Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis >r. urist, proprietor. j 3V.ii ^dependent ^ainilij Jlrnspaper: CJfor Hip promotion of the |)olitipal, Social, ^grituHural and (llonimertial Jnterests of the j$outh. j terms?$2.00 a year in advance. *$; * ... _ ? ...... - ? ?- ... . . _ . VOL. 39. YORIvVTLLE, S. C., AVEDNESDAY, SLPTLMBLJl O, 1893. ISTO. 3(>. Waring' ?< BY CAPT. CHAR] [Copyright, ISfKJ l??v J. H. Lippincott A* Co IX. That night, or very early next morning, there was pandemonium at the . barracks. It was clear, still, beauti- | fuL A soft April wind was drifting- i up from the lower coast, laden with the perfume of sweet olive and orange blossoms. Mrs. Cram, with one or two lady friends and a party of officers, i had been chatting in low tone upon their gallery until after eleven, but I elsewhere about the moonlit quadrangle all was silence when the sec ond relief was posted. Far at the rear of the walled inclosure, where, in deference to the manners and customs of war as observed in the good old days i whereof our seniors tell, the sutler's establishment was planted within j easy hailing distance of the guardhouse, there was still the sound of modified revelry by night, and poker and whisky punch had gathered their devotees in the grimy parlors of Mr. Finkbein, and here the belated ones tarried until long after midnight, as most of them were bachelors and had no better halves, as had Doyle, to fetch them home "out of the wet." Cram and his lieutenants, with the excep* tion of Doyle, were never known to patronize this establishment, whatsoever they might do outside. They had separated before midnight, and little Pierce, after his customary peep into Waring's preserves, had closed the door, gone to his own room to bed and to sleep. Ferry, as battery officer of the day, had made the rounds of the stables and gun shed about one o'clock, and had encountered Capt. Ivinsey, of the infantry, coming in from his long tramp through the dew-wet field, returning from the inspection of the sentry-post at the "big magazine. "No news of poor Sam yet, I suppose?" said Kinsey, sadly, as the two came strolling in together through the rear gate. "Nothing whatever," was Ferry's answer. "We cannot even form a conjecture, unless he, too, has been mur- I dered. Think of there being a warrant out for his arrest?for him, Sam Waring!" "Well," said Kinsey, "no other conrOncinn nould be well arrived at. un less that poor brute Doyle did it in a drunken row. Pills says he never saw a man so terror-stricken as he seems to be. He's afraid to leave him, really, ; and Doyle's afraid to be alone?thinks the old woman may get in." "She has no excuse for coming, captain," said Ferry. "When she told Cram she must see her husband to-day, that she was out of money and starving, the captain surprised her'by handing her fifty dollars, which is much ^ more than she'd have got from Doyle. I She took it, of course, but that isn't * what she wanted. She wants to get at ? him. She has money enough." h "Yes, that woman's a terror, Ferry. B Old Mrs. Murtagh, wife of my quarter master sergeant, has been in the army w twenty years, and says she knew her well?knew all her people. She comes from a tough lot, and they had a bad reputation in Texas in the old days. Doyle's a totally different man since she turned up, Cram tells me. Hello! j here's 'Pills the Less,' " he suddenly exclaimed, as they came opposite the west gate leading to the hospital. "How's your patient, Doc?" "Well, he's sleeping: at last, mo seems worn out. It's the first time I've j left him; but I'm used up and want a few hours' sleep. There isn't anything to drink in the room, even if he should wake, and Jim is sleeping or lying there i by him." ? "Oh, he'll do all right now, I reckon," . said the officer of the day, cheerfully. "Go and get your sleep. The old woman can't get at him unless she bribes ! my sentries or rides the air on a broomstick, like some other old witches I've read of. Ferry sleeps in tho adjoining room..anyhow, so he can look out for her. Good night, Doc." And so, on they went, glancing upward at the dim light just showing through the window-blinds in the gable end of Doyle's quarters, and halting at the foot of .the stairs. "Come over and have a pipe with me, Ferry," said the captain. "It's too beautiful a night to turn in. I want to talk to you about Waring, anyhow. This thing weighs on my mind." "Done with you, for an hour any- . how!" said Ferry. "Just wait a minute till I run up and get my baccy." Presently down came the young fellow again, meerschaum in hand, the moonlight glinting on his slender figure, so trim and jaunty in the battery d~3ss. Kinsey looked him over with a smile of soldierly approval and a whim- J sical comment on the contrast between the appearance of this young artillery sprig and that of his own stout personality, clad as he was in a bulging blue flannel sack coat, only distinguishable in cut and style from civilian garb by its having brass buttons and a pair of tarnished old shoulder straps. Ferry was a swell. His shell jacket fitted like wax. The Russian shoulder knots of twisted gold were of the handsomest make. The riding breeches, top boots and spurs were such that even Waring could not criticise. His saber gleamed in the moonbeams, and Kinsey's old leather-covered sword looked dingy by contrast. His belt fitted trim and taut, and was polished as his boot-tops; Kinsey's sank down over the left hip, and was worn brown. The sash Ferry sported as battery officer of the day was draped, West Point fashion, over the shoulder and around the waist, and accurately knotted and looped; Kinsey's old war-worn crimson a net was slung higgledy-piggledy over j his broad chest. "What swells you fellows are, Ferry!" he said, laughingly, as the youngster came dancing down. "Even old Doyle gets out here in his scarlet plume occasionally and puts us doughboys to shame. What's the use in trying to make such a rig as ours look soldierly? If it were not for the brass .buttons our coats would make us look like parsons and our hats like monkeys. As for this undress, all that can be said in its favor is you can't spoil it even by sleeping out on the levee in it, as I am sometimes tempted to do. Let's go out there now." Tf woe nnrV^nnc nnnrtor nf f tvn tr}ir?n ' they took their seats on the wooden bench under .the trees, and, lighting their pipes, gazed out over the broad sweeping flood of the Mississippi, gleaming like a silvered shield in the moonlight. Far across at the opposite shore the low line of orange groves aud plantation houses and quarters was merged in one long streak of gloom, , relieved only at intervals by twinkling light. Farther up-stream, like dozing sea-dogs, the fleet of monitors lay moored along the bank, with the masts and roofs of Algiers diinlj* outlined against the crescent sweep of lights that marked the levee of the great southern metropolis, still prostrate from the savage buffeting of the war, yet so soon to rouse from lethargy, resume her sway, and, stretching forth / her arms, to draw once again to her bosom the wealth and tribute, tenfold augmented, of the very heart of the nation, until, mistress of the commerce of a score of states, she should rival even New York in the volume of her trade. Below them, away to the east towards English Turn, rolled the tawny flood, each ripple and eddy and swirling pool crested with silver?the twinkling lights at C'halmette barely ** distinguishable from dim, low-hanging stars. Midway the black hulk of some big ocean voyager was forging slowly, steadily towards them, the red light of s Peril. LES KING, U. S. A. iM and published by special arrangement.] the port .side already obscured, the white and preen growing with every minute more and more distinct, and, save the faint rustle of the leaves overhead, murmuring1 under the touch of i the soft, southerly night wind, the I splash of wavelet against the wooden pier, and the measured footfall of the sentry on the flagstone walk in front of the salty-port, not a sound was to be heard. For awhile they smoked in silence, enjoying1 the beauty of the night, though each was thinking only of the [ storm that swept over the scene the Sunday previous and of the tragedy that was borne upon its wings. At last Kinsey shook himself together. "Ferry, sometimes I come out here for a quiet smoke and think. Did it ever occur to you what a fearful force, what illimitable power, there is sweeping by us here night after night with never a sound?" "Oh, you mean the Mississip," said j Ferry, flippantty. "It would be a ease of inops and brooms, I fancy, if she were > to bust through the bank and sweep us out into the swamps." "Exactly! that's in case she broke | loose, as you say; but even when in the shafts, as she is now, between the j levees, how long would it take her to ) sweep a fellow from here out into the gulf, providing nothing interposed to stop him?" "Matter of simple mathematical calculation," said Feny, practically. "They say it's an eight-mile current easy out there in the middle where : she's booming. Look at that barrel scooting down yonder. Now, I'd lay a fiver I could cut loose from hero at reveille and shoot the passes before j taps and never pull a stroke. It's less ' than eighty miles down to the forts." "Well, then, a skiff like that that old Anatole's blaspheming about losing, wouldn't take very long to ride over that route, would it?" said Kinsey, reflectively. "No, not if allowed to slide. I>ut somebody'd be sure to put out and haul it in as a prize?flotsam and whatvou-mav-call-'em. You sec these old niggers nil along here with their skiffs tacking on to every bit of drift wood that's worth having." "Ilut, Ferry, do you think they'd venture out in such a storm as Sunday last??think an3*thing could live in it short of a decked ship?" "No, probably not. Certainly not Anatolc's boat." "Well, that's just what I'm afraid of, and what Cram and Re3"nolds dread." "l)o the3"? Well, so far as that storm's concerned, it would have blown it down stream until it came to the big bend below here to the cast. Then, b3' rights, it ought to have blown against the left bank. But cver3* inch of it has been scouted all the way to i quarantine. The whole river was filled with drift, though, and it might have been wedged in a lot of logs and swept out an3*how. Splendid ship, that! Who is she, do you suppose?" The great black hull with its lofty tracery of masts and spars was now just about opposite the barracks, slowly and majestically ascending the stream. "One of those big British freight steamers that moor there below the French market, I rcckou. They sel- ! dom come up at night unless it's in the full of the moon, and even then they j move with the utmost caution. See, she's slowing up now." "Ilello! Listen! What's that?" exclaimed Ferry, starting to his feet A distant, muffled cr3'. A distant shot. The sentry at the salty-port dashed through the echoing vault, then bangi came tne ioua roar 01 nis piece, followed by the yell of: "Fire! fire! The guard!" With one spring Ferry was down the j levee and darted like a deer across tho j road, Kinsey lumbering heavily after. Even as he sped through the stoneflagged way, the hoarse roar of tho drum at the guard-house, followed instantly by the blare of the bugle from the battery quarters, sounded the stirring alarm. A shrill, agonized female voice was madly screaming for help. Guards and sentries were rushing to tho scene, and flames were bursting from the front window of Doyle's quarters. Swift though Ferry ran, others were closer to the spot. Half a dozen active young soldiers, members of the infantry guard, had sprung to the rescue. When Ferry dashed up to the gallery he was just in time to stumble over a writhing and prostrate form, to help extinguish the blazing clothing of another, to seize his water bucket and douse its contents over a third?one 3*elling, the others stupefied by smoke ?or something. In less time than it takes to tell it, daring fellows had ripped down tho blazing shades and shutters, tossed them to the parade beneath, dumped a heap of soaked and smoking bedding out of tho rear windows, splashed a few bucketfuls of water about the recking room, and the fire was out. I Jut the doctors were working their best to bring back tho spark of life to two senseless forms, and to still the shrieks of agony that burst from the seared and blistered lips of Bridget Doyle. While willing- hands bore these scorched semblances of humanity to neighboring rooms and tender-hearted women hurried to add their ministering touch,and old Braxton ordered the excited garrison back to quarters and bed, he, with Cram and Kinsey and Ferry, made prompt examination of the premises. On the table two whisky bottles, one empty, one j nearly full, ^hat Dr. Potts declared were not there when he left at one. On the mantel a phial of chloroform, which was also not there before. But a towel soaked with the stifling contents lay on the floor by Jim's rude pallet, and a handkerchief half soaked, half consumed, was on the chair which had stood by the bedside among the fragments of an overturned kerosene lamp. A quick examination of the patients showed that Jim, the negro, had been chloroformed and was not burned at all, that Doyle was severely burned and had probably inhaled flames, and that the woman was crazed with drink, terror and burns combined. It took the efforts of two or three men and the influence of powerful opiates to quiet her. Taxed with negligence or complicity on the part of the sentry, the sergeant of the guard repudiated the idea, and assured Col. Braxton that it was an easy matter for anyone to get either in or out of the garrison without encountering f,e sentry, and taking his lantern led the way to the hospital grounds by a winding footpath among the trees to a point in the high white picket fence where two slats had been shoved aside. Anyone coming along the street without could uass far bevond the ken of the sentry at the west pate, and slip in with the utmost ease, and once inside all that was necessary was to dodge possible reliefs and patrols. No sentry was posted at the pate throuph the wall that separated the parrison proper from the hospital grounds. Asked why he had not reported this, the sergeant smiled and said there were a dozen others just as convenient, so what was the use? He did not say, however, that he and i his fellows had recourse to them night after night. It was three o'clock when the oflicers' families got fairly settled down j again and back to their beds, and the silence of night once more reigned ; over Jackson barracks. One would suppose that such a scene of terror and j excitement was enough, and that now the trembling-, frightened women might be allowed to sleep in peace; but it was not to be. Hardly had one of their number closed her eyes, hardly had all the flickering- lights, save those at the hospital and guardhouse, been downed again, when the strained nerves of the occupants of the officers' quadrangle were jumped into mad jangling once more and all the barracks aroused a second time, and this, too, by a woman's shriek of horror. Mrs. Conroy, a delicate, fragile little body, wife of a junior lieutenant of infantry occupying a set of quarters in the same building with, but at the opposite end from, Pierce and Waring, was found lying senseless at the head of the gallery stairs. When revived, amid tears and tremblings and incoherent exclamations i she declared that she had gone down to the big ice-chest on the ground-floor to get some milk for her nervous and frightened child and was hurrying nrrnin f.lir* IIUIDUIUMIJ V<1V owi?o w..v? onlj- means of commnnieation between the first and second floors?when, face to face, in front of his door, she came pon Mr. Waring1, or his ghost; that his eyes were fixed and glassy; that lie did not seem to see her even when lie spolce, for speak he did. Ilis voice sounded like a moan of anguish, she said, but the words were distinct: "Where is my knife? Who has taken m}' knife?" And then little Pierce, who had helped to raise and carry the stricken woman to her room, suddenly darted out on the gallery and ran along to the door he had closed four hours earlier. It was open. Striking a match, he hurried through into the chamber beyond, and there, face downward upon the bed, lay his friend and comrade Waring, moaning like one in the delirium of fever. X. Lieut. Reynolds was seated at his desk at department headquarters about nine o'clock that morning when an orderly in light-batterj' dress dismounted at the banquette and came up the stairs three at a jump. "Capt. Cram's compliments, sir, and this is immediate," he reported, as he hold forth a note. Reynolds tore it open, read it Hastily through, then said: "Go and fetch me a cab quick as j-ou can," and disappeared in the general's room. Half an hour later he was spinning down the levee towards the French market, and before ten o'clock was seated in the captain's cabin of the big British steamer Ambassador, j which had arrived at her moorings during the night. Cram and Kinsey were already there, and to them tlio skipper was tolling- his story. Off the Tortugas, just about as they had shaped their course for the Belize, they were hailed by the little steamer Tampa, bound from New Orleans to Havana. The sea was calm, and a boat put off from the Tampa and came alongside, and presently a gentleman was assisted aboard. lie seemed weak from illness, but explained that he was Lieut. Waring, of the United ; States artillery, had been accidentally carried off to sea, and the Ambassador was the first inward-bound ship they had sighted since crossing the bar. He would be most thankful for a passage back to New Orleans. Capt. Baird had welcomed him with the heartiness of the British tar, and made him at home in his cabin. The lieutenant was evidently far from well, and seemed somewhat dazed and men- j tally distressed. lie could give no account of his mishap other than that told him by the officers of the Tampa, which had lain to when overtaken by j the gale on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning when they resumed : their course downstream they overhauled a light skiff and were surprised to And a man aboard, drenched and j senseless. "The left side of his face was badly bruised and discolored, even j when he came to us," said Baird, "and he must have been slugged and robbed, for his watch, his seal-ring and what little money he had were all gone." The second officer of the Tampa had fitted him out with a clean shirt, and the steward dried his clothing as best he could, but the coat was stained and .clotted with blood. Mr. Waring had slept heavily much of the way back until they passed Pilot Town. Then he was up and dressed Thursday afternoon. and seeminirlv in better spirits, when he picked up a copy of the New Orleans Picaj'une which the pilot had left aboard, and was reading1 that, when suddenly he started to his feet with an exclamation of amaze, and, when the captain turned to see what was the matter, Waring was ghastly pale and fearfully excited by something he had read. lie hid the paper under his coat and sprang up on deck and paced nervously to and fro for hours, and began to grow so ill, apparently, that Capt. Iiaird was much worried. At night he begged to be put ashore at the barracks instead of going on up to town, and Haird had become so troubled about him that he sent his second officer in the gig with him, landed him on the levee opposite the sally-port, and there, thanking them heartily, but declining further assistance. Waring had hurried through the entrance into the barrack square. Mr. Royee. the second officer, said there was considerable excitement, beating of drums and sounding of bugles, at the post, us they rowed towards the shore, lie did not learn the cause, (.'apt. Iiaird was most anxious to learn if the gentleman had safely reached his destination. Cram replied that he had, but in a state bordering on delirium and unable to give any coherent account of himself. He could tell he had been aboard the Ambassador and the Tampa, but that was about all. And then they told Iiaird that what Waring probably saw was Wednesday's paper with the details of the inquest on the body of Laseelles and the chain of evidence pointing to himself as the murderer. This caused honest Capt. Iiaird to lay ten to one lie wasn't, and five to one he'd never heard of it till he got the paper above l'ilot Town. Whereupon all three ollieers clapped the I'.riton on the back and shook him by the hand and bended his company to dinner at the barracks and at Moreau's: and then, while Reynolds sped to the police oflice and Kinsey back to Col. Rraxton, whom he represented at the interview, Cram remounted, and, followed by the faithful .Tellers, trotted up Rampart street and sent in his card to Mine. Lasoelles. and madame's I maid brought back reply that she was still too shocked and stricken to receive visitors. So also did Mine, d'llervilly deny herself, and Cram rode home to Xcll. ' It is useless," he said. "She will not see me." "Then she shall see me," said Mrs. Cram. And so u second time did .1 offers make the trip to town thut day, this time perched with folded arms in the rumble of the pony-phaeton. And while she was gone the junior doctor was having the liveliest experience of his few years of service. Scorched and burned though she was, Mrs. Doyle's faculties seemed to have returned with renewed acuteness and force. She demanded to he taken to her husband's side, but the doctor sternly refused. She demanded to lie told his condition, and was informed that it was so critical he must not be disturbed, especially bv her who was practically responsible for all his trouble. Then she insisted on knowing' whether he was conscious and whether he had asked for a priest, and when informed that Father Foley had already arrived, it required the strength of four men to hold her. She raved like a maniac, and her screams appalled the garrison. Hut screams and stru^rffles were all in vain. 'Tills the Less" sent for his senior, and "Hills the Pitiless" more than ever deServed his name. lie sent for a strait jacket, saw her securely stowed away in that and borne over to a vacant room in the old hospital, set the steward's wife on watch and a sentry at the door, went hack to Waring's bedside, where Samjpy tossing- in burningfever, murmured his few words of caution to Tierce and Ferry, then hastened back to where poor Doyle was gasping in agonj' of mind and body, clinging to the hand of the gentle soldier of the cross, gazing pitcously into his father confessor's c.ycs, drinking in his words of exhortation, yet unable to make articulate reply. The flames had done their cruel work. Only in desperate pain could he speak again. It was nearly dark when Mrs. Cram came driving back to barracks, bringing Mr. Reynolds with her. Ilcr eyes were dilated, her (jhceks flushed with excitement, as she sprang from the low phaeton, and, with a murmured "Come to me as soon as you can" to her hus band, she sped away up the stairs, leaving hira to receive and entertain her passenger. "I, too, went to see Mme. Lascelles late this afternoon," said Reynolds. "I wished to show her this." It was a copy of a dispatch to the chief of police of New Orleans. It stated in effect that Philippe Lascelles had not been seen or heard of around Key West for over two weeks. It was believed that he had gone to Havana. "Can you get word of this to our friend the detective?" asked Cram. "I have wired already, lie has gone to Georgia. What I hoped to do was to note the effect of this on Mrae. Lascelles; but she was too ill to see me. Luckily, Mrs. Cram was there, and I sent it up to her. She will tell you. Now I have to see Braxton." And then came a inesseger to ask Cram to join the doctor at Doyle's quarters at once; so he scurried upstairs to see Nell first and learn her tidings. "Did I not tell you?" she exclaimed, as he entered the parlor. "Philippe Lascelles was here that very night, and had been seen with his brother at the office on Royal street twice before this thing happened, and they had trouble about money. Oh, I made her understand. I appealed to her as a woman to do what she could to right Mr. Waring, who was so generally believed to be the guilty man. I told her we had detectives tracing Philippe and would soon find how and when he reached New Orleans. Finally I showed fier tne dispatcn mm 4\jr, iicyuoius sent up, and at last she broke down, burst into tears, and said she, too, had. learned since the inquest that Philippe was with her husband, and probably was the stranger referred to, that awful night. She even suspected it at the time, for she knew he came not to borrow but to demand money that was rightfully his, and also certain papers that Armand held and that now were gone. It was she who told me of Philippe's having been seen with Armand at the office, but she declared she could not believe that he would kill her husband. I pointed out the fact that Armand had fired two shots from his pistol, apparently, and that no bullet marks had been found in the room where the quarrel took place, and that if his shots had taken effect on his antagonist lie simply could not have been Waring, for though Waring had been bruised and beaten about the head, the doctor said there was no sign of bullet murk about him anywhere. She recognized the truth of this, but still she said she believed that there was a quarrel or was to be a quarrel between her husband and Mr. Waring. Otherwise I believe her throughout. I believe that, no matter what romance there was about nursing Philippe and his falling in love with her, she did not encourage him, did not call him here again, was true to her old husband. She is simply possessed with the idea that the quarrel which killed her husband was between himself and Mr. Waring, and that it occurred after Philippe had got his money and papers, and gone." "W-c-c-11, Philippe will have a heap to explain when he is found," was Oram's reply. "Now I have got to go to Doyle's, lie is making some confession, I expect, to the priest." Ilut Cram never dreamed for an instant what that was to be. That night poor Doyle's spirit took its flight, and the story of misery he had to tell, partly by scrawling with a pencil, partly by gesture in reply to question, partly in painfully-gasped sentences, a few words at a time, was practically this: Lascclles and his party did indeed leave him at the Pelican when he was so drunk he only vaguely knew what was going on or what had happened in the bar-room where they were drinking, but his wife had told him the whole story. Lascclles wanted more drink?champagne; the bar-tender wanted to close up. They bought several bottles, however, and had them put in the cab, and Lascellos was gay and singing, and, instead of going directly home, insisted on stopping to make a call on the lady wiio occupied the upper floor of the house Doyle rented on the levee. Doyle rarely saw her, but she sometimes wrote to Lascclles and got llridget to take the letters to him. She was setting her cap for the old Frenchman. "We called her Mrs. Dawson." The cabman drove very slowly through the storm as Doyle, walked home along with Dridgetand some man who was helping, and when they reached the gate there was the cab and Waring in it. The cab-driver was standing by his horse, swearing at the delay and saying he would charge double fare. Doyle had had trouble with his wife for many years, and renewed trouble lately because of two visits Lascclles had paid there, and that evening when she sent for him he was drinking in Waring's room, had been drinking durinfj* the day; lie dreaded more trouble, and 'twas lie who took Waring's knil'e, and still had it, lie said, when he entered the /rate, and no sooner did he see Laseelles at his door than he ordered him to leave. Laseelles refused to go. I)oylc knocked him down, and the Frenchman sprang1 up, swearing vengeance. Laseelles fired two shots, and Doyle struck onco ?with the knife?and there lay Laseelles, dead, before Doyle could know or realize what he was doing. In fact, Doyle never did know. It was what his wife had told him, and life had been a hell to liim ever since that woman came back. She had blackmailed him, more or less, ever since lie got his commission, because of an old trouble he'd hud in Texas. And this confession was written out for him, signed by Doyle on his dying bed, duly witnessed, and the civil authorities were promptly notified. 1 {ridget Doyle was handed over to the police. Certain detectives out somewhere on the trail of somebody else were telegraphed to come in, and four ilnvv lnt,iv win?ii the force of the fever was broken and Waring" lay weak, languid, but returning to his senses, Cram and the doctor read the confession to their patient, and then started to their feet as lie almost sprang from the bed. "It's an infernal lie!" he weakly cried. "I took fhat knife from Doyle and kept it. I myself saw Lnsccllesto his gate, safe and sound." [to isi: co.\tixri:i> nkxt whkk.] I or it Sunday Tea. To some housekeepers Sunday night teas are a perennial perplexity. At this season, with tomatoes in their prime, a delicious dish is tomatoes "farcis," or stalled. It can be prepared in the morning and merely cooked just before tea. And here is the recipe: Cut the tomatoes into halves, remove the cores and f d... .,,1,1 fill t1u.ni with fin,. VL l..> bread crumbs, grated Parmesan cheese, pepper and salt, to which finely chopped niuslimoms may be added if liked. Place the tomatoes on a buttered tin, with a I tiny lump of butter in each, and bake half an hour. Miscellaneous Reading. THE OLD TRUNK. Mm. Ar|? Souri'ltlug f<>r S<mii'lliln|j-Tiilklii|; About Old Tlim-s. j The old trunk was open. Away J down in mysterious recesses Mrs. Arp 1 was searching for something, and as I I sat in the other corner with my little j table and pen, I watched her as she ! i laid the ancient relics 011 a chair and j unfolded first one and then another and looked at them so earnestly and then folded them up again. "What are you , hunting for my dear?" said I. "Oh, nothing much," said she; "J was just ! j looking over these little dresses to see if there was anything that would do for the little grandchildren. Here is a i pretty dress. This dress cost me many j ; a careful stitch. All these plaits were i made by my hand, my own hand. | There is very little such work done ! now, for we had 110 sewing machines then, and it took a long, long time, j This embroidery was beautiful then, and it is pretty yet. Do you remember when the first daguerrean came to our town to take pictures? Well, Hattie wore this dress when her picture was taken. I thought she was the , sweetest little thing in the world, and so ; did you, and so she was. Since then we ; have had ambrotypes and photographs and porcelain pictures, and I don't what know all; but that little dagueri reotype gave me more pleasure than anything since, and it is pretty now. Let me sec?that was twenty-five years ago, and now I think this same dress j will look right pretty 011 Hattie's child. ! And here is one that our first boy was j christened in, and there is no machine work about it either. That was more 1 than thirty years ago, and now there j are four grandchildren at his house, j and three more at another one's house, , and I don't know what will become of the poor little things, but I reckon the j Lord will provide lor them. And here | is 11 little garment that Jennie made. : l'oor Jennie ; she had a troubled life, but she is in Heaven now, and I'll save this for l'et. She will prize it because , j her mother made it. And here is a 1 piece of my wedding dress?do you ! remember it? I know you said then i that I looked like an angel in it, but j my wings have dropped off long ago, and now I'm only a pool1 old woman, 1 ! a faded flower, an overworked mother, ten living children and three more up ! yonder, and I will be there, too, I hope, I j before long, for I'm getting tired, very ' tired, and it seems to nic I would like. ! to be nursed, nursed by my. mother, i and petted like she used to pet me in | the long, long ago. And here is a pair : of little baby shoes, and the little dar- j 1 ling who wore them is in the grave, i but he is better off now, and I wouldent eall him back if I could. Sometimes I want to feel sad, and I rummage over : these old things. There is not much | here now, for every little while I have to get out something to mend with or patch or make over again. I wish you would go and see wnat can ana jessie arc doing; down at the branch I reckon, and feet all wet, and they have both j I got dreadful colds. I can't keep them | away from that branch." "Didn't you play in the branch, my j dear, when you were a child ?" said I. ! | "Yes," said she mournfully, "butnoth- j ing couldn't hurt mo then ; we were j i not raised so delicate in those days. I j You know I used to ride to the plan- ! I tatiou, twelve miles, and back again : j in a day, and bring a bag of fruit on i j the horn of the saddle; but the girls j couldn't do it now. They can go to j i a party in a buggy and dance half the | night, but that is all excitement, and ! they are not lit for anything the next ! day. We didn't have any dances ? hardly ever?we went to the country weddings sometimes. You remember I we went to James Dunlap's wedding, j when he married Kebecca Summons. ! That was a big frolic?an old-fashioned frolic. Everybody was there from all ; the neighborhood, and there were more turkeys and roast pig and cake i than I ever saw, and we played everything we could think of. Kebecca was I pretty then; but poor woman?she has Inula thousand children, too,just like myself, and I reckon she is faded too, and tired." "Hut Jim Dunlap hasn't faded," said I. "I see him when I go | j to town, and he is big and fat and merry?looks a little like old David | Davis." "Oh, yes, of course he does," said Mrs. Arp. "The men don't know any- | thing about care and anxiety and sleepless nights. It is a wonder to me they die at all." "Hut I have helped j you all I could, my dear," said I, "and ! you see it's telling on me. Look at i these silver hairs and these wrinkles and crows-feet, and my back hurts ever and anon, and this rainy bad weather gives me rheumatism, but you haven't a gray lniir and hardly a seam on your alabaster forhead. "Why, you will outlive me, too, and maybe there will be a rich widower stepping l.an/. %m*t L.lmoL- mwl t?nn will (II UUIIU 111! U ill IIIJ J5IIWVO (*im j v/\? *? have a fine carriage and a pair of j beautiful bay horses, and? "William, I told you to go after Curl and Jessie." "If Vanderbilt's wife should die and lie could accidcnlly see you," said I, after I'm gone, there's no telling?" "Well, go along now and lind the children, and when you come back I'll listen to your foolishness ; I am not go- ! ing to let you die if I can help it, for I , don't know what would become of us ! all. Yes, you have helped me, I know, ; and been a great comfort and did the best you could?most of the time; yes, most of the time?and I might have done worse, and you must pet me, for I am getting childish." "And you must pet me, too," said I. "Oh of course 1 will," said she; am I not always petting you? Now, go along after the children before we both get to crying and have a scene; and I wish you would see if the bull'cochin hen has hatched in the hen house." "She has been setting about fourteen weeks," said I, "but she is getting old, and these old mothers are slow, mighty , slow." I went after the children, and sure j enough they were fishing in the spring ! branch, and their shoes were wet and muddy, and they were bareheaded, and I marched them up tenderly, and .Mrs. ' Arp set them down by the lire and dried their shoes, and got them some more stockings, and then opened their little morning school, llow patiently these old-fashion mothers work and worry over the little things of domestic life. Day after day, and night after night, they labor and watch and watch and wait, while the fathers are contriving some big thing to keep up the family supplies. Parents are very much like chickens. The old hen will set and set and starve, and when the brood comes will go to scratching for worms and bugs as hard as she can and be always clucking and looking out for hawks, but the old rooster will strut around and notice the little ' chickens with a paternal pride, and when he scratches up a bug makes a a big fuss over it and calls them with a llourish, and eats it himself just be- ; fore they get there.?Pill Arp. Ti'kkisii Sri'KUsTrrioNs.?Among the Turkish superstitions arc these: If a pair of scissors are left on a table open, it is a sign of a quarrel. If they i fall upon the lloor and stick up, it 1 means a visit; and if an apple or oth it fruit fails from the nana jusi us you arc about to put it in your mouth, it is a sign some one envies you. If a I loaf or a piece of bread falls to the | lloor, it is a sign that some of your rel- | atives arc in want of bread in a strange place. To hito the tongue signifies that you are not telling the truth. The little white spots which come under the finger nails mean various things, according to the finger. The right thumb nail means money earned : the left, finding money or a present. The first linger means friends, the next enemies, the third journeys, and the little one fibs. When the eyelash falls of! and lies on the cheek, it means a present of a new gown or other article of wearing apparel. WESTERN JrSTICE. The Memory of n Wrong Tlmt Still Itunkleil. Mr. Theodoro Koosevelt sccmus to ; I have found the genuine Bret Hartc t cowboy, and in The Century thus re- , i peats one of his stories told in a genial 1 chat after supper : One of them asked the other what ' had become of a certain horse, a noted * cutting pony, which 1 myself had i noticed the preceding fall. The qucs- , tion roused the other to the memory ? of a wrong which still rankled, and I ' he began (I alter one or two proper f names): ; i " 'Why, that was the pony that got ' < stole. I had been workin' him on j i rough ground when I was out with 1 the Three Bar outfit, and he went I tender forward, so I turned him loose t by Lazy Branch, and when I come i back to get him, there wasn't anybody ' ? at the ranch, and I couldn't find him. j > The sheep-man who lives about two , s miles west, under Bed Clay Butte, told 1 me he seen a fellow in a wolf-skin coat, t ridin1 a pinto bronc' with white eyes, ' lcadin' that pony of mine just two t days before; and I hunted round till i ' I hit his traij, and then I followed to f where I'd reckoned he was headin' j ( for?the; Short Tine Hills. When I ! got there a rancher told me he had seen the man pass on toward Cedartown ; and sure enough, when I struck , Cedartown, I found he lived there in i a 'dobe house just outside of town, j There was a boom on the town, and it r looked pretty slick. I "There was two hotels, and I says, t 'Where's the justice of the peace?' j says I to the bartender. t " 'There ain't no justice of the peace,' j says he; 'ther justice of the peace got , shot.' ] "'Well, whcre's the constable?' c says 1. t "Why, it was him that shot the ( justice of the peace,' says he; he's | skipped the country with a bunch of s horses.' ! ( " 'Well, ain't there 110 oflicer of the , law left in this town ?' says I. ( "'Why, of course,' says he; 'there's t a probate judge ; he is over tendin' bar | at the Last Chance hotel.' t "So I went over to the Last Chance t hotel, and I walked in there. ? " 'Mornin',' says I. j t " 'Mornin',' says he. , "'You're the probate judge?''says I. j t " 'That's what I am,' says lie. j j 'What do you want?" says he. I j " I wan't justice,' says I. t "'What kind of justice do you , want?' says he. 'What's it for?' ! f " 'It's for stealin' a horse,' says I. . * I ^ " 'Then, by , you'll get it.' says ( he. 'Who stole the horse? says lie. r " 'It is a man that lives in a 'dobe t house just outside tile town there,' , says I. c " 'Well where do you come from ] yourself?" says he. ' " 'From Mcdory,' says I. j "With that he lost interest, and ? settled kind 0' back, and says lie, ( 'There won't 110 Cedartown jury hang ? a Cedarlown man lor stcaim a xueuo- ( ry man's horse,' says he. j " 'Well, what am I to do about my ; horse?" says I. "'Do?' says he. 'Well you know | where the man lives, don't you ?' says ; he. 'Then sit up outside his house to- ! f night, and shoot him when he comes in,' 1 says he, 'and skip out with the horse.' 1 " 'All right,' says I; 'that is what I'll do;' and I walked oil'. ; ' "So I went oil' to his house, and I 1 laid down behind some sage-brushes * to wait for him. He was not at home, j 1 but I could see his wife movin' about * inside now and then, and I waited and j waited, and it growed darker, and I 1 begun to say to myself, 'Now here you ' are lyin' out to shoot this man when 1 he comes home ; and its getting dark 1 and you don't know him, and if you do shoot the next man that comes into ( that house, like as not it won't be the 1 fellow you're alter at all, but some ' perfectly innocent man a-comin' ther ( after the other man's wife.' ' " 'So I up and saddled the brone', j 1 and lit out for home," concluded the ' I narrator, with the air of one justly ' proud of his own self-abnegating 1 virtue." 1 t THE SILVER STATES. ' The silver party is more strongly 1 represented in the I'nited States senate . than in the house of representatives, 1 though the true reason of the fact is ) not clear to everybody. When, in 185)0, the Republicans admitted the ( six Northwestern States, which were ] to keep the Republican party secure in control of the senate for many years ' to come, though the Democrats might ' gain control of the presidency and ( ... r 1 .r S CICCl U IllilJUI'll V 1>I i in.* iiuuni; \n resentatives, they overshot the mark , * and brought upon themselves a double y disaster. They helped to build up, by their summary and precipitate ad mis- i sion of these States, a new party in ! the Northwest, which carried two of ' them against Mr. Harrison, and cost the Republicans Kansas, Colorado and i Nevada, till then secure in the Kcpub- 1 lienn column. t The seven silver-producing Stales i are Colorado, Idaho, Montamt, Neva- t da, Oregon, Washington and South > Dakota. They cast, at the late dec- I tion, collectively, -104,092 votes. If to t them we add the votes of North Da- t kota and Wyoming, ">2,82-1 in all, gov- ' erned by similar political conditions, i and sympathizing with the neighbor- > ing pro-silver States, we have a total 1 of -I">7,8 Hi. i The senate is composed of eighty- ? eight members. The total vote of the t people at the late election numbered 1 12,008, ">!) ">. Were the basis of repre- * sentation identical in each State, each 1 senator would stand for 187,01)0 votes. Hut these nine States, instead of hav- ' ing only four senators, as their popu- t bit inn lniirht ilist ifv. actually have ' ) eighteen : ami it is on account of this t undue representation, for which the Republicans are directly accountable, that the silver men are so strong in the senate.?N. V. Sun. , SPECIFIC ADYKKTISINH. "I always make it a point," said a wide-awake merchant, "to he specific and direct in my advertisements. 1 do not generalize, hut select the goods I wish to sell at a particular time, and in a plain, terse manner, call public attention to them. I do not in a general way advertise mv goods, hut in a special way call attention from week to week to some line or department, and when this has been done I then change to another line, and continue changing ( from one department to another until 1 all my stock has, in a direct special i ' manner, been placed before the public. 1 uMy experience has convinced me 1 that if advertisers would pay strict at- ( tcntion to the advertisements they in- s sort in the newspapers, change them 1 often and keep them fresh and new, it | would pay them better than to let one 1 run from week to week without altera- 1 tion until it becomes stale and uprofit- i able." ( The good sense of the "wide-awake | merchant" will he at once realized, if i 1 i\e consider the fact that the ordinary ulvcrtisements of local merchants are rery stereotyped in form, and about dike. In most cases the dry-goods nerchant, for example, simply states hat he has a large stock of dry goods, )r, going more into detail, that lie has i line of such and such kinds of goods. 1'his is not specific enough to attract he huver to patronize one merchant, ather than another. We think that country merchants would find it profitxblc to imitate the large retail dryroods houses of New York city. The - xamination of one of the issues of he Sunday Herald, for instance, will show a large number of advertiscnents. manv of a column or more in cngtli, written in a running conversaional style?about, in fact, as an intinate friend might take you through lis store, making comments as to .tylcs, prices, amount of stock, etc. The result is, that the advertisements ire interesting even to those who have 10 intention of buying. The ladies read these advertisements, tiid by comparing the prices, assortncnts and styles, know just where to jo to get just what they wish. TUeso ire published at a great expense to the lealers, but they bring a correspondngly large return, and are, therefore, laying investments. Of this there can ie 110 question, as these houses continle to advertise, week after week, which, >f course, they would not do if they lid not (hid it profitable. In no other vay is it possible for them to reach mob a large number of people promptly and in a manner which will insure lie advertisement being read. Trying to do business without ndverising is like attempting to untie a 'hard knot" with a pair of buck-skin jloves on the hands.?New England Irocer. + WHAT A VOLCANO CAN DO. Few people in this country imagine vhat terrible work a volcano of reguation si/.c can do when it once gets 'tilly aroused, says the Philadelphia fimcs. In 1888 Cotapaxi threw its iery rockets more than 8,000 feet above be crater, and in 18">7, when the blazng mass confined in the same mounaiu was strucirling for an outlet, it oared so loud that the awful noise vas heard for a distance of 000 miles, n 1797 the crater of Tunguragua, one >f the great peaks of the Andes, Hung >ut torrents of mud and lava which lammed up a great river, opened new akcsf besides making a deposit of leething mud, ashes and lava 000 feet lecp over the whole area of a valley vhieh was twenty miles long and av:ragcd 1,000 feet in width. The stream >f lava which flowed from Vesuvius in IS37 and passed through the valley if Tcrre del Greco, is estimated to have 'ontained 333,000,000 cubic feet of :olid matter. In 1700 /Etna poured >ut a flood of melted stones and ashes vhieh covered 84 square miles of fertile country to a depth of from 10 to 40 eet. On this occasion the sand, scoia, lava, etc., from the burning mounain formed Mount llasini, apeak two niles in circumference and over 4,000 eet high. In the eruption of Vesuvius in the year 79 A. I)., the time of he destruction of Pompeii, the scoria, ishes, sand and lava vomited forth far exceeded the entire mass of the volcaio itself, while in 1CG0 /Etna disgorged >ver 20 times its own mass. Vesuvius ms sent its ashes into Syria, Egypt and rurkey. It hurled stones of 800 lounil weight to Pompeii, a distance of ix English miles, during the eruption if 79 A. 1). C'otapaxi once projected i block of stone containing over 100 aibie yards, a distance of nine and a lalf miles. A lllJKHV AItllITT ' TIAIK " K. I). W. asks: "Give u history of >ur time reckoning system. Is it ccrain that we calculate from the time of he birth of Christ ?" To begin with, I will say that there s not a man living today who can tell exactly why one day is called Saturday, Tulv 1, 1898, or what the calculation s based upon which give that as a remit. There has been so much tinkerng with and changing of time reckoning systems, that I frankly confess that hardly know how one would go ihont even attempting to answer It. ). W.'s puzzler. It has been clearly established that Jhrist was not born on January 1 of he year with which the Christian era >ogins, but some time in the spring believed to be April 7) in the year A. ). 4! Here is an insurmountable hronological error to begin with. I'hen, again, others take an entirely lillerent view of the matter (most lotably Professor battler, of Munich) mil have proved to their own satisfacion at least, that we are live years beiind in our mode of reckoning instead >f being four years ahead ; that Christ vas born in the year "> li. C., accordng to chronological reckonings, which vould make this the year of our a>rd 1.898 instead of 1898! One curinis thing is claimed by astronomers, vhieh the editor, beingja common moral, is not able to verify?viz: that we ire gradually losing time, and that by lie I'lKl 01 ine year ii,o;io ^wmuii jm a onsiderable way in the future) the icasons will he completely reversed. \.ll this is being brought about by vhat is known as the "procession of he equinoxes!''?St. Louis Republic. Facts Anovr Casauianca.?Few >ut know the pretty piece of poetry by \Irs. Heliums, "Casabianca," comneneing, "The boy stood 011 the uirning deck." The jioetess states hat the lad was the son of the admird commanding the flagship I/Orient, vhieh took fire and exploded ; that ,-oung Casabianca perished in the exdosion, refusing to quit the position illotted to him by his father, pending he battle of the Nile. I have been ooking into the official account of the ucidcnt. The admiral was Rrucys, vlio was wounded in the head and land early in the action, lie continual to give orders until cut in two by 1 cannon ball; he uttered the request 0 be allowed to die on deck, which le did in the course of some minutes, 'itoyen Casabianca, the father of the luetic hero, then took command; his ion was a middy, but only aged 10, lot in. At that period lads entered he navy very young. Casabianca vas only a deputy. Fending the acion his son wasat his side; the father vas mortally wounded in the head by 1 splinter and became insensible : he ;ave no injunctions to his son, but the alter- would none the less quit his /. ( ..l.t.l II?f f l?!o iSntn tin* |\ IHIIIUIU jJiiiiiJi. i m iiiid U111V, t ii v iliip was on lire. Several of tlie iailors had left and saved themselves ni spars, till picked up hy the Mulish boats. Aided hy the purser, young 'asabianca and his father were lowered down 011 a piece of mast floating, >ut they had only got a short disanee from the 1 I'D gun, Orient, when die blew up, and nothing more was seen of the Casabiancas. -? * Ski.i.ixi; His Clocks.?A traveling lock maker made a circuit, having a iundrcd clocks when he started, l'liey were all very had, which he well ciiew, hut "hy soft sawder and human iatur'," as Sam Slick says, he contrived to sell ninety-nine of taem,nml reserved the last for his intended ruse. He went to the house where he had sold the first clock and said : "Well, low, how does your clock go? Very veil, I guess." The answer was as he inticipated. "No, very had." "Inleed ! Well, I've found it out at last. Volt see, I had one clock which was, I iiiow, a had one, and I said to my hoy : I 'You put that clock aside, for it j won't do to sell such an article, j Well, the hoy didn't mind, and left the clock with the others, and I : found afterward that it had been sold I somewhere. Mighty mad I was. I can ' tell you, fori am not a little particular about my credit. So I have asked lie re and there, everywhere almost, how my clocks went, and they all said | they 'actually regulated the sun.' lint I was determined to find out who had the had clock, and I am most parj ticularly glad that I have done it at I last. Now, you see I have but one i elock left, a very superior article, ! worth a matter of ten shillings more than the other, and I must give it to you in exchange, and I'll only charge I r...~ ~i.:n .1:11*. l>Ull live Miming.-- uiiiun iiri;, ?in > on have boon annoyed with the lmd artij ele." The man who had the had arti: ele thought it better to pay live shillings more to have a good one. So ; the exchange was made, and then the : man proceeding with the clock,return! ed to the next house. "Well, now, how does your clock go? Very well, 1 I guess." The same answer, the same | story repeated and another five shillings, exchange. And thus did he go ] round, exchanging clock for clock until | lie had received an extra five shillings for every one he had sold. ALLIGATORS AUK GETTING SCARCE. Dr. Hugh X. Smith, of the I'nited States fish commission, says there are I very few alligators left in the St. John's i river, Florida. Hunters in that region 1 who have devoted many years to the business are giving it up. It seems ' 1 only a question of time when this valuable fishery, which could by proper cure be preserved for an indefinite pe| riod, will become exhausted to the : great loss of a large element of the population inhabiting the in'erior of ' ; the State. In the Indian river country, Cocoa, Melbourne and Fort Pierce ; are headquarters for alligator hunting and trade in the hides. A few j ! years ago one hunter at Cocoa killed j SOO alligators in a season, and another t><>r>ii..r>.l i, /-,n? nirrlif OVtlti V.VI iVI IJ-mu III UIIV infill) In 1889 and 1S90 twelve hunters in | the vicitity of Melbourne killed about i 2,000 alligators. At Fort Pierce large j j numbers of tbe saurians were handled ' in former years. In 1889 twelve men I brought in 4,000 skins, and in 1S90 j I 2,000 skins. In 1SS9 alligator hides to j the number of 6,700 were shipped from I Miami to New York, and in 1890 tbe ! number was 5,058. Kissimce, situated on Lake Tohope- ; kaliga, in the interior of the State, is I ail important center in the alligator ! trade. In 1SS0 three firms were lo- I j cated there for the purpose of buying | skins taken in the region between : j Lake Kissimce and Okeechobee, and j in that year they handled 83,600 hides. | In 1890 only two firms did business, j j purchasing 15,000. The decline of over 50 per cent, was ; ' chiefly due to thescarcity of alligators, i I but was .also influenced by the low j j price received by the hunter. The ! j skins mentioned represent the work of ! | about twenty professional and eighty j semi-professionals^ortmen. Theaggre- 1 gate number of animals killed and the j average number to a man, are very j much less than a few years ago, when j a skillful hunter could easily secure j (iOO 'gators in two or three weeks. The marketable skins are from 3 to i 12 feet in length and arc paid for in | provisions, ammunition, etc. The deal- I ers get 65 cents for them from the tan- j ncrs in New York. Sr.Kici'iMi in- ('uracil.?A pliysi- } cian who was asked for reason why | people became drowsy in church and j j if there was any remedy for chronic j cases, said that the drowsy feeling in church was often due to bad construe- j tion, to over-heating and to the gener- ; at quiet and composing surroundings, j "I have often," said he, "advised I j patients of mine who arc troubled I with insomnia to try a quiet church | ! where the preacher was not too cneri getic in his manner, and in most cases 1 the result had been gratifying. The i nnnr muti u'lin Imu linrnioo .almost 1"'" --' wild through want of sleep generally obtains relief and falls oil" into a gentle and refreshing slumber. Many people suffering in this way take a ride in a. railroad train for relief, and often get | it, but nothing has succeeded so well as the Sunday morning service in a j quiet church. If those people, however, do not need to sleep in church, ! and do not want to, would drink very strong tea or coffee before going to church, they might find it effective, but I by no means healthy. Why do you see the bald heads nodding most in j | church ? Because the old are more susceptible to the influence of such surroundings. The women seldom go to sleep, because they arc so dressed that to sleep would be almost impossi ' ble. If the men would lace themselves up tight, they might keep awake, too, but, in the words of General Knickerbocker, "they cawn't do it, you know." ? Animals and Mrsic.?The Spectator gives an account of certain cxpcri- ! ments made to determine the sensibility of animals to music. In each experiment the violin would be played, at first low and soft, then gradually louder and louder. The sharp, hightoned piccolo would then follow, and j then the flute. The effect was often startling. The tiger, for instance, listened intently and with evident pleasure to the violin, but when the piccolo began, was filled with the wildest rage, rushed up and down the cage or bounded across it, reared 011 its hind legs, shook its bead ami ears, and lashed its tail from side to side. The flute, however, calmed it at once, and com! ing to the bars of the cage, it listened ' intently to it. The monkeys, who were admitted to the concert, were affected in the same way as the tiger, but were not so violent in the expression of their : emotions. The music of the violin was often so agreeable to tliom mat they would drop their food and listen very attentively, while the piccolo almost invariably aroused their anger. The elephant preferred the flute, and was enraged at the sound of the piccolo, as was also the ostrich. The wild asses and zebras left their food when the violin began to play, and ran over to hear it. The piccolo, however, soon i sent them back again. j \\T:i>i>in<;-(!ikt IU'Rdkns.?A young couple just starting in life with only; enough for simple and economical living, received at their wedding several . ; hundred handsome, expensive and ; many of them ornate presents; presents from relatives they had never seen, from mere acquaintances and from I people for whom they cared nothing. It took them years, as they said, to live down these presents. Man of them they simply put in a safe deposit vault: but they felt under obligation to each giver of gifts, and when, in turn, these i friends and acquaintances were married, the young couple felt in duty | bound not only to send them a present, but one that as nearly as possible ap- ; preached in financial value that given them. 11 nenooves us 10 can a nan in I the giving of engagement presents, and [ to curl) as much as possible promiscuous giving in wedding presents. A ; wedding is a family rite, and an iiiti: mate sharing in it belongs to those alone who are nearest to the bride and groom in blood and in sympathy. Tick Connts ok an Km;ink.?The cough or pull1 of a railway engine is | <lue to the abrupt emission of waste steam up the stack. When moving j slowly, the coughs can, of course, he licartl following each other ?|iiite disi tinctlys hut when the speed is put on the pull's come out one after another with much more rapidity, and when eighteen coughs a second are produced they cannot be separately distinguish, cd by the ear. A locomotive running at the rate of nearly seventy miles an hour gives out twenty pulls of steam I every second?that is ten each for its two cylinders. For Makriki> AVomk.n*.?Always remember that you are married to a man and not a god : he prepared for imperfections. Once in u while let your husband have the last word: it will gratify I him and he no particular loss to you. Anticipate the discovery by your husband that you arc "only a woman if you were not he would not care about you. Remember that servants are made of the same materials as you are ; a little coarser grained perhaps, but the same in essentials. Read something in the papers besides fashion notes and society columns; have some knowledge of what is going on in foreign countries. lie a companion to your husband if he is a wise man : and if he is not, try and make him become your companion. Raise his standard; do not let him lower yours. Let your husband know more than you do once in awhile; it keeps up liis self-respect and you will be none the worse for admitting that you are not actually infallible. Respect your husband's prejudices, respect his relations, especially his mother?she is none the less his mother because she is your mother-in-law ; she loved him before you did. Unclk Sam's Cats.?Three hundred and odd cats are maintained by i no i nueu auuc* kuvltiiiuuiil, mu cost of their support being carried as a regular item on the accounts of the postollice department. They are distributed among about fifty postofiices, and their duty is to keep rats and mice from eating postal matter and postal sacks. Their work is of the utmost importance wherever large quantities of mail are collected?us, for example, at the New York postofiice, where from two thousand to three thousand bags of such material are commonly stored away in the basement. Formerly great damage was done by mischievous rodents, which chewed holes in the sacks, and thought nothing of boring clear through bags of letters in a night. Troubles of this sort no longer occur, now that the official pussies stand guard. Kncli city postmaster is allow ed from eight to forty dollars a year for the keep of his feline stall', sending his estimate for "cat meat" to Washington at the beginning of each quarter. Care is taken not to feed the animals too high, in order that their appetite for live game may be keen. It is laid down as a rule that no meat shall be given when there is a mouse or a rat to be caught. Ai.cohoi. not Useful in Medicine.?Doctors seem to disagree more seriously as to the value of alcoholic drinks as a beverage and as a medicine, than about anything else. At the temperance congress in Chicago the other day, I)r. Davis, of Chicago, who was presiding, made a strong speech against the use of liquor as a remedial agent in the treatment of disease, and said that after fifty years of study and observation he had reached the conclusion that alcohol, so far from being a stimulant, was a narcotic. It destroyed plant life, he said, and injured animal life. It concentrated in the nerve centers, producing local or general paralysis, lowered the temper siturc and vitality of the body ami induced muscular prostration. This position is quite opposed to that taken by the vast majority of the profession. Few doctors will advise the regular use of alcoholic drink, save in special cases, hut the most of them consider it a valuable agent in diseased conditions of the system. A Hoi.k Through thi-: Earth.?A correspondent of the Rockbridge, Ya., News says that at Timber Ridge, in that county, a hole has been discovered which the people of the neighborhood thinks reaches all the way through the eartli to China, (freat numbers of locusts have been observed pouring out of the hole, and this serves to confirm them in their belief. A person, who lives in the neighborhood, has sounded the hole with a bullet and a spool of thread, which is supposed to he 200 yards long, and he found no bottom, so, of course, there probably is none. The correspondent suggests that "it would be well for the president to place a guard at the hole aud keep back paupers and scoundrels from China, and if our government intends to enforce the exclusion act, I think the cheapest and quickest way would be to put them in this hole and let them go home. They can supply themselves with a parachute, and all going the same way,'there will be 110 danger of a collision." Char.utkr ix Walkim;.?Quick steps are indicative of energy or agitation. Tiptoe walking symbolizes surprise, curiosity, discretion or mystery. Turned-in toes are often found in preoccupied and absent-minded persons. The miser's walk is represented as stooping, noiseless, with short, nervous, anxious steps. Slow steps, whether long or short, suggest a gentle or reflective state of mind as the ease miiv be. The proud step is slow and measured; the toes are conspicuously turned out. the legs straightened. Where a vengeful purpose he hidden under a feigned smile, the step will be slinking and noiseless. The direction of the steps, wavering and following every changing impulse of the mind, inevitably betrays uncertainty, hesitation, and indecision. Obstinate people, who, in an argument, rely more on muscularity than on intellectual power, rest the feet Hat and firm on the ground, walk heavily and slowly, and stand with the legs firmly planted and far apart. Uaf" Water boils at different temperatures according to the elevation above the sea level. In Baltimore water boils practically at 212? F.; at Munich, in (Jermanv, at 209.1?: at the City of Mexico, at 200?; ami in the Himalayas, at an elevation of IS,000 feet above the level of the sen, at ISO0. These dilfcrences are caused by the varying pressure of the atmosphere at these points. In Baltimore the whole weight of air is to be overcome. In Mexico, 7.000 feet above the sea, there are 7,000 feet less of atmosphere to be resisted, consequently less heat is required, and boiling takes place at a lower temperature. ?'tiriK L . BST" They have no hearses in the City of Mexico. Those vehicles were bought in by a street railway company and destroyed or sent away. The company now has a monopoly of the funeral business. It runs funeral cars, white for children, blacks for adults, that are sometimes half covered with (lowers, and the mourners ride to the cemetery in an upholstered special car, with lace curtains, that follows the ear containing the collin. Horse and mule railroads run out of the city to great distances. One of them is seventy miles long, and a ride over it is practically the same as the stage journey of other days.