Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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. lewis m. grist, proprietor. J gin independent ijitmila $Jfu?paper: <^oi| fhii ^promotion of the fotitiijal, jsocial, g^piltural and (|ommci[cial Jnterijsts thij j$outh. | TERMS?$2.00 A TEAR IN ADVANCE. VOL. 38. YORKYILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JYISTTJAVRY 27, 1892. * NO. 4. * * "?A I ,,r- 1 1 flA?f \fi? Pnrlltilfl JOHN I by theodor [Copyright, 1891, hy Am CHAPTER XIII. ^ A I0VHL ^ ^ Sfce sobbed a^fTs^ill held her hand. . Two long hours I had kept Mr. Clithere in talk. For my friend^Bake^l would nave proiongeu uuu iudefinitely. For my own too. He was a new character to me, this gentle sonl, so sadly astray. My filial feeling for him differed momently. And as my pity grew more exquisitely painful, 1 shrank still from quitting him, and so acknowledging that the pity was hopeless. We approached the fort. The fiddlers three were dragging their last grumbling notes out of drowsy strings. The saints began to stream by toward their wagons. We turned away to avoid recognition. Miss ditheroe and Brent joined us?a sadder pair than we. The stars showed me the glimmer of tears in her eyes. But her look was brave and steady. She left my friend, and laid her hand on her father's arm. A marked likeness, and yet a contrast more marked, between theee two. A more vigorous being had mingled its life with hers. Or perhaps the stern history of her early days had taught her to forge the armor of self protection. She seemed to have all her father's refinement, but she used it to surround and seclude herself, not to change and glorify others. Godiva was not more delicately hidden from the . vulgar world by the mantle of her own golden hair than this sweet lady by her veil of gentle breeding. As she took her father's arm to lead him away to the camp, I could read in her look that there were no illusions for her. But she clave to her father?the blinder and more hopelessly errant he might be, the closer she clave. He might reject her guidance; she still stood by to protect him, to sweeten his life, and when the darkness came, which she could not but foresee, to be a light to .. him. However adversity had thus far failed to teach him self possession, it had made her a heroine and a martyr?a no- j bio and unselfish soul, such as, one among the myriads, God educates to shamo the base and the trifling, and to hearten and inspire the true. "Now, dear father," she said, "we most bid these kind friends good night. We start early. We need rest." She held out her hand to me. "Dear lady," said I, taking her aside a moment while Brent spoke to Mr. Clith- j eroe, "we are acquaintances of today; j bat campaigners must despise ceremony, j Your father has told me much of your : history. I infer your feelings. Consider me as a brother. Nothing can be done to aid you?" "Your kiudness and your friend's kind- j Doss touch me greatly. Nothing can be done." She sobbed a little. I still held her hand. "Nothing!" said I, "nothing! Will yon go on with these people? You, a lady, with your fate staring you in the face!" Six; withdrew her hand and looked at m?- steadily with her large gray eyes. What a woiiinu to follow into the jaws of death! "W? fnf? " eVi*> Raid, "can ho no worse than the old common fate of death. That ; I accept, any other defy. God does not I leave the worthy to shame." "We say so when we hoi e." "I say it and believe." "Coine, Ellen dear," called her father. There was always between them, whenever they spoke, by finer gentleness of tone and words of endearment, a recognition of how old and close and exclusive was their union. Only when Sizzum was present at tea the tenderness, under that coarsening influence, passed away from the father's voice and manner, making the daughter's more and more tender, that she might win him back to her. "Goodbyl" she said. "We shall remember each other kindly." "Yes, gentlemen," said Mr. Clitheroe; i "this has been quite the pleasantest episode of our journey. You must not for- j get us when you are roaming through this region again." He said this with his light, cheerful manner. They turned away. It seemed us if death arose and parted us. We fol- 1 lowed at a distance and watched them safe to their wagon. The night wind had risen and went sighing over the desert reaches, bringing with it the distant howling of wolves. "Do not speak to me," said Brent, "I : will talk to you by and by." He left me and went toward our j horses. It had been imprudent to leave ! them so long at night with bad spirits about I looked into the fort again. The ' dancers had gone. Bottery was fumbling drunkeuly over his fiddle. A score of men were within the house carousing. , Old Bridger's whisky had evidently | flowed freely. In one corner Larrap had j nnrolled a greasy faro cloth and was dealing. Murker backed him. They j were winning largely. They bagged i their winnings out of sight, as fast as ; they fell in. Sizzum, rather to my sur- | prise, was a little excited with liquor and playing recklessly, losing sovereigns by the handful. As he lost, he became fnrions. He struck Larrap in the face j and^jalled him cheat. Larrap gave him an u^ly look, and then, assuming a boozy indifference, caught Sizzum by j the hand and vowed he was his best friend. Murker kept aloof from the dis- I pute. The game began again. Again Sizzum and the Mormons lost. Again Siz- \ zuiu slapped the dealer, and catching : the faro cloth tore it in two. The two ' gamblers saw that they were in danger. , They had kept themselves sober and got i the others drunk for such a crisis. They j hurried out of the way. Sizzum and his brother saints cliased them, bnt pres- i antly, losing sight of them in the dusk, j they staggered off toward camp, singing ' uproariously. Their leader on this festi- I val had somewhat forgotten the dignity > of the apostle and captain. This low rioting was doubly disgust- i ing to me after the sad evening with j our friends. I found Sizzum more offensive as a man of the world than as a saint I say man of the world, because the gambling scenes of nominal gentlemen are often just as hateful, if more decorous, than those of that night. I 3RENT. E WINTHROP. crlcnn" Press Association.] I walked slowly off toward camp sorrow! ful and sick at heart. Baseness and vulgarity had never seemed to me 30 base 1 and vulgar till now. j I suddenly heard a voice in the bushes. : It was Larrap. He was evidon tly per1 suoding his comrade to some villainy. ; I caught a suspicious word or two. "Ah!" thought I, "you want our i horses. We will see to that" I walked slowly. Brent was seated by the embers of a camp fire, cowered in a heap, like a cold Indian. He raised his face. All the light had gone out of him. This trouble had suddenly worn into his being, like the shirt of Nessus, and poisoned his life. "John," said I, "I never knew yon despondent before." "This is not despondency." "What then?" "Despair." "I cannot offer to cheer you." "It is bitter, Wade. I have yearned to be a lover for years. All at once I find t.ii? woman I have seen and thought of and known from my first conscious I * moment The circumstances crowded j my love into sudden intensity. I made j the observations and did the work of months of acquaintance in those few moments while we were at tea. My mind always acts quick. I seem always to have been discussing my decisions | with myself, years before the subject of I decision comes to me. Whatever happens falls on me with the force of a doom. I loved Miss Clitheroe's voice the instant I heard its brave tenderness answering her father. I loveci her unseen, and would have died for her that moment. When she appeared, and I ! saw her face and read her heart, I knew that it was the old dream?the old dream that 1 never thought would be other j than a dream. The ancient hope and j expectation, coeval with my life, was fulfilled. She is the other self I have been waiting for and seeking for." "Have yon told her so?" "Cau a man 6top the beating of his heart? Can a man not breathe? Not in in words perhaps. I did not use the lover words. But she understood me. She did not seem surprised. She recognizes such a passion as her right and desert." "A great hearted woman can see how a man worthy of her can nullify time and j space, and meet her, soul to soul, in eter- j nity from the first." "So I meet her; but circumstances ! here are stronger than lovo." "Can she do nothing with her father?" "Nothing. She failed in England when this delusion first fell upon him." "Did she know what it meant for her and him?" "Hardly. She even fancied that they would be happier in America than at home, where she saw that his old grandeur was always reproaching him." "Did he conceal from her the goal and object of his emigration?" "She knew he was, or supposed himself to be, a Mormon. But Mormonism was little more than a name to her. She believed his perversion only a transitory folly. It is but recently, only since they were away from succor, off in the desert, that she has perceived her own risk. She hoped that the voyage from England would disenchant her father and that she could keep him in the states. No; he was committed; he was impracticable. You have seen yourself how far his faith is shaken. Just so far that his crazy cheerfulness has given place w moping; but he will hear nothing of reason." "What does she anticipate?" "She says she only dares to endure. Day by day they both wear away. Day by day her father's bright hope dwindles away. Day by day she perceives the moment of her own danger approaching. She could not speak to me of it; but I could feel by her tone her disgust and disdain of Sizzum. Oh, how steady and noble she is! All for her father! All to guide him with the fewest pangs to that desolate death she knows must come! She gave me a few touches of their past history, so that I could see how much closer and tenderer than the common bond of parent and child theirs had been." "That I saw from the old gentleman's story. Sorrow and poverty ennoble love." "She thanked me and you so sweetly for our society and the kind words we had given them. Sh6 had not seen her father so cheerful, so like himself, since they liad left England." "What a weary pilgrimage they must have had, poor errant souls'" "Oh, Wade, Wade! how this tragedy of theirs cures me forever of any rebellion against my own destiny. A helpless woman's tragedy is so much bitterer than anything that can befall a man." "Must we say helpless, John?" "Ar? wo two an arm v. that we can take them by force? She lias definitely j closed any farther communication on our | part. She said that I could not have j failed to notice how Elder Sizzuui dis- J liked our presence. I muse promise her i not to be seen with them in the morn- ! ing. Sizzum would find some means to ! punish her father, and that would be j torture to her. It seems that villain ' plays on the old man's religious super- \ 6titions, and can terrify him almost to j madness." "The villain! And yet how far back | of him lies the blame, that such terrors ) can exist in any man's mind when God ; is love." "I promised her not to see l.er again? j for you and myself; to see her no more. I That goodby was final. Now let u.e | alone for awhile, my dear old boy; I ain worn out and heartbroken." He mummied himself in his blankets, i and lay on the grass, motionless as a dead man. It was not his way to shirk camp duties. Indeed, his volunteer ! services had left him in arrears. I put our firearms in order in case of 1 attack and extinguished our fire. Our j horses, too, I drove in and tethered close : by. My old suspicion of Murker and ' Larrap had revived from their mutterings. I thought that, after their great winnings of tonight, they would feel i that they could make nothing more of the mail party and might seize the chance to stampede or steal some of the i Mormon horses or ours. It was a capital j chance in the sleepy hours after the revel. Horse stealing, since the bad ex- . ample of Diomed, has never gone out of fashion. Fulano and Pumps were great | prizes. I knew that Larrap hated Brent for his undisguised abhorrence and the ugly words and collision of today. The ! pair bore good will to neither of us. Their brutality had jarred with us from the beginning. I knew they would take personal pleasure in serving us a shabby trick out of their dictionary. On the . whole I determined to watch all night. Easy to purpose; hard to perform. I leaned against my satltilo ami tnougnc over the day. How I pitied poor Brentl j Pitied him the more thoroughly, since I j was hardly less a lover than he. I ! drowsed a little. A perturbed slumber overcame me. The roaring night wind aroused me at intervals with a blast { more furious, and I woke to perceive ; ominous and turbulent dreams flitting from my brain?dreams of violence, j tyranny and infamous outrage. Suddenly another sensation went creeping along my nerves. I sat bolt up- j right. There was a feeling of human j presence, of stealthy appro;ich coming ! up against the night wind and crushing ; its roar with a sound more penetrating, j Brent, too, was on the alert. ".Some ono at our horses," he whis- | pered. We (lashed forward. There was a rustle of flight through the bushes. We each fired a shot. The noiso ceased. "Stop!" said my friend, as I was giving chase. "We must not leave the horses. They will stampede them while we are off." "They? Perhaps it was only a coyote or a wolf. Why, Fulano, old fellow!" Fulano trotted up neighing and licked my hand. His lariat had been cut?a clean cut with a knife. We were only just in time. "Wo must keep watch till morning," said I. "I have been drowsing. I will take the first hour." Brent, with a moan of weariness, threw himself down again on the grass. I sjit watchful. The night wind went roaring on. It loves those sweeps and surges of untenanted plain, as it loves the lifts and levels of the barren sea. The fitfnl gale rushed down as if it had boiled over the edge of some great hollow in the mountains, and then staid to gather force for another overflow. In its pauses I could hear the stir and murmur of tho Mormon cattle, a thousand and more. But once there came a larger pause; tho air grew silent, as if it had never known a breeze, or as if all life and motion between earth and sky were utterly and forever quelled. In that one instant of dead stillness, when the noise of the cattle was hushed and our horses ceased champing to listen, I seemed to hear the clang of galloping hoofs not far away to the southward. Galloping hoofs, surely I heard them. Or was it only the charge of a fresh blast down the mountain side, uprooting ancient pines and flinging great rocks from crag to chasm.' And that strange, terrible, human, inhuman sound, outringing the noise of the hoofs and making the silence a ghastly horror?was it a woman's scream? No; it could only be my fevered imagination that found familiar sounds in the inarticulate voices of the wilderness. I listened long and intently. The wind 6ighed and raved and threatened again. I heard the dismal howling of wolves far away in the darkness. I kept a double watch of two hours, and then calling Brent to do his share, threw myself on the gniss and slept soundly. CHAPTER XIV. ARMSTRONG. ZhJkkif He pulled his horse I turd upon his haunches and glared at us. I awoke in the solemn quiet dawn of the next morning with my forebodings of ill gone, and in their stead what I could not but deem a biiseless hopefulness for our new friends' welfare. Brent did not share it. His usual gay matin song was dumb. He cowered, chilled and spiritless, by onr camp fire. Breakfast was an idle ceremony to both. We sat and looked at each other. His despair began to infect me. This would not do. I left my friend, Bitting unnerved and purposeless, and walked to tho mail riders' camp. Jake Shaniberlain was already stirring about as merry as a grig?and that is much to say on the plains. There are two grigs to every blade of grass from Echo canyon to tho South pass, and yet every one sings and skips .is gayly as if merriment would make the desert a meadow. "You are astir early after the ball, Jake," said I. "Ef I wait till the gals in the train begins to polky round I shan't git my men away nary time. They olluz burr to gals, like all young fellers. We'll haul off jest as soon us you're ready." "We are ready," I said. I made our packs and saddled the mustangs. "Come, Brent," 6aid I, shaking him by the shoulder, "start, old fellow! Your ride will rouse you." He obeyed and mounted. He was quite cowed and helpless. I did not know my brave, cheerful friend in this weak being. He seemed to me as old and dreary jus Mr. Clitheroe. Love must needs have taken a very cruel clutch upon his heart. There wjis not one man outside of our own party to be seen. "Where are their sentinels, Jake/" said I. "Too much spree for good wjitch," says he. "Elder Sizzuui ought to look sharper." "He's a prime leader. But he tuk dance, jigree and faro hist night with a perfect looseness. I dunno what's come over Sizzum; bein a great apossle's maybe too much for him. But then he knows ther ain't no Utes round here to stampede his animals or run off any of his gals. Both er you men could have got you a wife apiece last night, and ben twenty miles on the way jind nobody j the wiser. Now, boys, be alive with j them mules. I want to be off." "Where jire Smith and Robinson?" I asked, missing the two gamblers as we ' started. "Let 'em slide, cuss 'em!" said Jake. j " 'Tain't my business to cjiII 'em up and I fetch 'em hot water and black their j boots. They moved camp away from j us over into the brush by you. Reckon j they was afeared some on us would be | goin havles with 'em in the pile they raked last ught. Let 'em slide, the dura ripperbits! Every man for hisself, I say. They snaked me to the figure of ji slug at their cheatin game, and now they may sleep till they dry and turn to gnisshopper pie for me." Jake cracked his long whip. The j / 1 .. ii? ur? I mules sprang rorwani lugeiuei. no started. I gave one more look at the caravan we had seen winding so beautifully down on the plain no longer ago than yester- J day evening. Rosy morning brightened : on every wagon of the great ellipse. Not i a soul wjis to Ikj seen of all their tenants, j I recognized Mr. Clitheroe's habitation | at the farther end. That, too, had the j same mysterious, deserted air, ;is if the j sad pair who dwelt in it had desperately | wandered away into the desert by night. Brent would not turn. He kept his haggard face bent eastward toward tho horizon, where an angry sunrise began [ to thrust out the quiet hues of dawn. I followed tho train, doggedly refusing to think nioro of those desolate friends we were leaving. Their helpless fate made all tho beauty of the scene only crueler bitterness. What right j had dawn to tinge with sweetest violet | and with hopeful rose the shelters of 1 that camp of delusion and folly! We rode steadily on through the cool haze, and then through the warm, sunny haze of that October morning. Brent hardly uttered a word. He left mo tho whole task of driving our horses. A difficult task this morning. Their rest and feast of yesterday had put Pumps and Fulano in high spirits. I had my i hands full to keep them in the track. We had ridden some eighteen miles ; when Brent fell back out of the dust of | our march and beckoned me. "Dick," said lie, "I have had enough ; of this." Ho grew more like himself as ho spoke. "I was crushed and cowardly, last night and this morning," ho continued. "For the first time in my life my hope aud judgment fail me together. You must ilespise me tor giving up and quitting Miss Clitheroe." "My dear hoy," said I, "we were partners in our despair." "Mine is gone. I have made up my mind. I will not leave her. I will ride i?n with you to the South pass. That will give the caravan a start, so that 1 can follow unobserved. Then I will follow, and let her know in some way that she has a friend within call. She must be saved sooner or later whether she will or no. Love or no love, such n woman shall not be left to will herself dead, rather than to fall into the hands of a beast like Sizzum. I have no mission, you know," and he smiled drearily. "I make one now. I cannot fight the good fight against villainy and brutishness anywhere better than here. When I get into the valley I will camp down at Jake's. I can keep my courage up hunting grizzlies until she wants me. Perhaps I may find Biddulph there still. What do you say, old fellow? I am bound to yon for the journey. Will you forgive me for leaving you?" "You will find it hard work to leave me. I go with yon and stand by you in this cause, life or death." Mir dnop frinrwlt mv brother!" ' We took hands on this. Our close friendship passed into completed brotherhood. Doubts and scruples vanished. We gave ourselves to our knight errantry. "We will save her, John," said I. "She is my sister from this moment." His face lighted up with the beauty of his boyish days. He straightened himself in his saddle, gave his fair mnstac'e a twirl, and hummed, for gayety of heart, "Ah non ginnge!" to the beat of his mustang's hoofs. We were riding at the bottom of a little hollow. The dusty trail across the nnfenced wilderness, worn smooth and broiid as a turnpike by the march of myriad caravans, climbed up the slopes before and behind us, like the wake of a ship between surges. The mail train had disappeared over the ridge. Our horses had gone with it. Brent aud 1 were alone, as if the world held no other tenants. Suddenly we heard the rush of ft horsemau after us. Before we could turn he was down the hillock?he was at our side. Ho pulled his horse hard upon his haunches and glared at us. A fierce look it was; yet a bewildered look, as of ono suddenly cheated of a revengo lie had laid finger on. He glared at us, we gazed at him, an instant, without a word. A ghiistly pair?this apparition?horse and man! The horse was a tall, gaunt, white. There were the deep hollows of age over his bloodshot eyes. His outstretched head showed that he shared his master's eagerness of pursuit. Death would have chosen such a steed for a gallop on one of death's errands. Death would have commissioned such a rider to bear a sentenco of death. A tall, gaunt man, with the loose, long frame of a pioneer, but the brown vigor of a pioneer was gone from him. His face was lean and bloodless. It was clear where some of his blood had found issue. A strip of old white blanket, soiled with dust and blood, was turbaned askew about his head, and under it there showed the ugly edges of a recent wound. When he pulled up beside us his striugy right hand was ready upon tho butt of a revolver. He dropped the muzzle as he looked at us. For what horror was this mau the embodied Nemesis! "Where are they?" He whispered this question in a voica thick with stern purpose and shuddering with some recollection that inspired the purpose. "They! Who?" , The two murderers." "They staid behind at Bridger." "No. The Mormons told me they were here. Don't hide them! Their time is come." Still in the same curdling whisper. He crushed his voice, as if he feared the very hillocks of the prairie would reverberate his words and earth would utter a warning cry to those he hunted to fly, fly, for the avenger of blood was at hand. No need 10 be told whom he sought. The two gamblers?the two murderers ?the brnte3 we had suspected; but where were they? Where to be sought? We hailed the mail train. It was but a hundred yards before us over the ridge . Jake Shamberlain and his party returned to learn what delayed us. The haggard horsemen stared at them all in silence. "I've seen you before, stranger," said Shamberlain. "Yes," said the man, in his shuddering whisper "It's Armstrong from Oregon, from the Umpqna, ain't it? You don't look as if you were after cattle this time. Where's your brother?" "Murdered." "I allowed something had happened, because he warn't 'long. I never seed two men stick so (dose as you and he did. They didn't kill him without gettin a lick at you, I see. Who was it? Indians?" "Worse." "I reckon I know why you're after ns then." "I can't waste time, Sliamberlair.," said Armstrong, in a hurried whisper. "I'll tell you iu two words what's happened to mo, and p'r'aps you can he lp me to find the men I mean to find." "I'll help you, if I know how, Armstrong. I hain't seen no two in my life, old country or new country, saints or gentiles, as I'd do more for 'n you and your brother. I've olluz said, ef the world was chock full of Armstrongs, Paradise wouldn't pay, and Abraham, Isaac and Jacob moutjust as well blow out their candle and go under a bushel basket, unless a half bushel would kiver 'em." The stranger seemed insensible to this compliment. Ho went on in the same whisper, full of agony, pain and weariness. While he talked his panting horso drew up his lip and whinnied, showing i his long, yellow teeth. The spirit of his rider had entered hiin. lie was in.pa- i tieut of this dalliance. "Wo were coming down from the ] Umpqna, my brother and I," said Armstrong, "goan across to the states to drive out cattle next summer. We was > little late one morning, along of our horses bavin strayed olT from camp, and that was how we met them men. Two on 'em ther' was?a tall, most ungodly Pike and a little, fat, mean lookin runt. We lighted on 'em just to the crossiu of ; mi rvnm ! Dear river, iin*} hi? kpuhh h^.h | rameiiter, tliey said. I kinder allowed they was horse thieves and wanted to j shy off. Bnt Bill?that wfis my j brother" Here the poor fellow choked a little. "Bill, ho never could think wrong of 1 nobody. Bill, he said: 'No. Looks was j nothin,' he said, 'and we'd jino the fel- I lers.' So we did, and rode together all ( day, and camped together on a branch j we cum to. I reckon we talked too i much about the cattle we was goan to i buy, and I suppose ther' ain't many on j the Pacific side that ain't heard of the ! Armstrongs. They allowed we had j money, them murderers did. Well, we | camped all right, and went to sleep, and j I never knowed nothin, ef it warn't a j dream that a grizzly had wiped me over j the head, till I woke up the next day j with the sun brilin down on my head, ' and my head all raw and bloody, .us ef I'd been scalped. And there w;is Bill? ! my brother Bill?lyin dead in his ! blankets." A shudder passed through our group. These were the men we had tolerated, sat with at the camp fire, to whose rough stories and foul jokes wo had listened. Brent's instinct was true. Armstrong was evidently an honest, simple, kindly fellow. His eyes wero pure, gentle blue. They filled with tears as lie spoke. But the stern look remained, the Rhadamantkino whisper only grew thicker with vengeance. "Bill was dead," he continued. "The hatchet slipped when they come to hit me, and they was too skeared, I suppose, to go on choppin me as they had him. P'r'aps his ghost cum round and told 'em't warn't the fair thing they'd ben at, and't warn't. "Bui; they got our horses, Bill's big sorrel anc'l my Flathead horse, what's made a hundred and twenty-three m" is betwixt sunrise and sunset of a September day, goan for the doctor, when Ma Armstro ng was tnk to die. They got the horses and our money belts. So when I fotfnd Bill was dead, I knowed what my life was left me for. I tied up ray head, ahd somehow I crep and walked and ran and got to Box Elder. I don't know how long it took nor who showed me the way, but I got there." Box Elder is the northernmost Mormon settlement, or was, in those days. "I'll never say another word agin the Morinon religion, Jake," Armstrong went on. "They treated me like a Fldflr. Thpv nntfit.tpd me with a pistol, fffd this ere horse. They Baid he'd cdme'in from a train what the Indians had cut off, and was a terrible one to go. He is, and I believe he knows what he's goan for. I've ben night and day ridin on them murderers' trail. Now, men, give me time to think. Bill's murderers ain't at Bridger. They was there last midnight. They must be somewheres within fifty miles, and I'll find 'em, so help me God!" His hoarse whisper was still. No one spoke. Another rush of hoofs down the slope behiud! CHAPTER XV. OUT OF SIZZUM'S NET. Wc mounted and were off. Another rush of horses' feet behind us. What? Elder Sizzum? And that pale, gray shadow of a man, whose pony the elder drags by the bridle, and lashes cruelly forward?who? Mr. Clitheroe. Sizzum rode straight up to Brent. The two men faced e;ich other?the big, hulking, bullying saint; the slight, graceful, self possejised gentile. Sizzum quailed a little when he saw the other did not quail. He seemed to change his intended form of address. "Brother Clitheroe wants his daughter," said Sizzum. "Yes, yes, gentlemen," said Mr. Clitheroe in feeble echo, "I want my daughter." Brent ignored the Mormon. He turned to the father and questioned eagerly. "What is this, dear sir? Is Miss Ellen missing! She is :not here. Speak, sir! Tell us at once how she was lost. We must be on her track instantly. Wade, shift the saddles to Fulano and Pumps while I make up our packs. Speak, sir! Speak!" Brent's manner carried conviction, even to Sizzum. "I did not like to suspect you, gentlemen," said Mr. Clitheroe, "after our pleiisant evening and your kindness, but Brother Sizzum said it could not be any one else." "Get the facts, Wade," said Brent; "I cannot trust myself to ask." Sizzum smiled a base, triumphant suiile over the agony of my friend. "Tell us quick," said I, faking Mr. Clitheroe firmly by the arm and fixing his eye. "In the night., an hour or more after you left us, I was waked up by two men creeping into the wagon. They whispered they would shoot if I breathed. They passed behind the curtain. My daughter had sunk on the floor, tired out, poor child, without undressing. They threw a blanket over her head and stifled her so that she could not utter a sound. They tied mo and gagged me. Then they dragged her off. God forgive j me, gentlemen, for suspecting you of i such brutality! I lay in the wagon al- | most strangled i;o death until the team- j ster came to put to the oxen for onr ! journey. That :.s all I know." "The two gamblers, murderers, have carried her off," said I; "but we'll save j her yet, please God!" "Oh," said S.zzurn, "ef them devils has got her that's the end of her. I hain't got no more interest in her case, j I believe I'll go. I've wasted too much i time now from the Lord's business." He moved to go. "What am I to do?" said Mr. Clitheroe. Forlorn, bereaved, perplexed old man! Any but a brute would have hesitated j to strike him another blow. Sizzum did hot hesitate. "You may go to the devil across lots j on that runt pony of yourn, with your J new friends, for all I care. I've had | enough of your daughter's airs, as if she was too good to be teched by one of 1 lie Lord's chosen. But she'll get the Lord's vengeance now, because she wouldn't see what was her place and privileges. And you're no better than a backslider. You've been grumblin and settin yourself up for somebody. I would cuss you now with the wrath to come if such a poor spirited granny was wuth cussin." The base wretch lashed his horse and galloped off. Even his own people of the mail party ; looked and muttered contempt. Mr. Clitherce seemed utterly stunned. Guide, faith, daughter, all gone! What was he to do, indeed! "Never miad, Mr. Clitheroe," said j Brent tenderly, "I hope you havo not 1'wfc ;i dniirrjito!*. I know vou have trained a son?yes, two of them. Here, Juke Shamberlain!" "Here, sir! Up to time! lleatly to pull my pound!" "Wilde and I are going after the lady. Do you take this gentleman and deliver him safe and sound to Captain Ruby at Fort Laramie. Tell Ruby to keep him I till we come, and treat him ;ls lie would General Scott. Drive our mules and the mustangs to Laramie and leave them there. We trust tho whole to you. There's no time to talk. Tell, me what money you want for the work, anil I'll pay you now in advance whatever you ask." "I'll be switched round creation ef you do. Not the first red! You think, beknse I'm a Mormon, as you call it, I hain't got no nat'ral feelin's. Why, boys, I'd go with you myself after the gal and let Uncle Sam's mail lie there and wait till every letter answered itself ef I had a kettrypid what could range with yonrn. No, no; Jake Shamberlain ain't a hog and his mail boys ain't of the pork kind. I'll take keer of the old gentle.nmti and put him through jest'z as if he was my own father and wuth a million slugs. And ef that ain't talkin fair I dunno what is." We both griped Jake Shamberlain's friendly fist. Mr. Clitheroe, weary with his morning's ride, faint and sick after his bonds of tho night, and now crushed in spirit and utterly liewildercd with these sudden changes, was handed over to his new protector. Tho emancipating force had found him. Ho was free of his Murmonism. llis delusion had discarded him. A rough and cruel termination of his hopes! How would lie bear this disappointment? Would his heart break? Would his mind break, his life break? We could not check ourselves to think of him. Our thoughts were galloping furiously on in succor of the daughter, fallen on an evil fate. While this hasty talk had been going on I hrid shifted our saddles to Pumps and Fulano. Noble fellows! they took in the calm excitement of ray mood. They grew eager as a greyhound when he sees the hare break cover. They divined that their moment had come! Now their force was to be pitted against brutality. Horse against brute?which would win? I dared not think of the purpose of our going. Only begone! begone! was ringing in my ears, and a ngure i dared not see waa uerore my eyes. I was frenzied with excitement; but I held myself steady as one holds his rifle when a buck comes leaping out of the forest into the prairie, where rifle and man have been waiting and trembling, while the hounds' bay came nearer, nearer. I drew strap and tied knot of our girths and doubled the knot. There must be no chafing of saddles, no dismounting to girth up. That was to be a gallop, I knew, where a man who fell to the rear would be too late for the fight Brent meantime has rolled up a little stock of provisions in each man's double blanket. We were going we knew not how far. We must be ready for work of many days. A moment's calmness over our preparations now might save desolate defeat or death hereafter. We lashed our blankets with their con ten; j on firmly by the buckskin thongs which are attached to the cantle of a California saddle?the only saddle for such wo: k as we?horses and menhave on the ,-lains. "Rifles?" said I. "No. Knives and six shooters are enough," said Brent, as cool as if our ride mom on nrn:imnnfjil nrninpn.lflp RP.heVftl. "We cannot carry weight or clumsy weapons on t his journey." We mourned and were off, with a cheer from Jake Shamberlain and his boys. All this time we had not noticed Armstrong. As we struck off southward upon the trackless prairie that ghastly "figure upon the gaunt white horse was beside us. "We're bound on the same arrant," whispered he. "Only the savin's yourn and the killin's mine." Did my hoi>e awake, now that the lady I had chosen for my sister was snatched from that monstrous ogre of Mormonism? Yes; for i.ow instant, urgent action was possible. We could do something. Gallop, gallop?that we could do. God speed us! and the lady should be saved. If not saved, avenged! [to iik continukd nkxt week.] |jiliscfHancous fUadittg. A MEADOW FISH. I am going to tell a fish story, not with any particular attempt to be entertaining, but with a strong adherence to truth. I was fishing for muskallonge in a small lake in northern Wisconsin. I had never caught a muskallonge? had never seen one except as a sort of advertisement, cold and expressionless of eye, stretched on ice in the show window of a railroad office ; but I knew how to fish for this Captain Kidd of bait takers. I had consulted a number of friends and they had told me of the strict necessity of having a strong line. "When I caught that sixty-three-anda-half pound muskallonge," said a commercial reporter on an afternoon newspaper, "I had a double seagrass line, strong enough to lasso a steer, and about four feet of the end next to the spoon hook was wrapped with fine steel wire to keep the fish from chewing it in two." I went amply provided with the necessary seagrass line, and with the essential wrapping of steel wire?I was furnished with every temptation, every glittering allurement of spoon and every gaudy charm of feather, and yet no muskallonge even so much as sniffed at the magnificent outfit. I began fishing at early morning, and after threshing about in tired, useless and depressing endeavor until sometime in the afternoon, I decided to go to a farm house, about a mile away, and rest. Intending to come back at evening, I did not take off the spoon hook, but winding it close up to the tip of the pole, set out for the place of rest. After climbing a fence, I entered a large clover meadow, a waving lake of green, tossing up gems of red. Suddenly I was startled by a furious barking, and wheeling about I saw an enormous uun-aog making iu mv imu desperate teuring and lunges of savage eagerness. There was a tree about a hundred yards away, and I took to my heels and stretched my neck in its direction. Gracious, I reached it just in lime, and merciful goodness that loves the fisherman, the branches were so low that by springing up I could reach them; but the dog was so close that something must be done before taking the hazard of an upward bound, and I wheeled about and desperately struck at him with my fishing-rod. The tip of the pole struck hftn?he howled? he sprang back?Ciesar, my reel began to sing! I had hooked him in the nose. Still holding the rod, I sprang tip in the tree and seated myself securely in a fork. My reel had stopped singing, and looking down I saw that the dog was coming toward me, striking at his nose with his paws. I reeled in the slaek, and when lie felt the line tighten, he made a lunge toward me, but I caught up with him and held him taut. He barked furiously, wallowed in the clover and howled, but my pity was not excited. The lishcrman has 110 pity for the monster he is playing with, and if I do say it myself, I am a fisherman. Suddenly the dog, apparently seized by fright, started across the meadow as fast as his legs could carry him, and my reel sang an enchanting tune. 1 had four hundred feet of line, and when he reached the end of it, he flopped over in a somersault, and, with a howl, or rather more like a roar, he made for the tree and I took in my slaek, thankful for the good things of this life, lie jumped at me, and I wished that I had brought a gallhook, and then he darted oil' again, lie sulked iu a low place where the clover was rank, and then plunging wildly "Hopped" 011 a knoll where the 11? 11.. j i.s,ri. gHlSS was SliailOW. Jit; jiiiiijihi iiit,n and tried to shake out the liook ; he bowed himself and with a steady pull strove to break the line; he caught the line in his mouth and tried to chew it in two, but the steel wire sawed him and he howled, lie ran down into the deep elover and sulked again. 1 kept the line taut. He started for the knoll, and I threw him a somersault and he lay on his back panting. 1 pulled him a trifle, and he got up, and with tail between his legs, he walked up to the base of the tree, looked up at me, whined piteously and lay down. I read submission in his eyes; and I climbed down, and as gently as 1 eon hi, extracted the hook. He licked my hand, gave me a look of deep gratitude and then trotted away. Keif" In a recent speech at a banquet, Colonel Robert <!. Ingersoll said that arbitration was a good thing for civil! ized nations, but, for his part, lie was , in favor of a strong navy for this republic. "I want," he said, '"the biggest and best ships and the biggest ! guns. The olive-branch of peace is a good thing to extend, but no weak, : puny nation can extend olive-branches j to well-armed nations. When the j olive-branch is extended in a mailed hand, it is understood that there is no : foolishness. If we are going to have a , navy at all, I want the best, because, j if we have a poor navy, we shall simj ply make a present of it to the enemy when a war comes." THE HUMBUG OF PROVERBS. j A proverb has been defined as "the j wisdom of many and the wit of one." j Into many proverbs are packed pithy ! suggestions as to conduct and generali ized experiences of mankind. They I are sarcastic, hortative, minatory, mirth-provoking, but they are not ! wiser than the people who make them, j Hence, many of them, some of the most widely current, are arrant hum; bugs, asserts the New York Examiner, j If they were once true to experience, I under certain conditions, they are true | no longer. To say this is flat contra! diction of the well-knewn proverb, "Nobody is wiser than everybody." But even that is one of the humbugs. It not infrequently happens that a single man is wiser than his whole gen1 eration. Such men become first the i leaders, then the martyrs, of their age, but are the saints and heroes of the i ages which follow. As a flagrant instance of proverbial j unwisdom and humbug, take the disj tich which has been dinned into the j ears of unnumbered generations of i children : "Early to bed, and early to rise, I Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." This is a terse and witty generalization of the experience of a pastoral community, where to get on in the world it was necessary to work in the fields from "sun-up to sun-down." It has no application whatever to town life. The wealthy and wise men of town are men who work late and rise late; and as to health, it is notorious that no part of our population so suffers from all manner of diseases as farmers and their families. Yet how many have been deprived of their natural sleep by a superstition, begot of this wretched rhyme, that early rising | is conducive to health. It is only in recent years that people have had the sleep which nature demands. The man I who did so a generation ago was called ."lazv"?the most intolerable of all epI WlintD PrnnHin ovnn nimPli n. nrOV crb ut him : "Men need five hours' sleep, women six, children and fools seven." Now-a-days the man who takes less than eight is a fool. , Take some of the maxims inculcating shrewd business policy. "A penny saved is a penny earned," has ruin? ed many a man who could not persuade himself to spend money with judicious lavishness in enlarging his business. The penny saved was so large in his eyes that it hid the dollar lost by his foolish economy. "Out of debt, out of danger," and "better go to bed supperless than rise in debt," are a precious pair which have brought many to the poorhouse. Debt is the only salvation of many a man. Not debt recklessly incurred by extravagant living beyond his means, but debt incurred in the purchasing of a home or the establishing of business. Where would modern commercial affairs be but for credit ? But credit means debt; for if A trusts B, B must owe A. Debt makes muny a man careful and saving who would spend all he gets if he had no pressing obligations to meet. So he is forced, as it were, in spite of himself, to provide for sickness and old age. LAST DAYS OF AARON BURR. Edward Soleau, a venerable man generally known as "Frenchy," is a resident of Detroit. He was formerly coaclnnan to Aaron Burr, and was recently interviewed on the subject by a reporter of The Tribune of that city. He chiefly remembers the poverty of Burr in his latter days?the man who came within one vote of being president of the United States. Burr's courtship with Mme. Jumet was a romantic one. He was at that time 77 years old, erect, dignified and handsome. He had always been adored by the women, and even in his old age he won the heart of this brilliant widow, then over sixty. "Colonel Burr used to come every Sunday," relates "Frenchy." "After a little while he proposed to her and was rejected. He told her he'd bring a minister with him and marry her anyway. Sure enough, he did, the very next Sunday, and they were married. Madame had been away all day and when she^came she ordered all the lights in the house to be lit. Colonel Burr arrived soon after and they were married in the front parlor. No one was present but the minister and the contracting parties. That same night the madame and the colonel drove away to Hartford in madame's new carriage. When they came back they had quarreled and were at sword's points. Madame supposed the colonel was rich, when in reality, he didn't have a cent. She asked him to buy the carriage and horses, expecting him to pay, giving him the money. The colonel spent the money on foolish extravagances and madame had to pay for the carriage again. Madame's rage knew no bounds when she heard of this. She refused to let him ride in the carriage, and would hardly speak to hi in. It was told among the servants that they had terrible times together. One night the colonel came there and found the madame gone and all the furniture locked up by me. fie asked me to get out the horses and carriage. I did so, and he promised to pay me for it. I drove him to the Hoboken wharf and let him out. He told 111c to wait for my pay and got out, hurrying rapidly away. I did not dare to j go back to the madame, so I hired a boy to return the rig and left the town. I I came to Detroit and have been here j ever since. Madame lived for several I years after the colonel died. Ah ! but sibi! was a rrraml woman : so proud, so : refined, and so beautiful. We have 110 women like her now, none." Here the old man clasped his hands before him and looked rapturously into space, ' as if recalling the image of his adored ! madame. "Frenchy," remembers all I the great men and women of that time, for they all called on the madame; but, singularly enough, be cannot recall anything but some trivial action that the world considers foolish. As for i Hurr, he concluded by saying: "A line old gentleman he was, and spent all his money teaching young girls bow to j play on the piano, at least so Mine. 1 .J timel told me." A TKMPERANCB TALK. This subject has been much in my , mind for weeks, and I can keep silent no ! longer. It is a subject that should be I discussed in every home,and it has been brought to me in several new lights j within a short time. I could wish that every member of our band had seen something I witnessed not many days j ago : none would need a second lesson j to convince them of the misery which j j intemperance brings. A lady said tome recently; "One, two. or even three glasses a day would not hurt any man, but when he goes ' beyond this, .it is time he stopped." I say, stop before taking one glass; there is no other way to make sure of | not becoming a drunkard. After taking the third glass, a man doesn't often stop to count?be takes a glass whenever be can get it. .Mothers, talk on this subject to your daughters. There can be none of you who do not know of one case, if not more, where poverty and misery liecame the lot of some bright girl, because she married a man who drank. If girls would only wait to learn the habits of young men before accepting , their attentions, they would in many j cases be saved life-long regret and sor row. Many a young giri nas, against, the advice of parents and friends, married a man who she knew drank, with < the idea that she could reform him, because he said she coula, and made such i fair promises of reform?to find herself, a few years later?where ? Sunk to the lowest depths of poverty and sorrow, her soul steeped in misery, and < her own sufferings rendered more acute by the knowledge that her little children are suffering with her. Her regrets are keener than a two-edged < sword. She has found that a drunk- , ard's promises are as brittle as glass and as easily broken. No one can talk ' on temperance like such as these, and their words carry conviction. I wish every young lady who is tempted to accept a man on his promises of reform would visit one of these drinkcursed homes; I am sure she would refuse to trust her happiness in hands that, tin the "social crlass" even once a day. r " A bright young man said: "Oh, I only drink a glass of lager now and then!" Five years after he was picked up dead from the roadside where he had fallen in a drunken sleep and' frozen to death. He left a wife and two little children, one a cripple for life because he, when crazed by drink, thfew the little fellow down stairs. He did not stop at one glass. Yes, talk temperance to the boys and girls morning,noon and night; and may you find stronger words than mine to paint the evil in all its hideousness. Think of the crimes committed by the crazed victims of strong drink, in even our own country, and then say if temperance ought not to be talked of in our homes.?Hearth and Home. FOREST HILL ALLIANCE NO. 177. Manuscript copies of the following resolutions passed by Forest Hill Alliance No. 177, on November 21, 1891, have been received at this office for publication: Whereas, we (Forest Hill Alliance) have noticed with much interest the resolutions adopted by the Cotton convention held in Atlanta, Ga., and believing that the adoption of the same by the cotton producers will redound to their benefit, and believing that we must look to the adoption of some such methods to reform the evils now existing, and to enhance the value of cotton, therefore be it Resolved, That we hereby heartily endorse the resolutions and suggestions as published in the proceedings of the cotton convention, and to the end that the same may be universally adopted, Resolved, That we recommend to the non-Alliance cotton producers that they co-operate with us by using their influence and support toward carrying into effect the resolutions referred to. Resolved, That these resolutions be sent to The Cotton Plant and our county papers for publication, and that a copy of the same be sent to the secretary of the Cotton convention. D. J. GLENN, President. E. D. Thompson, Secretary. Whereas, at public meetings held in different portions of this State, and through the newspapers, certain politicians who have held our confidence in the past, have condescended to maliciously malign and abuse the leaders of our order for no other than the cause they have assumed to defend, the just and honest principles of the Alliance; therefore, we the members of Forest Hill Alliance feel it bur duty to express our disgust at the actions of these politicians and to place upon record our position in regard to our leaders. Therefore, be it Resolved, 1. That we depricate and express our disgust at the treacherous and low actions of the politicians whom South Carolina has honored, and endorse the position taken and so manfully and intelligently sustained by our worthy president, Dr. J. William Stokes and Brother W. J. Talbert and others against the foul and unjust accusations of. these designing politicians and editors, and we hereby pledge our united support to these public champions of our cause in any and every effort they may make for the educational and financial improvement of our people. Resolved, 2. That these resolutions be published in the county papers and in The Cotton Plant. D. J. GLENN, President. E. D. Thompson, Secretary. At. ii III) AP \V ONUEKfUJLt VjritU mil vjc limn v> Horse's Mane and Ta'il.?The Scientific American publishes an illustration of a horse that has recently attracted much attention for the extraordinary development of the hair of his mane, forelock and tail. The animal is very handsome. It is a stallion of French or Percheron, Printer and Clydesdale blood. He is sixteen hands in height, weighs 1,435 pounds and is of chestnut color. The mane and tail are of the same hue. He is now eight years old and was foaled in Marion county, Ore. The mane is fourteen feet, the foretop nine feet, and the tail twelve feet long. When spread and drawn out to their full extent, the display of the beautiful locks of the bright hair is quite impressive. The greatest care is take of the hair. It is washed out with cold water, no tonics being applied to it. Before the horse is placed in his stall the hair is drawn out and divided into several thick strands. From his mane four such strands are made. Each strand is then tied around about once every six inches to the end. It is then rolled up and put into a bag. For his mane and foretop alone five bags are required. He is exercised in the same guise, a blanket or sheet, if necessary, being thrown over him to conceal the pendant bags. The greatest care is taken of his health. He is exercised every day either in a ring or out of doors under thc'saddlc. The owners will not permit him to be taken into the upper floor of any building for fear of some accident. During the last two years his mane and tail have grown about two feet. An Itkmizkd Bill.?An artist who who had been employed to repair and retouch the properties of an old church in the suburbs of a far Western city, on being refused payment in a lump for his work, was asked for details, and sent the following itemized bill to the church officials: Correcting Ten Commandments $f> 12 Embellishing Pontius Pilate and nutting new ribbons on his bonnet :i 20 New tail on rooster of St. Peter and mending his comb 2 21) Kcguilding left wing ol' Guardian Angel ; 1 is Washing a servant of High Priest and putting carmine on his check "> 12 Renewing Heaven, adjusting two stars, and cleaning moon 7 14 Reanimating thunes of Purgatory and restoring souls '! !H) Reviving Hell, putting new tail on Devil, and several jobs for the lost 7 17 Rolsirdering robes of Herod and readjusting wig 4 (HI Putting new spotted sashes on the son of Tobias and dressing his sacquc 2 <H) Cleaning ears of Balaam's ass and shoeing same 2 41) Putting rings in ears of Sarah '{ 20 i Putting new stone in David's sling, enlarging head oft ioliath, and extending his leg -I Decorating Noah's Ark ') (H) Mending shirt of Prodigal Son 4(H) Total $ ">!? (? rot... 1 ..J.u-iini slinck 1 IIU JJUUU I'lllll CII I'WVjriV ffV.v ... j cd, hut the hill was paid. | flia>'" When did wc take up the fusli| ion of calling niemhers of congress "senator" and "congressman ?" It is of comparatively recent origin, for no trace of it is found in the political literature of a generation or two hack, and old gentlemen have told me that they remember when it was entirely unknown. Did you ever hear anybody speak of Senator Webster, or | Senator Calhoun, or Congressman McDullie, or Congressman Alexander II. Stephens? These men were called by the good old title of mister, and the prefixes which we stick in front of the name of every man who happens to be in congress sound absurd when joined to their honored names. Even of late years the title has not been generally applied to the most distinguished men in congress. The imperious senator from New York was nearly always referred to as Mr. Conkling. we iieur leu pciouuo o ?j mm, where one says Senator Carlisle. The old style is decidedly better than the new. The change came about, prob- , ably, because it got to be so common to find the office bigger than the man that it was considered by him and his friends an honor to be labelled with his official title.?F. H. Richardson, in Atlanta Journal. Outranked Scripture.?When Sherman reached Atlanta, he had much trouble in keeping back camp-followers, sutlers, women, curiosity seekers, and so on. He gave stringent orders that no one was to be allowed to go to the front without a specific order. Just about that time a surgeon came back from a furlough. He had passes through to Atlanta, but at Chattanooga they refused to allow his wife to accompany him further. They had only been married a few weeks, and he had resolved that she should go with him, orders or no orders. Accordingly he dressed her as a soldier, and managed to smuggle her on a train. At Resaca s he was stopped, her sex being discovered. The officer of the post absolutely refused to allow her to go on. ? j-j to~.1i., ine surgeon pieaucu. ciuwi;, <?w. appealing to the officer's sense of mercy, he fell back on Scripture. "My pass allows one to go to the front," he said, "and Scripture says a man and his wife are one." "Thunder!" retorted the officer; "Sherman outranks scripture all to blazes in these times." The Right Abm and Left Foot.? The right arm is always a little larger than the left, but the left foot is almost always larger than the right, presumably because, while nearly every man uses his right arm to lift a weight or strike a blow, he almost invariably kicks with his left foot, while the lounger stands on his left leg and lets his right fall easily, because he has learned by experience that this is the best attitude be can assume to prevent lassitude and fatigue. This constant bearing of the weight on the foot makes it wider than the right, and it often happens that a man who tries on a shoe on the right foot, and gets a close fit, has to discard the shoes altogether because he can not endure the pain caused by the tightness of the left. If when riding on a street-car you will take the trouble to notice, you will notice than in laced shoes the gap is much smaller on the right foot than on the left, while with button shoes the buttons have to be set back ten times on the left shoe to once on the right.? St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Endorsing.?This system of endorsing is all wrong, and should be utterly abolished. It has been the financial ruin of more men than, perhaps, all other causes. Bookkeeping, a journal devoted to merchants, clerks and business men, advises our young men especially to study the matter carefully in all its bearings, then adopt some settled policy to govern their conduct, so as to be ready to answer the man who asks them to sign his note. What responsibility does one assume when he endorses a note ? Simply this: He is held for the payment of the amount in full, principle and interest, if the maker of the note, through misfortune, mismanagement, or rascality, fails to pay it. Notice, the endorser assumes all this responsibility, with no voice in the management of the business and no share in the profits of the transaction, if it proves profitable; but with a certaiuty of loss if, for any of the reasons stated, the principal fails to pay the note. Sick-Room Vagaries.?"It is curious to notice the moral effect of illness upon people," said a prominent physician the other day. "For instance, among my patients are a preacher who swears when he is sick, and a gambler who prays. A successful and wellknown business man will not go to his bed when illness attacks him, because of a morbid fear that he will never rise from it again. A lady of not the prettiest character has all of her jewelry and fine dresses laid on the foot of her bed, I suppose to keep her mind from terrifying thoughts. A hundred other peculiarities are developed, but the most remarkable one to me is that of a professional man who reads up in current literature when he is really seriously ill, because he hasn't time when he's well.?Cincinnati Enquirer. 0ST In Jerusalem the finest, and, in fact, the only hotel, is kept and owned by a Philadelphian. Several years ago he visited the ancient city, and saw that a good hotel would pay, and he at once erected a first class hostelry. Pilgrims from every land bound to Jerusalem were only too glad to find a clean, comfortable hotel so far away from home, and it is now royally patronized by travelers. Guides are kept who are experts in Biblical history, and who pilot guests to all points of interest. The discussions around the hotel tables in which Moses, Jacob, Pharoah, Paul, John, and other figures of sacred history form the chief staples of conversation, are said to resemble very much those of a minister's weekly meeting. BSaT" Learn to be brief. Long visits, long stories, long exhortation and long prayers seldom profit those who havo to do with them. Life. is short. Moments are precious. Learn to condense, abridge and intensify. We can endure many an ache and ill if it is soon over, while even pleasures grow insipid, and pain intolerable, if they are protracted beyond the limits of reason and convenience. Learn to be brief. Lop off branches; stickto the main facts in your case. If you pray tusk for what you would receive and get through ; if you speak tell your message and hold your pence; boil down two words into one and three into two. Always learn to be brief. flfc?r "Dear mother," said a delicate little girl, "I have broken your china vase." "Well, you arc a naughty, careless, troublesome little thing, always in mischief: go up stairs till I send for you." And this was a Christian mother's answer to the tearful little culprit, who hail struggled witJi and conquered temptation to tell a falsehood to screen the fault. With a disappointed, disheartened look, the child obeyed ; and at that moment was crushed in her little heart the sweet flower of truth, perhaps never again in after years to he revived to life. Of what value were a thousand vases in comparison ? fisdT The State of Washington lias a new and strange variety of hazelnut. The tree is not the dwarf, but is sixty feet in height. The trunk is only six inches in diameter, and can not stand upright. It bends over not far from the ground, touches the earth, rises again, comes down to the ground once more, and so on for several curves. In every covering two nuts are found instead of one, as in the case with the nuts grown elsewhere. Experiments are being made with grafts to find if it would not be a profitable crop. fUnf Colonel Fiske's favorite idea was I that if a business or a man is not going ahead he is falling behind. 11c said that while he drove a peddler's wagon ; four in hand, the most dashing turnout in Vermont, he always cracked his whip when his horses were going at the top of their speed, lest they should come down to a walk. There was an immense deal of philosophy in that idea.