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^ lewis >i. ctrist, Proprietor. | 3ui Jndfpcndtnt Jamilg gtanppr: Joi[ ft< fromotion of thi! jWWpt mw, 3#alhnpl and Ofommcr^ial Interests of % $outh. Jterms?$2.00 a year in advance. VOTT RST YOBKYILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, MAY 18, 1892. NO. 2Q. CHAPTER HL Whether or not malevolent spirits have power of interference in human affairs is an open question; but certain it is that, to prima fade view, events can at times arrange themselves with a malig- j nant disregard of individual needs and desires which would leave nothing to the invention of the most perverse devil the imagination could conjure up. Also certain is it that everlasting troths anent the inexorable interplay of circumstance and environment and the operation of unchangeable laws fail of the recognition and reverence they merit when interplay and action combine to knock the foundations from under a man's personal calculations. And the individual thus stranded is a good deal more apt to blaspheme like a stevedore than to aocept the situation like a rational and scientific gentleman. The tram which left Matoacca at 4:30 pulled into the tittle mountain station at 10:55, when, according to a perjured schedule, it should have been there at 10 sharp.* There was no reason that Royal could discover for such flagrant breach of contract save the unhastefulness of a single track road with no competition and few connections. Passengers, employes and evenjthe engine appeared content to take it easy over the mountains, and when Royal in a frenzy of impatience entered protest he was met by the conductor with intolerable good humor and the assurance that matters might be much more unsatisfactory. And received from the hands of a white haired gentleman hie unknown bride. "We used to aim to be on time," the official observed cheerfully, "but these here grades are tremenjeous heavy, an' I the curves sharper *n common. The "hind coach jumps the track once in a while if she ain't humored, an' it takes a duraed sight longer to h'ist her back with fence rails 'en it does to run keerfuL" "The schedule oughtn't to say one thing and the road do another," rebuked Royal. "It's an imposition on the public." . "Well, it don't look considerate," acquiesced the conductor, then added, with the esprit de corps of all railway men, "We do make it most in general. Sometimes, like today, we gets bothered. It : don't happen more'n once a fortnight we lose over fifteen or twenty minutes." He walked away with uplifted shoulders, which gave to the back of his coat an expression of protest against intemperate haste. And Royal, as though that could expedite matters, established himself on the platform. He was vexed and tormented by a delay which threatened shipwreck to his scheme by depriving him of the time necessary for explanations and readjustments. His sympathy and interest had become so involved that he had come to feel a personal pride in carrying the affair through to a tuccessful issue?to feel that he had heralded himself to enter the lists against caprice and injustice, and was in danger of failure, not through lack of prowess, but through extraneous and exasperating circumstances. So completely did the matter absorb and posses him that obstacles, instead or daimaug his resolation and causing him to reconsider the situation, only aroused and concentrated his forces as though they had been obstructions in the path of his individual Lopes and fortune. He was anxious also about the patient he had been compelled to leave in the care of an inexperienced young fellow, downy with graduation honors and self confidence, whom he had picked up in the office of the hotel. The case was so serious that the least mismanagement might precipitate the result. Held aloof by preoccupation, Royal failed to appreciate or even note the grand uplifting of the country round about, the exquisite tracery of the winter forest, the delicate hue of the sky, or the wonderful harmony of tone given by the shading of earth and rocks, tree stems and fading vegetation. Even the quick leap of a brook escaped him, and the grace of the curve with which, like a queen's obeisance to a rival power, it turned aside from the embankment of the railway and pursued its lovely, murmurous journey down the mountain. Higher up the road ran at the foot of cliffs covered with laurel and scrub pine and cedar, whose gray bowlders jutted up through dark mold and the brownness of fallen leaves, relieved and brightened here and there by patches of paro toflliarrv vinM TcVilV-Vi grew low, and showed vivid scarlet against dark green, where birds and rabbits had left the frait ungathered. Against the rocks, in sheltered nooks, j where the wind could not despoil them, were long trails of bramble vines and poison oak holding bunches of dark purple berries and tufts of crimson leaves. Throngh a long cutting, whose sides showed the presence of iron ore, the train steamed out into a broad valley, and drew up at a small station with deceitful briskness and a self laudatory whistle of accomplished duty. Royal lost no time in transferring himself and his impatience to the station platform. "Anybody here for Dr. Royal?" The question was impersonally addressed to a little knot of loungers, and Royal paused for a reply, wondering what the dickens he should do if thrown on his own resources. A thickset man in a gray overcoat copiously patched with blue?a relic of secession reconstructed?advanced to meet him. "You're Dr. Royal yerse'f, I reckon. Ain't you?' he questioned. Royal nodded and the man extended his hand with great cordiality. "Done forgot me, I reckon, doctor, but I ain't forgot you. We all used to hunt ; an' fish together back yonder befo' you went to school. My name's Jim Dodson; that'll fix you, 1 reckon. Hurry right along. You ain't got time to talk now, I know, an' we'll hitch up them six years arter a while. Come this a-way. Squire Brandon sont the buggy, an' Spot, driv; but that mar* o' his'n can't abide engines, nother she don't like strangers, so Spot he hilt her here behind the depot an' axed me to look out fur you." He tilted up his hat brim and cast an observing eye skyward. Royal perceived the man's mistake, but had not time to rectify it. Behind the station stood a buggy, mud splashed and untidy, but strong and serviceable; between tho shafts was a dark bay with a good deal Of whit? to her eye and apparently con-' UlES 1WELVE 6JKLEIMND t by American Press Association.] aderable go in her. A gentlemanly lad of fourteen or thereabout stood at her | head and glanced anxiously toward the train. At sight of Royal his counte- ! nance cleared and he accosted him : cheerily: "All right, doctor! How are you? , Jump right in. I thought judgment day ' would beat that train coming. Hallo! i I forgot about the accident! Here, Jim, stand by her head, please, while I help Dr. Royal in. We've got to make tracks." ! "You have that!" observed a bystander. The whole group had followed Royal round the station, and appeared fully ; aware of the situation and deeply inter- j ested in it Pilled with amusement, and feeling ! hypocritical, Royal declined the boy's j proffered shoulder and took his place in the buggy, ^potswood sprang in beside | him, gathered up the reins, and they were off, followed by a shout from Jim Dodson: "Make her everlastin' toddle, Spotswood! The sun's a-clamberin' up to'ards th? -i'iBfc michtv ranid. If von don't sten out peart, 12 o'clock will ketch you-ali gwine." "I reckon not," the boy shouted back. "Clipper knows how to travel." Then he turned, with a reassuring air to Royal: "Don't you fret, doctor. We'll make it, now I've got yon behind Clipper. I shook in my shoes though awhile back, that confounded train dawdled sc. It looked like fate was dead against yon." "Why don't somebody report those ! trainmen?" demanded Royal, still in- j censed over the delay and longing to punish somebody. The boy langhed. "Where's the use?" i he demanded in his turn. "They've got j a monopoly, and complaints would go i a I at one ear and out at the other. They i aren't often so much behind as they were today though, and I don't wonder you wanted to lay on the whip. We'd have made better time from the station on > horseback, but Phyllis was afraid the ride would knock you up. The road isr.'t bad, however, and we can make it driv- i ingif we look sharp." He whistled to his horse and touched her lightly wi;h the whip. "How far is it?" Royal questioned, glancing at his watch. "Half an hour's drive to the house, and fifteen minutes to the church?for Clipper," the boy replied concisely. "The road's been altered since you used to know it, I reckon; but you'll remember where the church is?the one Miss Royal built just after she come to the old place in memory of John Hart. She's buried there, you know, under that big oak near the vestry window. She told Phyl once, a long time ago, that she wanted her to be married there. Phyl has been with us ever since Miss Roj al died, but j church is close by and mighty convenient Phyl wanted to be married from the old place, but ray mother wouldn't hear of it. The house has been shut up for nearly four months, you know; it's bound to be damp and stuffy." "Where are you going now?" Royal questioned, the demand for new pl^ns making itself disconcertingly apparent. "Straight to the church. If the train was on time I wa3 to drive you out home; if it wasn't, right to the church. Phyl and the rest will meet yon there." The road had entered a skirt of woc-ds, and was firmer and more free from ruts and mud holes. Clipper responded to the improvement in a style which won Royal's admiration. Young Brandon listened with the air of personal merit mingled with assumed deprecation with i which the creature masculine always j hearkens to praises of his horse. He was in high feather, filled with pride in his mission, and chatted away merrily. His father?old Squire Brandon, as he .vas called?had intended meeting the train himself, but had been prevented at the last minute. Just the scurvy 6on: of trick fate had been playing John Royal all through, the sick man's representative thought, as he heard it. Here was more time irrevocably wasted, for it ; would be useless explaining matters to this boy. The boy meanwhile, considering himBelf, evidently, not a deputy to be despised, put his horse along with a deft avoidance of stones, mud holes, and other impedimenta which to Royal, un accustomed to mountain roads, seemed little short of marvellous. He increased Royal's perplexity, too, with every word j he uttered, and with every intention of , being agreeable forced more and more absolutely upon that gentleman the consciousness that things were at a dead] ock. "It was all right about the license," i Spots wood gleefully "assured him. "Tom ; had attended to that: Tom was to be i best man, as he doubtless knew. The : preacher would be up to the notch also: j Uncle Jeff?Miss Royal's old carriage : driver?had gone for him at daybreak. I The wedding was everybody's wedding, Phyl said. And it looked like it; for the whole neighborhood wanted to take a hand. Phyl was mighty popular, and I then people felt bo sorry for her." Royal, curiously enough, felt nettled ! through all his perplexity, and then re- j alized with an inward touch of amusement that he was appropriating not only John Royal's position, but what might naturally be John Royal's feelings under the circumstances. At a point where the road forked young Brandon suddenly drew up his horse and handed the reins to his companion. "Hold her a minute, please," he said, and faced about to the wood on the right, put both hands to his mouth, and gave vent to a long drawn eddying howl, which echoed and re-echoed among the trees with a peculiarly penetrating cadence. It was like nothing which Royal, for all his experience of Indians, "loavers" and coyotes, had ever heard in his life I Krif Trr?Anm il- woo UCiUlC) OUUf umi UO l/UW O.UW T* *4 *V, "??w simply a differentiation of the old "'rebel yell," still used among the mountains as a signal. In a second it was answered, and the lad dropped back to his seat and put out his hand for the reins. ."What was that for?" demanded Royal, feeling that he was getting all of adventure he could possibly desire. Spotswood laughed, and turned his horse into the road to the left. "To let 'em know it's all right and we've gone ! on to the church," he explained. "We j were afraid something might happen to j prevent your coming, in spite of what i you wrote Phyl. And it wouldn't have 1 done for her to go to the chnreh and no wedding after all, you know. She'd have been mortified, even if you couldn't help it. Women are different from us," with protective assumption. "Their feelings have got to be allowed for. Tom and I put up that job. Ho had a little nigger on horseback in the woods there, and when I whooped he was to gallop back to the house and tell 'em. There's a short cut that way. If you hadn't come I'd have howled twice. They'll get to the church almost as soon as wo will." The lad's consideration touched Royal, j In his frontier experience the life had been too free from conventionality, and human interpendence had been too readily and practically recognized, for him to wonder over the interest these people appeared to bike in each other's concerns and the trouble they voluntarily put i themselves to in each other's behalf. That seemed to him legitimate and nat- j ural. but at the .same time it increased ' the difficulty of tho position. In theii love and care for the girl these peoph would doubtless demand not only elaborate explanation of his plan, but some sort of credentials for himself before they would allow so unprecedented a thing a* a marriage by proxy to take place. The bucolic mind did not assimilate ideas readily, nor was it avid of experiment. And what could they know of the anguish, the insistence of the poor fellow dying down there in Matoacca? If only he had time tomako them feel the pathos of those last words John Royal had uttered as they shook hands ero his own departure: "Man, see to it that you do your work well! I'm trusting with you what I value more than life. Don't fail me! Help me to save her from poverty ?from dependence." They seemed to ring in his ears, to beat on his heart, to grasp and hold and compel him like sentient things. He looked at his watch. Three-quarters of an hour to expound his scheme, combat objections, satisfy curiosity, allay scruples and get through the marriage ceremony. It could not be done. No thought of abandoning his plan crossed his-mind; he simply readjusted it. He would marry the young lady first and make the explanation afterward. So far he had beeu accepted as Johu Royal's self instead of John Royal's representative?any changes in appearance apparently accounted for by the lapse of 6ix years in intercourse. He must carry out the deception until the ceremony should * * 3 L!-L ?? nave oeen periormeu, aner wuicu, ui course, must come the explanation. The spirit of adventure was strong in him, and he was conscious of the thrill an actor knows when his cast is on the razor edge between success and failure, and may be made or marred. by an expression or a gesture. The lad, busy with his horse and intent on speed, was silent. The road left the woods and emerged on to' a lovely plateau, gently rolling and studded with groups of superb trees?oak, hickory, maple and sweet gum. It was sheltered by hills and carpeted with short grass which showed green even in December. Near the center, amid a clump of oaks, stood a quaint, picturesque stone church, with pointed windows and ivy covered walls. It was inclosed by a stone fence, and the space inside was evidently used for a burying ground. Under the trees, outside the inclosare, a spring gushed forth, near which were racks for horses and a place where the animals might drink. Royal noticed several vehicles, spring wagons mostly, standing about, and horses, a dozen or so, some tied to the racks and some to swinging limbs, according as their dispositions were sedate or nervous. Spotswood drove round to a side gate, and a negro came and took the horse. Ho looked smiling and important, and bowed affably to Royal, half extending his hand, which Royal grasped and cordially shook, not knowing him, of course, but dissembling. "Many folks inside, Uncle Jeff?" the boy questioned, indicating at the same moment by a gesture to his companin the spot where Miss Royal had been buried. "Tol'r'ble smart, sir; de body's fullin' up, an' dar's a right smart sprinklin' in de gall'ry. Dar come mo' folks now. Dey been practisin' de music over, sir, an' hit soun' mighty pretty an' consolin'." This last was addressed to Royal, who dumbly felt that before he should get through with the affair he might be in need of consolation. In the vestry they were received by two gentlemen who were introduced by Spotswood as his brother Tom and the Rev. Carter Braxton. Both men shook hands with Royal with enthusiasm, and Tom Brandon helped him off with his overcoat, remarking that be "looked a trifle off color, but on the whole fitter than they had expected." Royal, who felt that twenty-four sleepless hours, two sketchy and insufficient meals and a tremendous strain of anxiety and excitement lay between his present self and the man who boarded the train so tumultuously the day before, did not wonder that he should look his part at least sufficiently to pass muster. With the climax so close upon him a strange, still, all powerful excitement seized on Royal and thrilled through every nerve and tissue like an electric current. His pulses quivered, his heart beat thick and rapidly and the blood rose to his brain. He replied to their inquiries like a man in a dream, and was conscious of a vague sense of confused identity. As he stood before the mirror, placed in a corner for clerical convenience, he caught himself dimly questioning his own existence as apart from the existence of that other John Royal, dimly seeking to identify his own features with those of the man from whose sick bed he had come. Life and circumstance for the time became unreal to him, and he accepted the sequence of events as impersonally as a somnambulist could have done. Individual will seemed, as it were, in abeyance, held under and dominated by a force with which it was powerless to cope. He seemed himself, and yet other than himself, more than himself. The minister in his robes stood, book in hand, within the chancel rail; the wedding march burst forth with joyous invitation; a group of black coated men and maidens all in white came up the aisles, crossed each other and ranged themselves about the chancel. And Royal, still like a man in a dream, advanced from the vestry door with Tom Brandon at his side, and received from the hands of a white haired gentleman the lace enveloped figuro of his unknown bride. Her hand lay on his arm, the folds of her shining robo brushed against him, the lace which covered her drooping head almost touched his shoulder, but he did not look at her nor manifest by so much as the quiver of a musclo /?rma/'iniiRnp<M nf her nroximitv. His in dividuality seemed lost, merged in that of the man whose part ho had assumed. His imagination was strained, his pulses beat with excitement, but his brain was clear, his perceptions preternaturally acute. He could hear the snap of a watchcase somewhere among the audience, and the stamping of the horses outside distinctly through the rhythm of the music. The interest of the spectators thrilled him, but failed to renew recognition of being other than ho seemed. Then, amid the hush which followed the cessation of the music, came the minister's solemn statement of the purpose for which the people were there assembled, and his impressivo charge to them that if any man knew aught which should prevent this union he should set it forth, followed by the pause which is so seldom broken. Then, in tones that sounded in his ears as the voice of another man, Royal found himself repeating words which, with the strange sense of duality which oppressed him, seemed to bind him, as well as that other, to the woman beside him as with bands of steel; and when, her answering vow breathed forth, ho received the ring, it was as though another hand was with his hand, guiding it as he placed the circlet on her finger. And a terrible sense of irrevocability and powerlessness for a moment overwhelmed him, turning him faint and sick, as one on whom a heavy blow has fallen. Then ho realized that everything was over, and that the peoplo had glanced at their watches for tho last time and were pressing forward with congratulations. He moved aside and involuntarily took out his own watch and noted tho time. It wanted ten minutes to 12. CHAPTER IV. Curiously unnerved for a man ot robust physique and ordinarily normal imagination, Royal let these strangers have their way with him, thankful for tho respite which their quiet acceptance of him gave. He avoided looking at tho bride, dreading to ineet her glance lest it should unfit him for his part, for with tho sight of tho crowd his desire to explain matters "Are you tired, JohnT" withdrew into the background. Thia ; was not the time, nor was it the place, i The affair had developed complications for which he was totally unprepared, and he wanted time to think, to assimilate and readjust. The sequenco of events had been so different from his own preconceived arrangement of them that his mind for the moment was thrown out ; of gear, and stood supine, accepting that i which came as thongh it were a finality. The thing most evident to him was , that he had ensnared himself with a network of egregious blundering, an d that ' egress from it, to bo graceful or even endurable, would require more skill of management than he had any right to ! accredit himself with possessing. The terms in which he apostrophized himself summed up the case, and were noue | the less hearty and comprehensive for being inwardly given. "Of all the intermeddling, dunderheaded fools in this i world," so ran his thoughts, "you are 1 entitled to the lead, Hart Royal. And | a beautifnl mess you've gotten yourself ! into this time, with your damned officiousnessl" The preoccupation of his manner and the careworn expression of his face caused the peoplo to surmise that he must be in acute physical paiu. For the | few moments allowed to friends at country weddings?even church weddings? they crowded round him, striving to recall themselves to his memory, and speaking pitifully of the accident and enthusiastically of his pluck in not allowing it to interfere with his marriage. They were so kind and cordial that Royal could have gnashed his teeth and shouted at them that he was no better than an impostor. Instead of which he nailed his false colors to the mast, as it were, and smiled and bowed and shook ; hands with everybody. His brain worked with feverish rapidity, and by the time they had shut him | into Squire Brandon's carriage for the short drive to the house, where the j young lady would change her dress for : the wedding journey, a sense of the j grotesqueness of his own position touched him, bringing with it a sudden strong j desire to laugh, and creating a reaction which restored equilibrium. He had made a mess of it, he was willing to admit, but circumstances had seemed to wall him' into a narrow track, along * which he had cantered like the most 1 obliging of donkeys. At this stage of ^ the proceedings "hindsight" did little I good and was provocative of exasperation, and of reliable foresight he was fain, in nil humility of soul, to confess himself destitute. There was nothing for it but to face the situation in the present and endeavor to adjust it with the minimum of pain and discomfort all around. The only solution which suggested itself was to carry out the plan as originally proposed, striving to blunder less in the end than he had done in the beginning. He would take the young lady straight to John Royal, making such explanation to her as would.insure her recognition of the love and anxiety i for her future which had been the maiui spring of a scheme which ho now de! nounced as idiotic. In the presence of the dying man all personal pique, all womanly sensitive; ness, would shrivel and vanish before the ! majesty of love and the awful mystery of that which was to come. A strange journey it would be, with a strange end! ing. For the first time came realization of the matter from the woman's standj point, and with it a great pity for her | and a strong desire to shield her from the comment, curiosity and multiplicity of | detail to which his story must give rise, at least until this travesty of marriage : could be made real by the true man's acj kuowledgment of it. He would keep his j own counsel until ho should have given j the wife into the keeping of her husband, i and then it would be time enough to ad: mit the outside world, to enter upon ex; planations and self justification. Arrived at a definite conclusion, he ] squared his shoulders and put aside that I strange sense of irrevocability and perI sonal implication which had oppressed him during the ceremony. In truth, there was little time for thought, less for analysis: the need for action was j still omnipresent. Ho turned to look, for the first time definitely, at John Royal's bride. As he did so a low laugh startled him, i and a hand was thrust out to touch his arm and then withdrawn. It was gloveless, and on the third finger gleamed the marriage ring. She was enveloped in a heavy wrap which concealed her white ! dress, and her head and face were liidI den under folds of soft dark tissue, from which, at throat and crown, the lace of her bridal veil peeped forth, like white ; clouds under gray ones. Her face was I completely concealed, from perverseness of girlish coquetry, he thought, and he j could only guess that she wjis fair liecause that would increase the pathos of the situation. tr? i-ACi. umuocuicub liCHiWi JIIUU, uu^4 vuvu a swift sense of their relative position as it must appear to her thrilled through him, producing a jumble of emotions I which made chaos of his mind. He ! longed to put aside tlio soft gray folds that hid her face, to possess himself of her hand, to speak words which should testify appreciation of the situation?to commit some sort of folly or madness, in short, to prove that ho was a man and 3entient. What a brute she must think him, he chafed; what a soulless, senseless block of wood he must appear! How could she understand or do him justice, Ignorant as she was?and must remain for hours?of the true state of the cose? Then he comforted himself with the reflection that when the matter should be made plain to her she would appreciate his conduct. "Aro you tired, John?"' i It was the young lady who broke the silence. "No," he answered, surprised. It seemed odd to him. at the moment, that the woman should put that question to the man. "You were so quiet that I had to laugh. It seemed so funny to sit up like two owls, never saying a word to one unI other," she proceeded. "We are cousins, ; you know, John, just the same as wo used to be. But perhaps you are in pain?"?with a quick change of voice. "Are you? Tell me at once. Ought you to have come? I know it was the money and that foolish clause in tho will about today. But for that we might c;isily have waited until you were strong again. Isn't traveling bad for you?" "Not at all bad," Royal hastily responded. "On the contrary, it is the very best tiling in the world for me? indeed, for us both. I'm much stronger than you suppose." He could hardly restrain a smile as ho made the assertion. "The plans must not l>o changed. We must leave by that 2:20 train. It is imperative that we should. You are ready, I suppose?" He intended to take her whether she should he or not, but put the question from sheer nervousness. Anything was better than sitting beside her in a state of absolute passivity. ' "Oh, yes. My trunks were packed I some days ago, and all the arrangements I made. You were so explicit?so?so j masterful"?with another rippling laugh. | "You have not changed hi that, John. You love your own way still. Is it not | bo? But the arrangements need make I no difference. We can stay over a day | or two to rest if it will be better for you. j You will like to see the old place and to visit Aunt Anne's grave. She was so I fond of you. We could Btop over for that." But Royal would not hear of stopping over for any thing. His private feeling toward the deceased lady was one of dis! tinct animosity. He hoped orthodoxly J and vengefully that she might be doing j spiritual penance for the trouble and distress likely to be entailed by the acts of her material life, and would gladly have ! known that she was aware of the miscarriage of her plans and greatly tormented thereby. He generalized for a moment in regard to the old home and the desire to see it which he was expected to feel; but he made It-evident that he intended to leave by the first down train. Unlike brides in general^ this young lady appeared docile and amenable to an I exceptional degree. RoyaT, in the midst ; of his anxiety, wondered o^Srher, and i felt the soul within him.rq^ed to gratitude. Then his professional experience reminded him that women are usually submissive to the power conferred by suffering. In the eyes of this woman he, 1 perhaps, appeared a wounded hero. Her next words made evident that ' such was indeed the case. "That horrible jiccident," she mur! mured, and a quick shudder ran through her frame. "I ain't help feeling that | half lias not been told me?that you j have all conspired to keep the worst j back arid make light of it, in order to ! spare me pain. You poor fellow! how you must have suffered! It was terrible ?a home coming like that, after six | years' exile. When I think of it all?of j what you have done for me?of what J you are doing for me and enduring for I my sake?and then think of the anxiety j in store for you?for us both?I feel that ! a lifetime of love and devotion will j hardly pay interest on the debt I owe you. Am I worth it to you, John? Will : I ever t>e worth it to you?" Her voice trembled a little, and Royal had an intuition that she was holding ! back tears. He felt a sudden stricture ! of the heart, as though the blood hwl i been drained away. This was not the | happy chatter of a girl bride, loving and i beloved. Through this woman's voice i pulsed an undercurrent of pathos, thrill! ing its sweetness like minor chords in | music. He felt, somehow, that in spite ; oi! his l>est endeavor he was taking un: fair advantage of the man who had 1 trusted him, was getting a glimpse into j arcana which do stranger unauthorized should penetrate. His pity grew apace, and beside it developed a devouring curiosity, until his very breast seemed strained by stress and complexity of e motion. He yearned to speak to her, but durst not for lack of proper words and an assured position, and so dumbly waited, feeling that if she should continue to talk in that strain during tho rest of the drive he could not be held ac countable for his actions. She did not appear to notice his silence or to be hurt by it; perhaps she was in some subtle way conscious of the tension cf his mood, or she may have been precccupied by her own thoughts. For a little space there was silence., "That old time is so long ago that you can't love me in the old way, John. It isn't possible. There has been so much in your life?change, adventure and quantities of new and interesting people. 'Mot quite in the old way, but enough ntill to enable me to develop a new and stronger love. They say a love increases with the strain put on it, and in that case yours will grow as compact and arm as the heart of an oak. That's pretty to think of, isn't it?" Then with a sudden change of tone: "It is six years Bince we have seen each other, John. Just think of it! They say that I have i changed very little, and I suppose you J would have known me anywhere. Have j you changed, I wonder? Let me see." ! Royal involuntarily turned his face away and drew his breath hard. This was the moment he had dreaded; for if j she should detect the imposture there ; would be the end of his scheme for sparj ing her still a little while. And how J would it be possible for her not to detect it? She must have had a series of photographs of the other John Royal during those years, pictures that would have chronicled each gradation of change. I T--1- * 1 ?? | mere whs no neip ior it, uuwever, ou m i braced his nerves and faced round half defiantly toward her. Tne veil still covered her face, and | she made no effort to withdraw it. She j had taken off her other glove, and her ! hands lay together in her lap. She ; ftjemed to feel that he was bending toward her, that his eyes were on her, and lifted her hands and touched his face I and his hair gently and lingeringly with the tips of her fingers. With a suddenness as overwhelming as would be the extinction of light on a fair day, the conj viction came to Royal that the girl al his side was blind. For a moment he was staggered; then came the memory of the 6ick man's ; words: "She must not be left to poverty ! and dependence. She is physically in! capable of making her own fight with the world." In the light of this develop ment many things which had puzzled him grew clear. All the nobler instincts of manhood awoke within him. Tb( woman beside him was invested on the instant with a sacredness other and greater than that which had enveloped her as the possession of another mar confided to his honor. She was in hi? i eyes set apart as an object of tender cart i and consideration for all men. j Yielding to the impulse that was ii: him ho clasped the gentle wandering hands in his and raised them to his lips, touching them softly, reverently, as r man might touch the sleeping form ol his little child. [to he continued next wkkk.] ?? Maruiack Insukanuk.?Jersey City boasts of a marriage insurance order j Membership is open to any unmarried man or woman upon payment of eight j dollars down and a promise to pay one dollar monthly dues. When member.' j furnish proof to the corporation that j they are married, an assessment h j levied upon all the other members, ami ; the amount is paid to the newly wedded couple, less ten per cent., which h retained as a sort of sinking fund, hut in no case is the dowry, as it may la : called, tr exceed ?500. Members an permitted to marry any time after be coming subscribers. After that all they have to do is to furnish proof of marriage, and then wait three years to gel the five hundred dollars; or the money may be drawn at the expiration o 1 1 1 b - " ? <!??? 1 lw ClgUlCeil IllOll l ll>, Ull t iMiuiiKin null mi prospective dues and assessments f'oi the entire three years are all paid ii advance. This (Joxh for Uubinkss.?In tin ollice of the captain of the watch at tin treasury department is a large gom connected with a series of wires. Tlia hell has never been rung save when i is tested to see if it is in working older, and the ollieials trust that it nevei will he sounded. When it does, busi ness of the most serious kind is meant At some time or other some cranl or cranks might get into the casl room or hanking ollice of the treasury and by a hold use of arms attempt t< make a raid. This gong is conuectei by a number of wires with the casl room, and the pressure of a button a convenient places will sound the alarm The watchmen have orders when thai rings to drop all other work and conn to the cash room thoroughly annc< and ready to deal with whatever nun j present itself. jJttisccHatuous fading.' j MEMORIAL DAY AT EBEXEZER. It Is Celebrated With Appropriate Ceremonies. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. Old Point, May 16.?On the even- | ! ing of the 10th day of May, a large concourse of people gathered at the j Ebenezer Presbyterian church, to pay i tribute to the memory of the Confeder- { ate soldiers whose dust repose in that j i old historic cemetery. These annual i 1 gatherings are under the auspices of I the women who compose the Ebenezer j Memorial association. The arrange- j ments for this present celebration re- > fleet credit upon those noble women. The soldiers' graves were nicely clean] eel off, and a handsome arch of ever- ! greens and flowers spanned the gate- | way of the cemetery with the signifi- i i cant words in floral decoration, "Sol- ! diers, rest." These eloquent words j brought to the memory of the old sur- | vivors the last words of the immortal \ Jackson : "Let us pass over the river | I nnrl rest under the shade of the trees." -, ^!Z!he floral decoration of the church j in which the exercises were held, was ! the most beautiful of anything I have j witnessed since the war on such occasions. Not because of its profuseness, but on account of the fine and delicate taste displayed in its arrangement. I will not undertake to describe it. Suffice it to say that the effect and the beauty of the scene is indescribable by i a masculine pen. The selection of the orator for the occasion was left with the military company of Rock Hill?the Catawba j Rjfles. They sent invitations to Col. | Coward, of Charleston, and Capt. S. E. i White, of Fort Mill, neither of whom i could come. An invitation was ex I tended to Mr. W. W. Dixon, of Rock Hill, who also declined. The compa- i | ny then placed this duty upon Rev. | ; J. H. Thornwell, and nobly and well | | was the duty discharged. Before I commencing his address, he called for j i the reading of the names of the sol- j dicrs who lie buried in the Ebenezer j ! cemetery. The names were read by j Captain W. H. Edwards as follows, the [ congregation stunning in iukcu ui re- ; | ! spect to the gallant dead : Adkins, William Aiken, Gilbert Alston, James Gadsden Barron, J. P. P. Barron, Samuel W. ; Barron, Archibald A. Barron, Samuel i I Brauner, a stranger from Ark. Cherry, Captain E. H. Cathcart, James H. Carothers, William H. Fewell, A. F. 1 { Garrison, Isaac A. Gaul den, William i J- Milling, George W. Miller, B. Robinson Robinson, Calvin i Steele, William G. Steele, John Milton Steele, J. Newton i Steele, Joseph A. | Steele, William I). I Turner, William H. Watson, John L. Wilson, J. Parks Wallace, James Workman, Robert H. Avery, Dr. E. T. > I C'arothers, J. F. Jackson, Samuel W. Hall, Dr. R. T. M. The four last named have died this year. 1 I will not undertake to give even a 1 synopsis of Mr. ThornweH's speech. He said in the outset, especially for the 1 information of the children, that this was the anniversary of the death of the great military chieftain, "Stonewall" Jackson, and the devoted women of . 1 our beloved southland had chosen the j 10th of May as memorial day in honor j 1 of this great and heroic soldier. He j emphasized this thought that our dead j comrades of the late war died as our | I representatives, that they represented j a principle that we endorse, and any | | : one who did not endorse the principle j , I for which these men died, had no right 1 to pay tribute to their memory and ' ! would stultify themselves by scatter, I ing flowers on their graves. The speech \ I throughout was appropriate, pointed, i patriotic, and bristled with gems of ( , thought and sentiment. i | Iii. speaking on occasions of this kind any one can see by his enthusiasm, j t i and the fire of his eyes, that J. H. ! ! j Thornwell has not forgotten the time | . ; when he was a soldier boy fighting , ! for the land and principles ho so much , j loved. The Old South, her traditions, [ her history, and her people have no i braver or truer champion and defender i than J. H. Thornwell. He did not . know until 11 a. 111. that he would i J have to make this address at 4 p. 111., . ' yet the speech did great credit to ; himself and the occasion. At. the close of the address, the Ca- , i tawba Rifles, under the command of i Captain A. E. Smith, led the procession ' i into the cemetery, followed by the. la- i ! dies and chidren, the men bringing i I up the rear. At the gate of the ceme ! tery the procession halted, and an cloI | (juont and appropriate prayer was ofi ; fered by Rev. W. J. Anderson. The ) military company then marched to ! the centre of the cemetery and took ' position, while the ladies and the ' children paid a loving tribute to the 1 memory of our departed comrades by 1 literally covering their graves with ' fresh, beautiful spring flowers. The military company then fired a salute 1 of three rounds, and the ceremonies ? of one more memorial day at Kbenezer > were ended. J The Catawba Rifles carried the ^ United States flag, the standard of , their company, while Mr. L. Sherfesec i carried in tiie procession the out uanI nor of Hart's battery of the war times - ; of long ago. Oh, what scenes and memories were awakened by the sight j of that dear old (lag! The memory of the brave and heroic men who died J beneath its folds in obedience to the 5 call of their country, and in devotion 5 to duty. It was hard for an old soll dier to suppress the "rebel yell" at i the sight of that old banner, a relic of 1 I the days when our hopes were high and our determination strong to coni , cpicr or die in defense of the principles t j we held so dear. ; | To the old soldier, these arc solemn ; j occasions. While we know that the - J young generation honor and revere r the memory of our dead comrades, and cherish respect for those of us who t are living, they do not, and in the very nature of things cannot, apprecif ate our feelings. They honor the i memory of those men. Our feelings r go further. We honor them and we i love them, and our love is cemented and made strong by the hallowed | memories and associations of the past. ? i We can in our imagination call up the > : faces and forms of those men as we ; knew them in the camp and on the t march, until these forms take shape in t ' our minds into serried ranks of eom j tallies and battalion, who never feared r a foe or deserted a friend. We can - hear the sharp crack of their rifles and the booming of artillery as we mingle : in the deadly conflict, and we can see i the much loved forms of many of those men as they lie upon the stricken j field, some bleeding from gaping 1 wounds and some living still in death, i their warfare ended and their ears t ' forever closed to the din of conflict, . and the voices of their loved ones, t, i Love those men: yes, we will love a and honor them while memory lasts. 1 The young and rising generation have ; but a faint conception of the apprecia| (ion of the fact, and the gratitude that wells up in the heart of the old soldier that this memorial day has become one ! of the institutions of this country. One j of the most repulsive thoughts to the | mind of the soldier was that after he ! had given his life for his country, his j name might be forgotten and his mem- I ory perish from the minds of his coun- j trymen. We know now this will not and cannot ever be the case. As our i brave and lovely women gather with I their children once a year at the graves | of our comrades and with loving hands j scatter flowers upon them, we know ! that the memory of these men and j their deeds will be kept green from ; generation to generation. Thus it j should ever be. But I must stop. ! Yet it is a hard matter for me to do so when I get to talking on this subject. W. H. Edwards. MEMORY AND GRATITUDE IN ANIMALS. The following incident is related of a celebrated lion tamer named Martin. It is an illustration of what any one can discover for himself or herself, by kindly treating domestic animals?any of which remember kindness and also unkindness. Aftef Mautin had retired to private life he had made up his mind to pay a visit to his former large menagerie, which he had not seen for five years. It was in Brussels and he started from his country seat near Rotterdam. At 4 o'clock, the time for feeding, he entered the menagerie. It was winter, and Martin was wrapped in a long cloak. He mingled with the crowd and waited until the animals had received their food, for which they were waiting with impatience. While they were eating he began to cough. Suddenly the animals stopped eating and listened ; then they broke into wild j howls of joy and tore at the iron bars, ! so that many timid visitors fled from i the menagerie. The parrots, pelicans, ! kangaroos and monkeys commenced to i screech and scream; the hyenas and j wolves howled ; in short, it was a per- ' feet bedlam. Then Martin stepped forward. With j his powerful voice and a movement of ' his hand he commanded silence, and ; suddenly everything was quiet. He j swung himself over the bar which sep- j arated the visitors from the animals, j put his hand in the cages and fondled j the beasts. A big tigress showed more joy than any of the others. When 1 Martin's hand traveled over ner mag- j niflcent fur her limbs trembled ner- i vously, she uttered weak, tender grunts, | and through the iron bars, with her i rough tongue, licked the face of her former master. When he went away ; she lay down without eating any more i food. In one of the cages was a lion named j Nero, who had once bitten Martin in } the hip, and had'been severely punished by his master, for whom he ever j after had a terrible hatred. When j Martin approached his cage, the lion j made no more motion than to lift his head and eye him intently. He re- j mained in his place, lying still in the back of his cage when Martin came i near. Martin spoke to him; he did 1 not answer, but viewed him with ap- j parent indifference. But when Martin | was going away the lion with a mighty | spring, wholly unexpected, threw himself against the grating, pushing his paws through the iron bars, and with his claws tore off a part of Martin's cloak. By a quick movement he escaped any oilier injury from this animal. Thus you see what a good memory this old Nero had, and the grudge against his master had lusted all these live years. FIGHTING AN EQUAL. While duelling is dying out in the South there are still many excellent men there who believe the code affords the only proper means of redress for a gentleman who has been, or who imagines he has been offended. Captain \V was a man of this character. He would l ather fight than eat when angered, although, ordinarily ; he was most peaceful and generous, j The captain was one day subjected t to a severe and perhaps needlessly j harsh cross examination by a lawyer ! in a neighboring town. The next day, Saturday, the captain secured a second and despatched him | with a peremptory challenge for the j lawyer. The latter, although a church j deacon, had not the moral courage to j refuse a meeting, so he accepted ; and 1 the duel, with repeating rifles, was set j down for Monday morning. The lawyer, his mind troubled by j other matters, went to church the i next day with his wife and six chil- | dren, from whom he had kept all knowledge of the duel. As he was leaving the church with j his wife and children, the lawyer was not a little surprised at seeing the cap- > tain outside, and still more surprised at seeing that hot-spur dolling his hat to his wife and children. That night the captain's second appeared at the lawyer's mansion with a note marked "private," and which read as follows : "At the risk of being set down in [ this community as a fool or a poltroon, I I beg that you will permit me to withdraw my challenge and to confess that I have been greatly to blame in sendj ing it." (Had at the prospect of peace, yet weak enough to want to pose as a i brave man, the lawyer went to see the captain early the next morning, and ! said : I "I am at a loss sir to understand I your conduct. What was your reason for withdrawing the challenge?" "Because, sir, you and I cannot meet on the field as equals," was the reply. "Am I not your equal?" asked the lawyer, hotly. "I will concede that you are. But ! you know that I am a single man with ! no one dependent upon me." "Yes, I understand that." "You have a wife and six children. I saw them at church yesterday, and I I then knew that I had taken an un fair advantage of you. When 1 get a wife and six children we will he on an equality, and then we can fight it I out if we choose." Struck with the impetuous captain's manliness, the lawyer gave him both I hands, and from that hour on they he j came devoted friends. lirXTEKS' YARNS. For a longtime I stood proof against | hunters' yarns and fishermen's lies, hut constant reading of sportsmen's letters, writes W. L. I'., in Forest and Stream, and almost daily communication with those who fish and hunt, caused me at last to become contaminated. However, I have never been able to quite equal others in putting on the imaginary embellishments. | One day, though, I was satisfied that I had conceived something good, and proceeded to relate it to a select few of those who were in the habit of rivaling me in such talk. I had just returned from my April turkey hunt in the swamps just above Yicksburg, Miss., and while a fair bag had been secured, the chief feature of the trip had been the myriads of mosquitoes that harrassed us at all times, except when under a good bar. Any one who has hunted in a Nlis; sissippi swamp during rather warm weather in spring, on land from much of which an overflow has recently re! ceded, will understand what a pest ' they are. At such times it becomes necessary to wear a coat and gloves, and to protect the ears face and neck by a piece of bar or otherwise, however much such apparel may handicap ; the sportsman. j In talking of the pests, I determined to do justice to the occasion, and to be bold in my remarks. So one day I told G. H. D., who is no insignificant talker himself, that the mosquitoes were so thick that one sweep of my hat through the air filled it to the brim. A twinkle in D.'s eye led me to suspect that he had not swallowed the thing altogether. I went to my companion on this hunt, W. L. W., not knowing that he had a development of talent in this line, and told him that I had been telling a tolerably stout one about our turkey hunt, and that I wanted him to substantiate my remarks. "P., I'll back up any remarks you may chance to make about this trip," was his prompt and spirited reply, sufficiently assuring me that he could be relied upon in an emergency of this kind. I then proceeded to tell him what I had told D. about sweeping a hat through the air and catching a hatful of mosquitoes. W. drew himself up and said, apparently without reflection or effort: "P., you could have done better than that," with a murked emphasis on the word "better." "You could have swept a quart_cup through the air and^ Miiorlif'ft tmUnn." ' T*" ? O I was thus put to rest as to my anxiety for proof to D., and at the same time vanquished in my ambition to excel as an artist in telling a hunter's lie. THE TREE TRAIN. Among the many exhibits at the World's Fair in 1893 will be a contribution from Tulare county, Cal., that will not easily be surpassed?at least, in oddity. There is a tree in that county, which is a fair specimen of what the redwood can be, if it grows enough. It stands in a deep gorge, and its topmost boughs, where the cones are thickest, are on a level with the highest rocks on j KA Ar i*ntMno 1 bllC OIUCO U1 VIJO lUTiiiVt The tree is 390 feet high, 96 feet from the butt to the first branch, and 26 feet through at the very base. A log of clean, smooth wood, that will measure 90 feet in length and average 20 feet in diameter, can easily be cut out of it. That is what the Tulare people propose to do, and, having the log they will utilize it to the benefit of the World's Fair and the glory of Tulare. The tree grows well up toward the headwaters of the Kaweah river, and the great log will have to be carried or moved in some way, to the railway at Yisalia, a distance of nearly 60 miles. It is a stupendous undertaking, but the people of that county do not stop at trifles. In all likelihood the trunk will be cut in sections lengthwise, and then the sections will be put on trucks and taken over the log road. Ox teams will do the hauling?probably some score of span to the section. When finally the "Giant of the Tulare Woods" is where it can be moved on railroad cars, it will have cost hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and six months will have passed from the time the men with axes started to fell it. Then the more important work will commence. The log will be made whole by the putting together of the " i 1 ?S11 ...? secuons. expert wuuusmi-u win tui it across in the middle, making two lengths, each 45 feet long. Each of these lengths will then be hewn into the shape of ordinary railway passenger coaches. The rough bark of the tree will be the roof of the car, and on the sides and ends the natural wood will be left unpolished. The inside will be hollowed out, windows and doors put in and the interior finished after the fashion of Pullman cars. One will be a buffet and dining-car, with apartments for bath, barber shop and kitchen. The other will be a sleeper, with an observation room. Platforms will be put at the ends and ordinary trucks underneath, and to prevent the transformed tree from falling to pieces under any circumstances, heavy bands of iron will be put about the body of the car. The tree would have been left with j the bark all on but for the fact that the j 1J1 x 1 I cars couiu 1101 ue mure umu wc icgu lation size and get over the bridges and j through tunnels safely. It is intended that the men of Tulare I shall take wives and children and go j to the Columbian exhibition with the I tree. The cars will be kept on the fair grounds, and the delation will make them their home. The portions of the tree not used in making the j coaches will be cut up and sold as ; mementoes. HOW A BILL BECOMES A LAW. Considering the number of laws en- j acted by each successive congress, it j might be imagined that the process j was simple, whereas it is long and ! rather complex. To introduce a bill is J the work of a few minutes, and then it is referred to a committee. From j the committee it is reported to the house, let us say, and debated. If it is passed, it goes to the senate, and j through a similar ordeal. After a bill has run the gauntlet of the two houses it is publicly signed by each presiding officer and taken to the president for his approval. He has ten days, not including Sundays, in which to examine the bill and make up his mind. If nothing is heard from him j by the end of that period the bill bej comes a law without his signature. Should he disapprove or veto a bill, j lie sends it back to that branch of con gross in which it originated, stating his l reasons in opposition and then the i measure is again referred to a commitj tee and undergoes much the same experience as it (lid at first with this imI portant difference, that it must be voted for by at least two-thirds of the members of each house in order ! to overcome the objections of the chief magistrate. Onlvverv stronir public sentiment will develop sufficient votes to override the president's veto, and this right gives him almost equal power in legislation with congress. Should the president decline to sign a bill, and congress adjourn before the expiration of the tenday period, it receives what is popularly known as a "pocket veto." After a bill has been approved by the president, the department of State causes it to be printed and promulgated. | Not the sligthest variation is made in j printing the new law; even mistakes 1 in the punctuation and spelling are carefully copied. I Many people would think this a foolish practice, but it is a very wise practice, after all, for were the secretary of state given permission to revise the language of a bill, he might make changes in the wording and punctuation that would completely overturn the intentions of congress when the bill was enacted. Millions of dollars i arc involved, and grave constitutional questions arise on the insertion or omission of a comma. ? % Thk Wjmtkks ok (iukat Hymns.? ! It seems a singular fact that apparently nothing in a literary way will relegate a writer to oblivion so surely as to be the author of a world famous hymn. I have often thought of this upon being introduced to some person of whom I had never heard, only to find that he or she is the author of some hymn familiar to almost every one. Take a few instances. For example, nearly every one has heard or sung the line of "Shall we (lather at the River?" and yet how many know even the name of the author, much less the fact that he is living? Vet I few men are more respected in Plainfield, N. .J., than is the Rev. Robert Dowry, D. 1>. Way out in Richmond, i Ills., lives Dr. S. Fillmore Rennett. To bow many is that Dame familiar, yet to whom is his familiar church song, "The Sweet Bye and Bye," not familiar ? In the interior of New York State lives Mrs. Annie Sherwood Hawks, who wrote those famed lines of "I Need Thee Every Hour." Only a lit- tie better known, and sometimes less forgotten, is the Rev. Dr. Samuel Francis Smith, the author of our national anthem, "My Country 'Tis of Thee," as well as the hymn "The Morning Light is Breaking." As one of the professors of the University of Rochester, the Rev. Henry Oilmore is far better known than the author of the lines, "He Leadeth Me, Oh, Blessed Thought."?Edward Bok in New York Epoch. Honey in the Heaet of a Tree.? A remarkable discovery was recently made at the Cathavs vard of the Taff Yale Railway company. A large elm tree, grown in Gloucestershire, was being cut into timber, when, right in the very heart, a cavity measuring eight feet by seven and a half inches in diameter was discovered almost completely filled with the comb of the honey bee, together with a squirrel's skull. No means of access to the hollow was discoverable, neither was decay anywhere apparent, and around the cavity itself no less than fifty "rings," each ring denoting a year's growth, were counted, the outer-bark being, too, without a flaw. The hollow was of uniform size throughout, and presented the appearance of having been bored .with an auger, and, great though its dimensions were, it was practically filled with the comb, proving that the bees must have been in possession for several years. F.inntv combs of the aueen bee also rv -* showed that they had been swarmed. How the bees got there can only be guessed, but it is surmised that a squirrel once occupied a decayed hole in / the tree, cleared away the decay, occupied the cavity as its own, and there died. Then the bees entered into possession and filled the hole with ' comb, when by some means the entrance, which must have been small, became stopped, the large quantity of grub and fly being taken as demonstrative that the nest was not voluntarily deserted. Then for fifty years the growth of the timber went on. The entrance Wing absolutely obliterated and the hole hermetically sealed, the comb was preserved from decay for half a century, to be at last found in the way described. Perverted His Meaning.?He was a prominent and wealthy merchant ; she was a little bit of a clerk who lived and thrived, and took care of a little sister on a few dollars a week, and was as bright and cheery as if she had never a care in the world, making her own sunshine out of the other side of the cloud. She was saucy, too. Nobody could crush her with any grand airs, and she had a pathetic little way of putting aside snubs and insults, as if she did not see them. So all her crosses turned into crowns. One morning she was late. It was little sister's fault entirely. She had what she called a tooth-ache-y night, and slept so peacefully that morning on her big sister's arm that it made her late. The merchant himself saw her come in one hour behind time. She was smiling and hurrying in, and he stopped her. Pulling out a gold watch, he opened it, held it up before her face without a word, and waited to see the effect. "Isn't it lovely ?" she said. "I never saw it before. Thank you," and, with a smile on her face she tripped away. You may call it what you will, artless ingenousness or artful calculation, but a more surprised man than the time keeping merchant was when she disposed of his reprimand it would be hard to find. Names for Babies.?A Hindoo baby is named when it is twelve days old, and usually by the mother. Sometimes the father wishes for another namo than tlint, selected bv the mother: in that case two lamps are placed over the two names, and the name over which the lamp burns the brightest is the one given to the child. In the Egyptian family the parents choose a name for their baby by lighting three wax candles; to each of these they give a name, one of the three always belonging to some dignified personage. The candle that burns the longest bestows the name upon the baby. The Mohammedans sometimes write desirable names on five slips of paper, and these they place in the Koran. The name upon the first slip drawn out is given to the child. The Chinese care so little for their girl-babies that they do not give them a baby name, but just call them Number One, Number Two, Number Three, according to their birth. Boys are thought so much more of in China than girls arc, that if one happens to ask a Chinese father, who has both a boy and a girl, how many children he has, he will always reply: j "Only one child." An Empkror Pokt.?A poet stood waiting every day for Augustus on the j threshold of his palace and recited to him lines of poetry. He hoped for some remuneration, but the reward never came. One day the emperor, wishing to divert himself at the poet's expense and enjoy his embarrassment, i meeting him 011 the accustomed spot, recited to him some verse of his own composing. The poet listened with the greatest composure to Augustus right 011 to the end. Then taking a I few coins from his pocket he gave them I to him, saying,? "The gift I ofi'er you is not adequate to your merit, but I am a poor man and cannot give you more." Augustus, surprised at the smart I and cutting reply, ordered the sum of a 100,000 sesterces to be given to the poet. Slkkp.?Barry, in his work on digestion, has made a whimsical calculation 011 the tendency of sleep to prolong life. He asserts that the duration of human life may be ascertained by the number of pulsations which the itidi9 9 ' f MM... . If vidlial is ante 10 pcnonu. i mm, u ? man's life extends to seventy years, and his heart throbs sixty times each minute, the whole number of its pulsations will amount to 2,207,020,000; ' but if, by intemperanee, or other cause, he raises the pulse to seventylive in the minute, the same number of pulsations would be completed in fifty-six years, and the duration of life abbreviated fourteen years. Arguing from these data, he alleges that sleep has a tendency to prolong life, as, during its continuance, the pulsations are , less numerous than in the waking state. Horses are not valued at higher j rates now than in the earlier ages of the world, if we estimate prices paid for them according to the price of food, which seems to be a fair standard of comparison. In King Solomon's time an Egyptian horse?the best horses were then procured from Egypt?cost one hundred and fitly shekels, about eighty-live dollars. Six hundred years alter Solomon, in the time of Xcnophon, Sou this, the Thracian, paid lifty drachma, or about one hundred and thirty-live dollars, for the steed on which he rode during the 1 retreat of the Ten Thousand.