Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, December 09, 1891, Image 1
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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.