels and i?j money, but in order to obtain possession J of certain documents. It is clear, ap- Ar parently, that among those desired docu- ^ ment8 were letters f:rom Dorison, Binoe | j we have fragments tdrn from them in a Bu strnggle which preceded the murder of 1 the daughter. But this murder of the ,?i| daughter, from whom those letters were ' wrested, did not yield what was wanted, and so the mother was killed and something torn from her breast, where she ] had concealed it What was desired? I t The order for the bonds of one hundred " and fifty thousand in your hands, the Ev existence of which the murderer had ( knowledge of, and of the way to obtain \ them? And as Doriscn talks of defalca- Ou tions and forgeries committed by a son, ( were evidences of these forgeries, exist- Ajj ence of which were a menace to the wrong doer, in possession of the woman? Th Were these the things wanted?" 'And was the son who so mysteriously g disappeared, and who was charged with Fo these crimes, the murderer?" shouted Mr. s Eustace, excited and losing his habitual J control. ~ "Eh, eh, eh, eh!" cried Cathcart with eager exclamations, as if he were urging "T on the chase after an idea. 1 "It must be so!" cried Mr. Eustace. "It must be so!" "Softly, softly!" said the old detective, I putting a curb upon himself. "There are other things. There was a gloveby heaven!" he almost shouted as he ' again leaped to his feet with his hands Bil in his vest pockets, repeating his tramping up and down. "Oh, my heavens! wh this will never do. Could he have known hir of these bonds and wanted to get the hii people out of the way so he could seize jn j them" it He turned short upon Mr. Eustace, mu who was staring ut him, unable to fol- jn^ low his words understandingly. alr "Have you ever told any one you had tio these bonds?" Up( "Never a soul." ] "Are you certain? This .question jn means a great deal." ^ "No one knows that I hold the bonds given me by Reuben Dorison, except . you." y ^ "You have never written about them to" or maao a memorauuum iiaeiy 10 cume j0E to the eyes of another person?" reg "No. I wrote a statement of how jes they came into my hands, with instruc- ^ tions that they must be held by my ex- ^ scutors subject to the order spoken of by Dorison, but that statement was by me placed with my will us soon as completed ' and under seal immediately. The seal has never been broken." , "I hope not I hope not," said Cath- Wj, cart. "What is this that excites you now?" ^ "Nothing that I can tell you until I SQr know more. If I were to speak now 1 might heedlessly do a great wrong, Glood afternoon. You will hear from , me again?" J e "Stop one moment, Mr. Cathcart," K cried Mr. Eustace. "There is a point I Pe' have been trying to speak of for some c time." ba' "Ahl What is that?" said Cathcart, mo coming back to the fireplace. "Some time ago my daughter was l)ei nearly run over on Broadway, and was ?.w saved by a young gentleman, who acted exceedingly well in the matter. I called " . upon him to make my acknowledg- n ments of his service, and was startled by er his extraordinary resemblance to Dori- ^ec son when ho was of the age the young ; *01 man is now." j "Ahl" said Cathcart aloud, but to | thi himself he added, "our young friend j thi enters." I for "He denied relationship to Dorison when I spoke of it. I have met him sev- ! 1x10 eral times since, and indeed have enter- j va' tained him at dinner, for he and my son | an( have become quite intimate. At this , n0( dinner 1 referred to the resemblance art again, and I saw that he was making m? efforts to evade the conversation, in fact everything leading to a discussion art Df his antecedents. Suddenly the idea j as occurred to mo that this young man j I>i< minrjit ho one of Dorison's illegitimate i ptu children. He gives his imine as Dudley." fro "Ah!" said Catlicart gravely. "I will the look into this." "You will have no difficulty in finding giv him. He moves about a good deal. His a , apartments are in Twenty-ninth street." thi "What number?" asked Cathcart, with wh an interested expression in his face. tai "I have forgotten, but will send it to to you after obtaining it from iny son." tin "That is unnecessary. What streets poi is it between?" thi "Broadway and Fifth avenue." wo "That is all that is necessary." xne "So satisfied was 1 that this young man ?u was playing a part that I strenuously (.qi objected to his being received here as a mo friend of the house longer, and tried to fjft] prevent his acting as an escort to one of eri, my daughters to a theater party mv son Up, ijave. But as that would have necessi- | w], tated the withdrawal of invitations 1 i wj, yielded in this instance, upon the under- | SC(, standing that he was not to be encour- tjjj iged further." j p0i "That was proper?very proper. Did j jn^ you give your reasons?" ...j, "No; I could not, without telling more ;han I would." ! wj] "I see. You lit* re had trouble with a I wj] man named Langdon, have you not?" j ^U] "Well, wa have been annoyed by a j jnj) man of that name." 'pj, "Very true! Seriously annoyed. Annoyed by his forced attentions to one of , ' your daughters." ! j^0 "Upon my word, Mr. Cathcart, I (j()] hardly know which to admire most?tho j ectne.ss or your speech or the scope ol nr information." "Don't be annoyed, sir. 1 mean only do yon a service. The fellow is s imp. He is married. He has a wife, ly time you want me to convince youi ughter of that 1 will do it, so there 11 be no question concerning it" Leaving Mr. Eustace dnmfounded by j knowledge of what was supposed tc a family secret, and yet appreciative the value of the service proffered, .thcart caught his hat and moved ickly to thei door. He was back again In a moment. "I take it, Mr. Eustace, you see the cessity of keeping these developments today strictly a secret, not to be talked out. Devotion to the memory of youi ad friend would demand this, even il stice did not." "I think I understand my position/ id Mr. Eustace loftily. This time the old detective slipped oul the door and was gone, leaving Mr. istaco agitated and excited, feeling ry much as if he had been caught uj a whirlwind, and after many confnsI gyrations set down where he had en taken up. l)n his way to his rootna Cathcurl oppeu a note to uonsun asKiiig iuiu u, 11 at liia (Oathcurt's) rooms that even ar. TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Ptettltattemtji Reading. GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. 0 stood at the bar of justice, (i. creature wan and wild, form too small for a woman, n features too old for a child, r a look so worn and pathetic Vas stamped on her pale young face seemed long years of Buffering dust have left that silent trace. 'our name?" said the judge, as ho eyec her, Vith kindly look yet keen. 1 Mary McGuire, if you pleaso, sir." 'And your age?" "I uni turned flf teen. /ell. Mary," and then from a paper lo slowly and gravely read, ou are charged here?I'm sorry to sa? it? Vith stealing three loves of bread. 'ou look not like an offender, tnd I hope that you can show o charge to be false. Now, tell me, tre you guilty of this or no ?" passionate burst of weeping Vas at first her sole reply, .tsho dried her eyes in a moment, tnd looked in the judge's eye. will tell you just how it was, sir: dy father and mother are dead, id my little brother and sisters Vere hungry and asked mo for bread, first I earned it for them ly working hard all day; it somehow times were bad, sir, Ind the work all fell away. could get no more employment; riie weather was bitter cold, ie young ones cried and shivored Little Johnnj''s but four years old); what wan I to do, sir? am guill;y, outdo notconuenm ; ook?O v/as it stealing ?? ["ho bread to (five it to them." ery man in the court-room? Jray beard and thoughtless youth? io\v, as ho looked upon her, That the prisoner spake the truth ; t from their pockets mine kerchiefs Jut from the eyes sprang tears, id out from old faded wallets treasures hoarded for years. e judgo's face was a study, ["he strangest you ever saw, he cleared his throat and murriiured lomething aboutr?the law. rone so learned in such matters, lo wise in dealing with men, ) seemed, on a simple question, lurely puzzled just then. t no one blamed him or wondered, Vhen at last these words they heard: ho sentence of this young prison jr s, for the present, deferred." id no one blamed hini or wondered, Vhen he went to her and smiled, id tenderly led from the court room limself the "guilty child," ON GIVING AND TAKING ADVICE, The famous American humorist, Josl: lings, used to say, "When a raan es me for advice, I tries to find oul iat he wants to do, and I advise: n to do that; and then he thinks n and me is the two smartest fellows the world." And, as a matter of fact is too often the case that when b m asks your advice, he is really ask ; you to confirm him in an opinion eady formed, or in a course of at!' n already definitely determined on. [n such cases, the advisor is placed a false position. It is hardly fair tc c a man's advice, if you have disjctly decided upon the course which u will pursue. Again : It is a sort of mock humility ask the advice of one for whose opini on the subject you have no real pect. Of course a man may know s of the subject than you do, and ye) ire may be good practical reasons foi ihing to know his opinion. A ewd English statesman, who wm xious about a certain bill then before rliameut, said, "I wonder how this asure will strike Lord ." "Why iat do you care for his opinion V :ed a friend ; "he is a very ordinary n." "Yes," rejoined the framer ol : bill; "and that is exactly the reai why I am concerned about his inion ; for as the measure strikes n, so will it strike the average peo' ! of the country at large, as the ;at body of the people are ordinary )ple." When Burns wrote his "Cotter's turday Night," he is said to have ide the experiment of reading it tc plain old Scotch housewife of the isant class?that is to say, of Burns's 11 class. He asked her what she luglit of his poem. Her reply was, fhy, that's na poetry; that's the ug itsel'." No Edinburgh Reviewcould have praised the poem so eftively. The clear recognition of the tch of nature, which makes the iole world kin, conclusively proved it the plowman had produced a ng of beauty, which was to be a joy ever. The humblest member of your flock .y, even unconsciously, give you luable advice as to how to preach 1 especially how not to preach. A J of assent from hiin, when his eyes . Itrwlo nnm, mid unoil VOll ,y be a great help to your sermon : J a nod of drowsiness, when his eyes s closed, will make your tongue feel if it were parching in your mouth, leed, to the wise and thoughful stors much of the best advice comes m people who have no idea that sy are advising him. 'But what about volunteering tc 'e advice?" Well, the question has good many sides; and the same ng is often true of the question upon icii we undertake to advise. A ccrn brigadier at Manassas, once said General Joe Johnston, "General, it brigade of the enemy is in such :i iition that I could easily capture ! whole of it; and I have been ndering why you did not order I to do so." The general replied, 'on't you suppose that I know you ild do it ? And as soon as you ived your troops from this point my 11k would be uncovered, and the Fedd general would at once come down on it with an overwhelming force, lich would seriously imperil my ole army." The brigadier had not :n all around the question. He was nking of his own brigade, and of its iition. General Johnston was think; of the whole army, and of the ole campaign. As a general rule, a man of sense, ose business it is to study a subject, II learn a good deal more about it in can be known by the very ablest .11 who has not investigated it, omas L. Marshall, of Kentucky s a splendid orator, and a brilliant lius. One day, in conversation with lit. J. Breckinridge, lie asked, "Why n't you preachers make parables like >se of Jesus?" Dr. Breckinridge ' replied that such parables were not easy to make.. Marshall said, "Well, > it seems to me that they are very simk pie; and I don't see why they should not be easily made." "That," rejoined Dr. B., "is because you have never i tried to make one. If you will try, you will change your opinion." Mar' shall agreed to try; and the next time > he met Dr. B., he said, "Doctor, I have > been trying, ever since I saw you last, to make a parable, and it is not made I yet. I believe you were right."?Baptist Courier. | WORK NECESSARY TO SUCCESS. Too many young men at the present time have an altogether wrong impres, sion of life. Seeing those about them in a prosperous business, employing a . large capital, with an immense plant, and doing business on a large scale, . they are ambitious to do the same. They do not stop to consider that it , has taken years, possibly generations, J to develop what they see. They only . see it as it is, and believe that in order I to be successful it is necessary to do business in the same way, upon the f Rime extensive scale, j " A writer in The National Grocer says that the great industrial enterprises of the world have, as it were, developed unconsciously to those who . have been their principal manipulators. Many of them commenced so insignificantly that some of our bright young . raen'of today would scorn the idea of commencing life in a similar manner. It is said that one of the largest sugar refining institutions in the world was commenced by a single kettle virtually over a kitchen fire, and we know positively of one business, which was capitalized very recently for a couple of million dollars, that was started in a 1 small wash kitchen, when the stock-int;rade, fixtures, machinery and business utensils, would not have brought $20 . under the hammer, and the mau who started it lived to see it placed on the market at $2,000,000, and declared 3everal years successful dividends. We know of another business enterprise, which today is worth at least $2,500,000, which was commenced on $100, and that was borrowed. 'Jonstant dropping wears away me stone. Constant work, intelligently directed, brings success. It is idle to say that there are no opportunities and things are not what they used to be. The opportunities of today are just as great as they ever were, if we only have the ability and energy to take advantage of them. Mistakes will occur, and bright prospects are sometimes blasted, but the fault generally lies with the individual, and not with the circumstances or with the opportunity. We have heard men say that they have failed to do certain things because circumstances have been against them. Our reply is that they have failed because they did not have the ability to make the most of their opportunities, and guard against loss. There are many palliating circumstances, we must admit, but it is the individual who has the ability to get up and get Who brings success. Many men fail; some fail often. Yet all of these ultimately succeed, simply because they do not and will not give up. They are just as ready and eager for the fray as they were before they had been knocked down twice. Indeed, the partial failure has only acted as an incentive for increased effort.?American Paper Trade. A DESPERATE CUSTOMER. Years ago, when I was a youngster, I became an assistant of Dr. B., the superintendent of a public insane asylum. ' As in all insane asylums, some of* the patients were docile and tractai b':.c, and had the freedom of a highi walled garden; while others, being t violent and dangerous in their raadj ness, were confined to their rooms, j Sometimes one of the last-named genj tlemen would get loose, a fact which , he usually announced by breaking i things generally, upon which announce. ment the doctor would repair to the i spot, and, advancing upon him with a . steadfast gaze, would march him off to i Wa V?oA Ann Innofin Ku thp I III3 1UU11J. If U I1UU V/il V ll4Ufc*l*v *SJ ?MV name of Jones, large and strong as an I ostrich. He had broken out of his > room two or three times, but had al. ways gone back docilely when any one t of us made our appearance. The asylum had a saloon in the cen tre, with a door at each end; and one of the doors required fixing, once upon [ a time, a carpenter was engaged upon - it, when in trundled Mr. Jones, and t quietly possessed himself of a long, sharp chisel. When the carpenter L looked around, the madman gave a 5 j grin and poked the chisel at him, s whereupon the man of chips scuttled j out and locked the door?then, while , the enemy was battering away at it, ' he rushed around and locked the ' door at the other end. Having thus F caged Jones, he gave the alarm ; and I, supposing it was an ordinary case, i which I could control, unlocked the i door and entered boldly, whereupon . he made a rush at me. I incontiuent> ly bolted. The doctor was sent for. - He soon came, reconnoitered through the key hole, and ascertaining that the j enemy was at the other end of the > I room, he opened the door, and saw at | once he could do nothing with the ! | loose maniac. Here was apparently a i | dilemma. A crazy individual, as strong s j as a bull, perfectly uncontrollable, and , | armed with a weapon. To capture i i him by force was a difficult and dan. gerous undertaking, and to starve him would be a tedious affair. Hut the i doctor did not hesitate long. > "Alfred," said he, "go down into the [ surgery, fill the largest syringe with 1 ooiul ltrtticr it. lin " k IlltlUlilUl", ?W.V. .. - I caught the idea, rushed down and brought back a quart syringe with hartshorn diluted?for I didn't want i to kill the man. Then the doctor, the , cnrpentcr and myself formed an army . j of invasion. We threw open the door i j and entered in the following array : I, , j being the shortest of the three, mareh; i ed first, holding a chair in front of inc i | by the back, so that the legs might keep I | off a rush if our popgun should flash in , j the pan. Then came the carpenter, [ with the syringe resting upon my.shouli j der, like a piece of flying artillery. ; Finally in the rear, in the safest place, 1 like all great generals, came I)r. H. > j The lunatic sat at the other end of s I the hall, on a chair, eyeing us keenly ? I and savagely. Slowly, very slowly, we i i advanced toward him. The nearer we . : got the more wicked that chisel looked, I | and the handle seemed to increase un, | til it was very, very long. When we i I were within a few feet of him hejumpi ed up and sprang toward me. Whiz! i ! splatter! splash! went the quart of ! hartshorn into his countenance. Down , he went like a log?it would have t knocked down a battalion ; and while i J he was catching his breath we caught ! him. JKj7" A philosophical farmer entered a , telegraph ollice in central New York recently, and sent this message to a ; j woman in Canada: "Will you be my i wife? Please answer quick by telei graph." Although lie waited the rest ; of the day, he got no answer, but the i j next morning he got a night dispatch, i sent collect, but favorable. The ope, rator, in expressing his sympathy, said, , 1 "Little rough to keep you in suspense , ! so long." "Look n-herc, sonny," the , farmer remarked, "I'll stand all the , suspense. Any woman that'll hold , back her answer all day to a proposal ; j of marriage, jest so that she kin send i ! it half rate at night, is economical ' enough to make up after I git hector s | all the loss of time and injury to feel I in's I've suffered waitin'!" A BLACK MAN BECOMES A WHITE MAN. f1 Several instances have been pub- " lished in times past of black men cbanging their color and becoming white, ? but we have never put much faith in j" the accounts. The following instance of this singular procedure, so near P home, and reported in the Anderson Intelligeucer, cannot be doubted : "Berry Armstrong, of the Honea Path section, has had a novel experience. Seven years ago his skin was ? black, "between a ginger cake and real black," as he expressed it. Today his 8' skin is as white as any man's in the ? county. Now he is a white negro, Berry called at our office last week to let us see him, and to tell about the P mysterious change in color his skin had ' nndarcrnne. He made the following . statements: He belonged to the late d John Armstrong, and was born and a raised about two miles below Crayton- ^ ville. He will be 66 years old in Janu- * ary next. Has always been hearty and enjoyed good health. About seven y years ago a few white spots appeared ^ on the second joints of the middle fin- ? gers of the left hand. Soon thereafter similar spots appeared on the right 8 hand, then on his-legs and face.- There v was no burning, itching or painfbl sen- fl sation felt. When the spots appeared v on the face he became alarmed and applied to the doctors for something to j stop the change, but they told him ^ they could do nothing to prevent it. 0 Some of his friends recommended r washing in teas made from different a plants. He tried some of these, but t the spots seemed only to grow the fast- f er. In about five years he was a white r man. His skin is much more sensitive ^ to heat than when it was black, and _ blisters easily. Formerly the sun had a no effect upon him, but now he is com- ^ pelled to keep himself protected. His a hair, beard and eye brows are straight- j er since the change occurred. He j thinks there is not a drop of white blood in his veins. His wife and chil- ^ dren are about as black as he once was. ^ He didn't like the change at first, for . the spots made him "look so ugly," ^ He doesn't mind it now. Berry has ev- t ery facial characteristic of his race, ex- ? cepting the color. His face and hands r are brown from sunburn, but his arms t and body have as natural an appear- j ance as if he had always been white. ^ Berry talks freely about himself, and j is an intelligent man. He is a fine ^ specimen of the ante-bellum negro, and his manners, in his humble way, would do credit to a gentleman of the x highest type. There is a negro woman r near this city who has had an expe- t rience similar to Berry Armstrong. t Signs of a Hard Winter?"This j is going to be a very hard winter," said ^ an old resident of the Lackawanna Valley, yesterday, "and I'll tell you . why I say so. In the first place, look liAmofa' ntiata V nil will find I . them high up this fall. That's a sure sign of a hard winter. If it was going * to be a mild winter you would find them t near the ground. Two years and three years ago the winters were mild, and fi the hornets' nests were low down. "Then take angle worms for another sign. Dig in the ground now and you { will find them crawling two feet or t more below the surface. They know what kind of weather is coming, and t they go down to avoid the frost. Two years ago I found them not three inch- * es under the surface, and they staid there all winter. "Fuzz on hogs is another sure sign x of a severe winter. Butcher a hog now j and you will find a thick fuzz at the t roots of the bristles. The fuzz would not be there if next winter wasn't going to be a tough one. Two and three years ago this fall there wasn't any c fuzz at all on hogs, and you know how open the winters were. I "I predicted a hard winter in 1855 f from these signs, and my neighbors t ridiculed me, or tried to, but we got it j just as I said. I had so much faith in t the signs that I got a lot of boys to trap all the quails for me that they 8 could. I wintered over 200 quails, and \ in the spring of 1856 there wasn't a c live quail iu the Lackawanna Valley j except the ones I had. I turned them t all loose at various points, and in the f fall we had some good shooting, which f we wouldn't have had if I hadn't paid r attention to the signs." ^ g Confucianism.?At the present day, j however, Confucius wields but little fl influence over the Chinese. In most cities are temples, or, more correctly speaking, halls known as Confucian halls. They are entirely void of any appearance of idolatry. His name is t revered as a wise and good man, but t he is not worshiped, nor has he in j, any legitimate sense been deified b^ j the people. As Washington in Am6ri- 0 ca is venerated as the father of his t country, and as Abraham Lincoln is c spoken of in history as the savior of c his country, so likewise is Confucius s spoken of among his people as the wise j philosopher and patron of letters, and c promoter of good government, but not f as the founder of a religion, nor an s object to be worshiped. Educated Chi-" t namen all profess to be disciples of him c and to read his works, and be guided by his instructions. In some respects j they perhaps do, but they put their 8 own interpretation upon the import of his teachings. There are no special t teachers to expound his works, and j; every one is free to place such con- ] struction upon his teachings as his in- t telligence or impulses may lead to. f I am convinced that the power of the philosopher over his people has been overestimated by foreigners gen- I erally, and that the real nature and n scope of his work lms been largely g misapprehended.?\V. G. Benton, in s Popular Science Monthly. e A European Idea.?A matrimonial d clubhouse is among recent innovations a in a European city. It is a large, a roomy building, divided into several I apartments, in one of which portraits a of each woman subscriber are exhibit- p ed, with full description of her age, t talents, fortune, color of hair, eyes, 0 etc., size of hands and feet, ami mens- n urements of the bust and general con- " tour. There is also a brief account of a her life, whether widow or spinster, s and her particular penchant in alii- (| ance with bachelor or widower, mer- (] chant, lawyer or jurist, etc., all nicely }, tabulated and set forth. In another s room are the portraits of men catuli! dates for connubial bliss, but the dej scriptions are less elaborate, and con- g line themselves to an enumeration of e | the social status of the candidate and v I lilu fiiiniir*i!i1 ennditinn. U A general reading room provides a j g medium for mutual meeting, and is j p presided over by an ancient dame who | o knits interminable stockings. There t are also private rooms for more conli- g dential tete-a-tete. One of the curious 3 | rules of the place is that only ladies ' b ! may enter the room where the men's I c ! portraits are, and men only are admit- 1 n I ted to the women's gallery. They j v j must meet in the common room. The ! o establishment is conducted on moral p I principles, and the number of matches i t j on its hooks approximates 1,0(10?New J a I York Sun. . v j How to Cook A 'I'osstrjt.?Cap'n s | when a 'possum is cooked jest right, j 1< j it's mighty hard to heat. It's most 1 j noble eatin, for a fact. Hut not many ! i of dese here cooks, now a days, knows r I jest perzactly how to cook a possum, j t In de fust place, you must ketch one ' t j of dese right black possums, with a , I i blaze face. J hit's the best kind. When < e ' you kill him have your water bilin' ! b i hot with a shovel full of hickory ashes , c in it. Dip your possum in it and turn i 1 I him round twice right quick and all de I t ar Will come on jcoi hivc ?* ptcitu igun. He ought to lie out on top of ' be house in the frost one night; before i ooking. Den you take an old fash- i )ned oven and a good fire made of ! ickory wood and dry oak bark. You i ut your possum in dat oven .and put i e lid on and begin slow like, jest as if < ou didn't care much. De fao is you an't hurry in cooking a possum. Vrhen he gets about three parts done 1 nd you can begin to smell him all over e house you must have yam taters, arter dry like. Peel em and split m open and place some of em under i e possum and place de others round im in the oven. Take a spoon and our the gravy over dese taters until ; soaks through and through. When e possum is right brown all over and e taters all gummed over with sugar i nd possum, gravy?well, I'll clar to racious, Cap'n, there's no use talking. Vhen you take a bite or two of dat rown skin and it begins to melt in our mouth, you jes naturally wish de ossum was all skin. But when you at through and get de meat down next^ o de bones, pears to be better dan de * kin. No, Cap'n, dar's nothin that trails de face of de yeth that can beat . good fat possum cooked dat way, inless its a bigger possum. % Why Great Men are Fond of )ogb.?It has often been mooted as a exed question why all men of genius ir greatness are so fond of dogs. The eason is not far to seek. Those who ,re great or eminent in any way find he world full of parasites, toadies, awners, liars, hypocrites; the incoruptible candor, loyalty and honor of he dog are to such like in a barren dace to the thirsty traveler. The ympathy of your dog is unfailing and inobtrusive. If you are sad, so is he; md if you are merry, none is so wiling to leap and laugh with you as he. Tor your dog you are never poor; for 'our dog you are never old; whether 'ou are in a palace or a cottage he loes not care; and fall you as low as 'ou may, you are his province and his dol still. The attachment of the dog o man outweighs and almost obliterites attachment in him to his own ace. There is something shocking o our high opinion of him in the calousness with which he will sniff the >ody of a brother dog ; he will follow lis master to the grave and sometimes lie on it.?North American 'Review. Oil Baths for Lead Pencils.? new discovery has been made by ailroad clerks in Pittsburgh regarding he saving of lead pencils. This will >e a great boon to those who are con inually using expletives and borrowng pocket knives on account of the railty of good, soft lead in a pencil. Every one who has much rapid writ-' ng to perform prefers a soft pencil, but lothing has come to public light so far >y which the lead can, to an extent, be jreserved. The P., C. C. and St. L. ilerks have brought about a new era in he pencil business; also have they norally benefitted humanity, inasmuch is they decrease violation of the third lonmaDdment.. The new idea to preserve a soft pen!il is to take a gross of the useful aricle and place them in a jar of linseed til. Allow them to remain in soak unil the oil thoroughly permeates every >article of the wood and lend. This has the effect of softening the nineral. at the same making it tough ind durable. It has been found very iseful and saving, an ordinary pencil )eing used twice as long under the new reatment.?Pittsburgh Dispatch. Sun "Fast" and Sun "Slow."? The sun's time is too fast by clock time >n November 2 by 16 minutes and 20 econds, and on February 12 it is slow >y nearly 14$ minutes. There is only bur days during the year when sun ime and clock time agree, viz: April .5, June 15, September 1 and Decem>er 24. There is also a slight differ:nce between the rising, midday and etting, varying with the longitude, >ut this is so small as to be hardly perleptible. Most almanacs give the apmrent time of the sun's rising and seting, making the proper allowances or atmospheric refraction. The difference between the actual and appannf riainor nnH HPtt.incr nf thfi SUn also varies with the latitude where the obervations are beiDg made. In this atitude this difference is set down at ibout the width of the sun's diameter, vhich is about 32 minutes of a degree. -Republic. Testing His Ability.?It is said hat Mr. Spurgeon is in the habit of esting the abilities of the more promsing students of his college, by obligng them to go up into the pulpit with , sealed envelope in their hands conaining the text of their address. On me of these occasions, a student, on ipening the paper, found this subject et: "Apply the story of Zaccheus to rour own personal qualifications and all." And he delivered h'mself in the bllowing way: "My brethren, the ubject on which I have to address you oday is a comparison between Zacheus and my own qualifications." Veil, the first thing that we read about laccheus was that he was of small tature; and I never felt so small as I lo now. In the second place, we read hat he climbed up into a tree; which 3 very much my position now. Thirdy, we read that Zaccheus 'made haste o come downin which I joyfully ollow his example." Leaning Upon Others.?Half, at cast, of the disappointed men one aeets with are the victims of ill;rounded hopes and expectations?perons who have tried to lean upon othrs instead of relying upon themselves. 7his leaning is poor business. It seliom pays. Energetic men?and they re the classes generally looked to for id?do not like to be leaned upon, f you are traveling in a railroad car nd a great hulking fellow lays his iead airainst vour shoulder and goes I o sleep, you indignantly shake him j IK It is the same in business. The nan who does not at least attempt to ' hoe his own row" need not expect | ny one to hoe it for him. It is 11011ense for any man to pretend to the I lignity of being unfortunate who has ! [epended upon others when he might mve cloven a way to fortune for him- j elf. (Jo Out in tiik Air.?Ladies often J ive as a reason why they do not take | xereise: "Oh, I don't like to go out without an object." They seem to he j inaware of the fact that to a well or- > anized frame, motion and fresh air are iositive daily necessities, irrespective 1 f any "object," save the cool play of , lie wind on the temples and healthful low which follows a brisk walk. Iedicine is a joke to it. No doctor, e his diploma ever so pretentious, ould effect with simple means a more : uigical result. When it is considered j hat "a beautilier" exercise in the i pen air is, we marvel that the female j iortion of the community are so prone o neglect it. A little chilliness in the ir, a little sprinkling of rain, a high i rind, an inability to display a tine I ress?what inadequate reasons for laying in the house and growing sal:>w, irritable and sick ! 0bay" The small pox epidemic in Ilaris Neck, Liberty county, (Ja., is said o be so alarming that (Jovernor Norhen has asked the authorities of the 'nited States Murine hospital to take hargc of it. It is populated mainly j y colored people. The surgeon in barge of the quarantine station at j llackhcard Island, has been instructed o take charge of the infected district. 1 There is a man in Washington who has. a moat uncommon name, and a paper ? in that city tells how he came by it. His mother was on the lookout for something original, and one day, before his christening, she noticed on the door of a building the word "Nosmo." This struck her fancy. Now for 9 middle name. Later, coming along by the same building, she saw on the door the name "Xing." Ah, this was what she was after. "Nosmo King Jones he shall be," she said, and he was christened so. On the way home from the church she passed the same building again. The doors were all shut, and behold I the doors with the names on them she had selected were shut together, and Bhe read, not "Nosmo King," but "No Smoking," and her heart was broken. The Model Christian.?He is a man who can be trusted to do right anywhere. He is a man whose horses and cows have found out (hat he has religion. He is a man who does not sit on a store box and whittle, while his wife is carrying water to do a two weeks' washing. - - ?'* He doesn't getiiis back up and want to leave the church whenever he finds that he can't have his own way about everything. , He doesn't occupy a whole seat in a railway car, while a. woman with a baby in her arms has to stand up. He is a man who always tries to do * his best, no matter whether he thinks he is watched or not. When he prays for the accomplishmeht of a good work that it takes money to bring about, he is willing to put his hand in his pocket and pay his part of it. \ Size of the United States 8ol dier.?Statistics gathered by the United States government in the latter part of 1890 show that the enlisted soldiers of the United States army vary in height from a minimum of 4 feet 9 inches to a maximum of 6 feet 4} inches. The giant of the army is serving in the Department of Arizona and the dwarf in the Department of the Missouri. In weight the range is even greater than it is in heighth, the minimum being 97 pounds and the maximum 280; the average throughout the army being 153$, and the average height 5 feet 7 inches. The youngest soldier enlisted is 16 years of age; the oldest 66, the average being about 30 years. During our war with Mexico General Taylor's command boasted a soldier of 7 feet 1} inches in height, and one of 74 years of age. A country judge in Hungary gave a decision recently of which Solomon himself might be proud. Members of the Nazarene sect in the town of Qyoma, requested his honor to be allowed to crucify one of their number, "who was a Messiah, and had been called by heaven to save men." The judge, for a moment, was dumbfounded. "Friends," he replied, after recovering his senses, "I do not wish to interfere with your religious practices. If your Messiah wishes to be crucified, let him prepare himself for death. Remember, however, that if he does not rise again in three days, I shall cause every one of you to be hanged." The Nazarenes, it is needless* to add, allowed their chief to live.?San Francisco Argonaut. Vermont Not an Original State. ?It is difficult for the average newspaper reader to rid himself of the notion that Vermont was one of the original 13 States. The Green Mountain boys distinguished themselves during the war for independence, but their locality did not have a distinct political existence until after the close of that struggle. What is now called Vermont wm nlaimed bv both New HamDshire and New York in those days, and it was not advanced to the dignity of Statehood until 1791, two years after the surrender of Cornwallis.at Yorktown and two years after the organization of the government under the constitution. It is the 14th tftar of the National galaxy. fiST Two good men on some occasion had a warm dispute; and remembering that exhortation of the Apostle, "Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath," just before sunset one of them went to the other, and knocking at the door, his offended friend came and opened it, and, seeing who it was, started back in astonishment and surprise; the other, at the same time, cried out, "The sun is almost down." This unexpected salutation softened the heart of his friend into affection, and he returned for answer, "Come in, brother, come in." What a happy method of conciliating matters, of redressing grievances and reconciling brethren. B?" Wolves are rapidly increasing in the sparsely settled portions of Kansas, and threaten the lives of the isolated farmers. The baby of Albert Riddle, who lives near Seneca, Kan., was playing in the yard on a recent Sunday, when it was heard to scream. Riddle ran to the door, and saw a great wolf galloping away with fhe baby in his mouth. He started after the wolf, calling his big greyhound, which soon overtook the savage beast, and forced TKn hnhv wnft It IU UIU|I UJC V/UUU. M liV/ MMWJ II ? unhurt except a deep scratch along its back. The wolf was too much for the dog, and made his escape. A Millionaire's Secret of Success.?Cyrus W. Field once told me that he considered half of his success in life to be due to his .punctuality. He was always at his office on the very minute each morning, and if he made an appointment to talk business to a man he never failed to keep it. "I have made thousands upon thousands of dollars by being on hand at the right moment, and I consider punctuality as strong a point in a business man's favor as?well, it is second only to honesty !" That is the secret of this millionaire's success. flfcaT Mrs. Philip Beyer, of Minneapolis, recently sued her husband for the cost of 312 meals at 25 cents each, which she had furnished him during two years' courtship, and was awarded $30 in full. The cause of the "whittling down" by the court does not appear, but the point is of interest to all gentlemen in the ante-nuptial state of existence as a warning that it may be wiser to lunch at home or adopt a system of meal tickets, which his inamorata can punch as used, instead of permitting the account to run loose. OniciN of Asia, Europe, Africa, Etc.?Asia means morning or east; Europe, evening or west; Australia means lying to or in the south. Hence we may consider that these names mean Eastern Land, Western Land and Southern Land. Asia is a Greek word; Europe is the Hebrew oreb; Australia is a Latin word. The origin of the word "Africa" is uncertain. Some conjecture that it is a Semitic word, meaning "Land of Wanderers." fkir A marriage broker has sued a New York man for $1G, the balance due for procuring him a wife on commission. The contract between the broker and customer stipulated that twice that sum should be paid the former, provided the girl should be good looking and have clothes enough to last for twelve months. Marriageable misses will take note that these arc the two indispensables.