Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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LEWIS M. grist, Proprietor.! fin .Independent |;amilt| $lru;spaper: 0|oi! the groinofioii of the goliti(;al, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the ^oiiflt. J TERMS?.$2.00 A YEAR IX ADVANCE. VOL. 40. YORKVILLE, S. C? "WEDNESDAY, JANUARY IP, 1S94. ^O. A TRANSFER! BY EDITH SES Copyright, 189.J, by American Press CHAPTER V. PORTIA'S HUSBAND. It is useless to attempt to analyze the * emotions which possessed me during our return to the house. I was now confident that I was in the company of a madwoman and was deliberating upon ways and means for a speedy departure northward. And yet, when Portia's excitement had subsided, when we were back once more amid the flowers and fountains, she looked perfectly self container! nnd Rene Her eves had lost their un earthly glitter, and when she again touched my hand her flesh was warm. Alone in my room I pondered upon the events of the day; Portia's fury when Daphne brought her the flowers and her evident dislike of her child; her alarm at something contained in her husband's , ? letter; her intimation that danger threatP ened her through her husband, whom she so evidently idolized, and her rage when I attempted to open the closed gate in lhat dreary out of'the way corner of the grounds. What did it all mean? "Shall I stay or go?*' I asked myself. "Shall I see this mystery to the end, or shall I fly from it? If trouble is hanging over Portia, ought I not to stand by and < give her all the aid in my power?" Then there was Colonel Marchmont. i owned co a woman 0 uuuu^ivj wuk?uing him I wa3 anxious to see the man whom Portia loved and as palpably feared danger throngh him, she bad said. Again she had acknowledged that often Bhe felt she were going mad. Possibly - that was it; possibly she was alarmed lest her husband should put her in a * madhouse. All these vagrant thoughts drifted through my mind, vexing, tormenting and questioning me, until wornout I fell asleep. My dreams were confused and ever circled round that closed gate, I covered with low hanging vines curling and twisting like green serpents over its hinges and locks. + Sometimes strange lights burned over its top and again darkness veiled it, though I felt it was there, and once i dreamed I stood before it and heard three awful and measured knocks, and on crying out "Who is there?" received answer, "Portia." I wakened, wearied and languid from my feverish sleep. When I descended to breakfast, I found Portia laughing and romping gayly with Daphne. This unexpected sight filled me with delight. The mother and daughter pelted each other with flowers, ran races and danced together. Suddenly Portia cried out pettishly that she was wearied of such nonsense and relapsed into a gloomy mood, during which I caught her eyes more than once fixed on me with an expression of distrust. " Why do you regard me so intently, Portia?" I suddenly asked her. ^ "I was wondering, you little gray mouse, what you would do if you should 1^^ hear unkind things said of me?yes, more than unkind?dreadful, wicked, cruel deeds charged against me." "Absurd!" I said laughingly. ^ "What would you say, for example, if some one were to come in that door and tell you that I had betrayed faith and honor; that I was a thief' "Nonsense!" "That I was a murderer" * "Oh, hush, hush, Portia!" I cried, going over to her and taking her by the shoulders. "Why do you suggest such hateful thoughts? Put them away and come out upon the piazza." "Yes," she said, with that strange air of proud humility I had noticed before, "yes, I will come." As we passed into the hall a servant approached us with the tidings that a > carriage had just turned into the long avenue leading to the mansion. "It is papa," shouted Daphne, dancing like a firefly. Portia said nothing, but I felt her bcdy sway as if about to fall. I caught her in my arms. She was trembling, pale and cold. "Compose yourself, dear," I urged. "Why, Portia, I don't believe you are anxious to see him after all." "Oh, yes," she murmured faintly. "Yes, I thirst for a sight of his face. My love ?my love?Prudence," suddenly clinging to me, "remember that always ?whatever comes?remember, I loved him as few women love." The carriage dashed up to the Bteps, and a tall, well built, athletic man sprang to the ground. As he came up the steps I saw a broad, low brow, with heavy masses of dark hair, threaded with silver, eyes dark and full of sorrow, a soldierly mustache, a strong chin and straight nose. Daphne flung herself into his arms, i He pressed the child with a tender, ca- I ressing grace to his heart and kissed her 1 little face again and again. '^Papa's own baby," I heard him murmur. During this meetir g Portia stood back, white, trembling, ?.n<2 with eyes fixed upon the ground. When Colonel Marchmont put the child down, she moved for- i ward and mechanically held out her | hand. She seemed like a person in a trance. I saw Colonel Marchmont start, then j taking the outstretched hand he barely ! touched it with his lips, saying, "I hope j you are well, Portia." "Very well. And you?" "Never better." "Let me introduce an old school j friend, Prudence Mason, of whom you have heard me speak. Prudence, my husband." Colonel Marchmont shook hands in hospitable fashion and greeted me with a friendly little speech. I was vaguely j conscious that my unexpected presence .? appeared to be a relief to liim. He soon went in to breakfast. Daphne ran after him. The child had lost all her . : Daphne Jinny herself Into his arms. timidity and seemed to me to look defi- i antly at Portia. Her mother, on the oth- ! er hand, wore the air of humility and melancholy I had before observed. Never had I witnessed so cold a greeting between husband and wife. While Colonel Marchmont treated Portia with courtesy, he unmistakably held her at arm's length. Nor was I surprised when I an hour later, coming from my room, I j saw him enter a suite of rooms in quite : the opposite location from those of Por- i tia. I at once realized one source of my j friend's grief. Loving her husband with the fiery intensity of a warm, southern nature, she yet was an unloved wife. mi n i i tr 1 a. Still uoionei iuarcnmom, was a man 01 kindness, amiability and affection. He | showed it in his treatment of his child? 1 yes, of his servants and even his dogs, J but toward his wife he was as icy und flinty as marble. "Danger through liira," she had said, i My heart ached for my friend. Yes, the I fflD IDENTITY. SIONS TUPPER. Association. danger of being cast off, deserted,' put away?that was the evil which threatened this tempest tossed soul. Ah, poor Portia! I saw my duty clearly now?to stay with her, comfort and solace her all in my power, and if it were possible bring this husband and j wife, drifting so dangerously apart, together once more. CHAPTER VI. IN THE ARBOR. The evening of Colonel Marchmont's return was given over to the ball of which mention has already been made. Portia was a picture in her white satin gown, the laces of which were caught here and there with clusters of scarlet verbenas. When she was dressed and stood intently regarding herself in the , mirror, she 6ighed heavily. "Why do you sigh, Portia?" I asked as I pinned the last knot of flowers in the folds of her gown. "Those red blossoms," she answered dreamily. "I have a curious fancy about them, Prudence. Do you know that they look like drops of blood?" Then catching my reproving expression she laughed gayly, caught up her scarlet fan and hastened to join her husband in the drawing room. I watched Colonel Marchmont curiously to see what effect his wife's beauty had upon him, but he regarded her as coldly as ever. I began to be furious with this calm, self contained man, who showed so plainly his utter indifference to the beautiful woman he possessed. He had taken her white cloak from her and thrown it over his arm as he stood waiting while she buttoned her gloves. Suddenly he 6poke: "Did I write you that I met Maurice in Atlanta?" he asked. I was standing near Portia, indeed had just stretched out my hands to assist her with the troublesome glove. I saw her shiver as if a cold wind had struck across her white shoulders. "Yes," she said in a low voice. "And that he is coming here next week to stay a few days with us?" Colo- J nel Marchmont continued. "Yes," she breathed rather than spoke. ' Her husband looked intently at her through narrowing eyelids. . "Well, I must say that you do not show much interest in the cousin who was like a brother to you and whom you have not seen since you were boy and girl together. Now, Maurice could not end his catechism about you. How wt Suddenly out of the moonlight came a face. you look, dress, talk and act were questions he was continually asking. I told him his legal training had evidently become second nature, for he kept me on the witness stand constantly. You must know, Miss Mason, that Maurice Raymond is my wife's only living relative. He was bom and brought up on her father's plantation, and the two were like brother and sister." "Oh, yes!" I said, "I used often, Portia, to hear you speak of your brother Maurice." Portia turned a white, hunted face toward me. Her lips moved as if she were about to speak, but no sound issued from them. "Let me see," said her husband as he carelessly threw her cloak over her shoulders, "it must be 15 years since you saw him. How much you will have to talk over!" The greenish light of excitement had died from Portia's face, and as she took her husband's arm she looked so wan, haggard and old I was temped to beg her to stop at home. Really she appeared too ill to go. But the carriage was at the steps. Colonel Marchmont handed her in, fol- j lowed, shut the door, and they were | driven rapidly away. For a long time I sat upon the piazza j thinking over the little scene I had wit- { nessed. From th<" terror and dismay I which had so suddenly crept in Portia's ! face when her cou.an's name was men- i tioned I did not doubt that the news of his coming had been the unwelcome an- | nounceinent in her husband's letter I which had occasioned so much alarm. I And why? What possible danger could this relative bring her? On the contrary, j why did she not welcome his advent as j a relief to the monotony of her life? It ; was not possible she was in love with j this cousin? No, no. If ever a woman loved her husband, it was Portia March- ; mont. My musings were interrupted by lit- j tie Daphne, who had been allowed to ! sit up and watch her mother's toilet for j the ball. She ran toward me, scream- J ing in pretended fright, from her nurse Sophie, who wished to put her to bed, I took lier in my arms aud kijssed her. 4,Good night, darling." 'Don't want to go to bed," she announced in shrill, childish treble; "wants to sit up with you." "Laws now, Miss Daphne, come 011," j urged Sophie. "No, no," cried the child; "no. won't j go to bed till Auntie Prudence takes me : for a walk." "A walk now at 0 o'clock!" I said, j "This is 110 time to take a walk." "Yes," cried Daphne, dancing and ! clapping her hands, "yes, you and So- j phie and me- down to the arbor and back. Then I'll be good and go to bed." I could not resist the child's pleading A CsvWLin tro wniild in\ far n slinrf; i ttliU lUiU UVU/MIV " V/ 11 VU4W w .. v..w. * . turn in the garden. "Only as far as the arbor and back," I admitted. "Yes, yes," laughed the delighted child. Wo threw on our light wraps and set j out. Tho moon was full and sent down I a flood of light, turning every leaf and twig and branch into shimmering silver. | The fountains were splashing softly, and j the birds faintly twittered in their nests, j It was a scene of enchantment?a verita- ! ble midsummer night's dream. "No wonder the child hated to go to , bed," I said to Sophie as the little one went dancing down the walk before us', j "Laws, yes, miss," responded Sophie, I "dat pore chile did tease powahful : hahd." Wo came to the arbor, and entering it sat down for a moment. I can see it all now as I write. The | arbor overhung with dangling, perfume i laden honeysuckles; the little girl capering about, her black eyes flashing in the moonlight; Sophie's ebon faee, white cnr.wv nan and even the lit- I ttUU ~ - tie wooden doll which Daphne had lugged along, stating that Dolly must walk too. Suddenly out of the moonlight came a i face?a face which peered in through the honeysuckles at us with sinister eyes. Long white straggling hair fell around it, and the toothless gums mouthed in a bloodcurdling and evil grin. I saw it first, then Sophie, then tho child. A scream broko tho stillness of the night. It was Sophie who threw her I apron over her head and shrieked in ter| ror. Daphne did not scream, but buried her head in my lap. "Who are you?" I demanded. There was no answer. The hideous face disappeared. There was a rustle in the shrubbery and a sound of hastily withdrawing steps. The intruder had gone. I snatched Daphne up in my arms, and followed by tho moaning, gasping Sophie hurried to the house. There was speedily a group or rngnieneu servants about us, to whom, with much spluttering and many groans, Sophie related the occurrence. I went to the nursery with Daphne and did not leave her until she was sound asleep. Then, with my nerves still considerably Bhaken. I went down to the piazza. Tom, the old white headed butler, was standing near the dining room window, and upon seeing me came forward. "Sorry you got such a scah, miss," he said* "an de little lady too. Dat's too bad. But dat fool Sophie?wot she want to tell all de niggahs foh? Be all obah de plantation befo' midnight, an ebery niggah on de place '11 be moh scahed dan eber." "Scared of what, Tom:" I asked. "Waal," said he, scratching his woolly head, "I shouldn't ought fer to say anythin, for nuffin riles missus moh, but I'll depend upon you sayiu nuffin, miss" "Go on," I said hastily. "Waal, miss," his voice sunk to a whisper, "wat you saw in de arboh was a voodoo from Dead Man's swamp." I shivered involuntarily. "Nonsense!" I cried. "Yes, miss, 'deed it was. An dey is ; sayin now down in de kitchen dat it was } aftah little missy's heart." "Tom, I'm ashamed of you," I said as ' I went in the hall, took my caudle and prepared to go up stairs. Torn followed and said mysteriously, "Please, miss, don't let missus know nuffin 'bout wat happened tonight." "I'll think about it, Tom," I answered as I slowly went up the stairs. CHAPTER VII. OLD JEZEBEL. It waB a serious question with me whether I should speak of the startling experience of the evening. At first I decided to hold my peace. The excitement would soon pass, and Portia and her husband would be none the wiser. But I reflected that they might catch a whisper from the tattling negroes and demand the 6tory of the occurrence. Then they would blame me for not having told them. I decided that it would be better to tell the father and mother at the first opportunity. Breakfast next morning was late. I rose at an early hour, but chose to wait and cat with Portia and the colonel. After they had come down and I had received a glowing description of the revels of the night before, as quietly and briefly as possible I told of the fright we had received in the arbor. "The most awful face I ever saw," I was saying when Portia's glass fell from her hand and shivered on the table. I thought she was going to faint and sprang to her assistance. "No. no," she said weakly, "it is nothing?never mind?only the alarm one would naturally feel." "She does love her child, after all," I said exultantly to myself. As for the colonel?he swore roundly. "That devilish old hag!" ho cried, bringing his shapely brown fist down on the table, "I'll have her chained up. She shan't go round my plantation frightening people out of their senses." "Oh, you know who it was then?" I eagerly cried. "Yes, from your description it could have been no other than old Jezebel, a nigger at least 100 years old. She belonged to my father. She has never had her freedom, but carries on as if she had. She won't stay on the plantation?has built herself a wretched little hut off in the swamp and lives there, doing God /fig* Portia's glass fell from her hand. knows what?muttering incantations, weaving spells, gathering herbs and ; brewing witches' broth, I reckon. The niggers are as afraid of her as they are of the evil one. They won't even pronounce her name if they can avoid it, and as for venturing in the swamp, why, ! Miss Prudence, all the overseers in Georgia couldn't drive any of my people ! there. And yet I have heard in many quarters of darkies who go there at dead : of night for unholy orgies. The popular tradition is that it is a meeting place for voodoos. I believe I'll break up that j nest. I'll tell you what I will do. When Maurice comes, some night I'll take Jake on/1 nna nr fu'n strait iiiccprs. and we'll ' go over there and see what's going on. i As for old Jezebel, I'll burn her alive if j she touches a hair of Daphne's head." During the colonel's long speech Por- | tia's eyes blazed with defiance and anger. | Once or twice she seemed on the point of speaking, but bit her lips as if to re- \ strain the impetuous speech that trem- J bled behind them. But when her husband spoke of visiting the swamp with , her cousin the absolute terror which froze her features was awful to see. She half staggered to her feet. "No, Jennyn, no!" she cried wildly, j "Do not go in the swamp! Keep away j from it, I beg, I implore you! Don't go near them. They will tear out your heart." "Tear out my heart!" cried the colo- 1 nel contemptuously. "I'd like to see one of that crew tear any part of my j anatomy. Silly girl, your terror of the voodoos is something I cannot compre- j hend. Did you ever hear anything so j ridiculous, Miss Prudence? But it is ' always so. I can't mentionjthe swamp or ! repeat the rumors of what is supposed to go 011 thero but my wifo straightway ! falls to groaning and shivering. Portia, you used to have more sense." Though Colonel Marchmont did not j speak unkindly, his impatience with his | frightened wife was scarcely veiled. Ho ; rose, put on his hat and stalked moodily out of the house. Later, when Daphne ran about the ! grounds, she was closely followed by I Jake, one of the brawny overseers, and ; an enormous bloodhound. With Sopliio I they formed quite an imposing guard of i honor. Portia shut herself up in her rooms, and I did not see her again until evening. Colonel Marehmont spent the day going about the plantation examining ; the quarters and consulting with his i overseers. It was just at sunset that, coming i along one of the winding garden paths, | I saw the colonel through a row of j shrubbery on my right. He was walk- j ing slowly, his head bent in reflection, his hands behind him. Unconsciously he was talking aloud. I caught a snatch or two of his conversation with himself as he came on. "How I hate her!" he was saying. "How I loathe her! Suffer! Good God, did ever a man Buffer bo?" Then suddenly ho raised his arms and cried out in tones of bitter anguish: | "Oh, Portia! On, my wife?my wife!" CEAPTER VIII. TI1E AUDACIOUS DANCE. I drew back, startled and amazed. After bis despairing outburst Colonel Marchinont resumed his walk, head bent and hands clasped behind him. I watched him pass out of sight at a i turn of the shrubbery. "Well," I said aloud to myself, "that certainly is about the most astonishing feature yet of this remarkable business. In one instant the colonel declares with an emphasis which leaves little doubt of his earnestness that he hates and loathes Portia, and in the next cries out to her in accents imnlorinir enough to melt a heart of stone. My privato opinion is that the entire March mont family is voodooed." At dinner that evening I particularly remarked Portia's beauty. Never had she l>een so radiant. Her eyes glittered as if she had been drinking champagne, and her cheeks glowed like roses. I could not keep my eyes from her fascinating face and grew more and moro incensed at the cold, silent man who regarded her so indifferently. After we had gone into the drawing room I bethought me of a book in which i I was greatly interested, and excusing myself went into the library to find it. Returning a few minutes later, I was the forced witness of a most painful scene. The door between the rooms was open, 1 and ns I approached I saw Portia steal I l???rtVtnrwl itfifU a IaaTt aP i up uuuiiiu nci uuouauu 'iyiou a tuvn. vi , longing on her face. The colonel was intent upon his newspaper and did not perceive her until she put both white arms about his throat and tenderly laid i her cheek upon his head. He sprang from his chair as if a ser- ! pent had stung him. Turning, he con- ! fronted her with an awful face, white. j stern, contemptuous. "How dare you?" he said in a low voice, vibrant with hatred. "Oh, Jermyn, forgive me! Love me after all. Iam your wife," begged Portia, i "Yes, I have not forgotten that intol- I erable fact," replied Colonel Marchmont, with studied coldness. Then he hurried ! from the room. Portia came flying toward me like a i whirlwind. Her eyes blazed. With one clinched hand she struck at her heart. "Prudence," she cried, "ho will kill me. | But first" She broke off and burst into demoniacal laughter. Then, calming a bit, she j continued: "No, I will not tell you, you j soft little mouse, what I will do. Jer- ! myn Marchmont shall know one day j what he has accomplished tonight." "Portia, what is it?" I asked. "What j r is this mystery which surrounds you" | Instantly I saw that look of cunning i spring to her face. "Mystery!" she repeated almost gayly. i "Absurd! There is no mystery. My j husband has simply wearied of me. j Nothing very mysterious about that, is j there?" and seizing me around the waist i she waltzed me up and down the hall. As soon as I could disengage myself | from her embrace I stepped back. But I Portia went on dancing. She looked a veritable Moenad as 6he whirled and waved her white arms and tossed back her disheveled hair. She was the most graceful creature imaginable, but at the same time there was something both grotesque and frightful about the wild dance in which she indulged. Her face grew wicked, her postures audacious. All I could think of was La Carmagnole or the mad tarantella of one writhing in a death agony. "For heaven's sake, Portia, stop I" I cried at last. She only laughed mockingly and whirled faster than ever. The door at the upper end of the hall opened suddenly, and her husband .appeared. The look of disgust that crossed his face sobered her. She stopped in confusion and began nervously twisting up her hair and arranging her draperies. "Really. Portia," Colonel Marchmont said disdainfully, "I canned admire your ] method of entertaining Miss Prudence. Your dance is nioro suitublo to the or- i gies of Dead Man's swamp than to a j gentleman's house." It was a brutal speech, and it told. | Portia stared gloomily after her husband ! as ho went out upon the piazza, and j then, turning to me, said in an undertone: "You heard what he said? Well, since i he sends mo to the swamp, I'll go. I J have work there, Prudence." "What do you mean?" I cried as she ! fled up the stairs. But she made no answer. Only her taunting laughter floated j down. I heard her slam the door of her | room and knew that in all probability we should not see her again that even- I ing, as it was the custom to take her j nightly leave in some such unceremo- ! nious fashion. Nor did Colonel Marchmont return. I read an hour or so, then went to my room. I heard his heavy tread later as he went to his apartments, then silence settled down over the great house. I did not feel like sleeping. Some strange influence oppressed me. At times I was conscious of a premonition of impending trouble. Something was surely about to happen. What was it? It was nearly midnight when I dis- : tinctly heard a distant door open and j shut. While I stood intently listening I heard soft footsteps gliding along the ; corridor, and an object brushed against j my door. Although I had not disrobed, I had put out the lights iri my room, for which now I was devoutly thankful, as they would have been visible to any one prowling outside in the hall. "Is it a burglar?" I asked myself, "or a belated servant?" With every nerve nniverincr like a violin string: I listened. 1 1 O w The footsteps went toward the stairway j ?yes?down it. Then I heard the great i hall floor softly open and close. I opened my window and stepped out ' upon the balcony. I followed it to the . corner of the house, whence I could command a view of the hall door, broad portico and garden. A figure was flitting down the wind- I ing path. I knew the graceful, einuous : gait. It was Portia. "Why, where can she be going at this hour of night?" I said. Then suddenly her words of the evening returned: "He : has sent me to the swamp, and I'll go, i for I have work there, Prudence." I hastened back to my room, threw a shawl over my shoulders, unlocked my j door, stole down the dark hall and stair- I She only Itiutjhetl vinrkhujly mid whirled j ft inter thmi ever. way ami out into the garden. Follow- I ing the path I had seen Portia taking, I ; soon discovered I was going toward the j swamp. The moon, which had been partially obscured by a mass of drifting clouds, J now emerged and sent a flood of mellow ) light down upon the broad path before I me. Suddenly I saw Portia. She was stand-, I ing with her back toward me, as fixed| [ and motionless as a granite figure. One j hand was extended toward the moon. I saw something sparkling in her clinched fingers. It was a knife! For fully 10 minutes she stood there in the same position absolutely as rigid as marble. Suddenly her arm relaxed and fell by her side. Then she moved on. I followed. I was presently aware that we were in that corner of the grounds where the closed gate was located. When we came to it, I saw Portia stoop and take something from her pocket. Then she tore away the long green vines and thrust this object into the keyhole. I heard the creaking of a lock and then of rusty hinges. The mysterious gate slowly opened. Portia vanished. I heard the key click on me opposite siue. i wits alone. CHAPTER IX. THE RETURN. Crouched by the gate, I waited. Waited for what? I was at a loss to know what course to take. ' Ought I to return to the house, rouse Colonel Marchmont and tell him of this strange midnight visit of his wife to that terriblo and uncanny place? Would it not increaso his evident antipathy for her? I feared so, und as I was sincerely anxious to bring the two together instead of seeing them more widely separated I decided against that suggestion. No, I would wait Portia's return, join her, beg her to confido all to me?to explain whilt poasiblo connection there could be between the wife of a proud planter and southern gentleman and a set of the lowest and most debased of human beings. . For little by little had the appalling theory crept in my mind that Portia Marchmont, beautiful, refined and educated woman, was a victim of some unholy spell; that she was in sympathy with those mysterious and inexplicable rites of Dead Man's swamp. Her fury whenever the subject of voodooism was mentioned; her anxiety lest her husband should visit the haunt of these night birds; her evident anger when Colonel Marchuiont threatened to punish the old negress, past mistress of these awful ceremonies, all strengthened my opinion. Yes, I firmly believed my old friend to be a disciple of this ghastly school. This was what had nearly wrecked her reason, alienated her husband's affection and caused her to dislike her child. Was she to be blamed? "No," my heart cried out. No more'than if she had by some chance become a victim of morphine or some other insidious drug. In some fashion old Jezebel had obtained control of and enslaved her mistress. I was determined to break the spell and save my friends. But the knife?the knife! What was sho doing with that glittering weapon with the keen, wicked blade? Oh, my poor Portia! Had she sought that grewsome spot to kill herself? I remembered her threat, "Jermyn Marchmont shall remember one day what he has accomplished tonight." Oh, perhaps then, then, while I was standing idly and helplessly beside that carefully locked gate, somewhere away in the dim and awful recesses of Dead Man's swamp there was fearful work going on. I must save her. I would. * In desperation I shook the gate and beat upon it. I called?I moaned aloud in fear and agony and then sank down exhausted in the thick tangles of creeping vines. Suddenly I heard voices and a sound of hurried footsteps on the other side of the wall. Who was coming? I started to my feet and crowded back out of sight among the vines. The key clicked in the lock, the gate swung open and Portia stepped hurriedly through |nd stopped, looking about. Behind her in the moonlight I saw the awful face frhich had looked in the arbor a night or two before. Some instinct sounded a danger signal, and I repressed my inclination to spring forward and speak to Portia. "I was sure I heard something," she murmured. The old hag listened with bent head. "It was de wind, honey, an yet by do way de palms ob my hands prick I know dah's danger lurkin somewhah. But go home?leab do chile to me, I'll tend to her. Eberyting goin' on all right. 'Twon't be long now foil ye's safo. I saw a black bat fly tree times cross de doali las' night, and de moon was streaked blood red?dem's good signs. Go home?go home." "Listen,' sam jrorna, graspiug me old woman's arm. "I've heard your wretched prophecies long enough. I do not see that wo are any nearer the end than we were months ago. I want it finished?do you hear??finished. If you don't act, I shall," and slio shook tho knife in old Jezebel's face. "All right," muttered tho other, "but dah's "dangeh comin, honey. Dangeli .".UUli,. J' lJortia stepped hurriedly through and ! stopped, looking about. from the uorf." She turned that way and then suddenly wheeled about. "An dangeh from the souf?awful." "Stop your maunderings and do something," said Portia as she pushed the old woman back through the gate, shut and ; locked it and hurried away. I did not stop her. Cold and rigid I stood, watching her fly up the path like j a bird of prey. In those few minutes an entire revolution surged through my nature. When I heard Portia plotting the destruction of her child?that dainty little being to whom my lonely heart had gone out in love and sympathy?I felt like an avenging angel. The pity I had j known for Portia vanished, and thero was born in its stead an emotion of righteous fury. This creature scheming at midnight to deliver an innocent child into the hands of human devils as a sacrifice perhaps to their evil and unknown god was no longer to be regarded as a mother, as a woman, but as a fiend to be conquered, crushed?destroyed, if necessary. I would no longer hesitate. I saw my duty. At tho first opportunity I would tell Colonel Marchinont that ho was dealing with a mad woman, and that if I ho wished to protect little Daphne, his idol, his baby, from an awful fato ho i must imprison her crazy mother. TO UK CONTINUKD NKXT WKKK. Wllliout Honor at Home. They were from Canada on their first visit to Boston. While strolling on Washington street seeing the sights their attention wasarrested by a peculiar looking plant in the window of a florist's shop. "I wonder what that plant cati be?" said the old gentleman. "I don't know," replied the wife. "Well, let's go in and find out." Whereupon they entered the store and ! sought the proprietor. "What kind of a plant is that in tko | window?" querieu mo om man. "That," said tho proprietor, "is a Canadian thistle." "How much aro they?" "Twenty-five cents apiece." "By gosh I" ejaculated the visitor in amazement, "have I l>een fighting Canadian thistles all my life to come down here to Boston to find them potted and selling for a quarter npiece!" I LIGHT THAT SHINES. | RELATIVE IMPORTANCE OF THINKING, FEELING, DOING AND BEING. A S?rmon by Ilev. Dr. Lyman Abbott of Plymouth Church, Itrooklyn?A Parallel Between Opinion nnri Convlctlon--Condact and Character. Let this tnind bo In you, which was also In Christ Jesus.?Philipplnns 11, G. This is n very simplo exhortation, but ono that deserves onr pondering. It ! 18 noi an exnoruiiioii iu uu Buinuiuiug, I or to think something, or to feel someI thing, bnt to bo something. Tho whole ! of my sermon this morning might be pnt into one simple formulary: To feel right is moro important than to think right; to do right is raoro important than to feel right; to bo right is most important of all. Calvinism lays emphasis on the right kind of thinking about religion; Methodism lays emphasis on tho right kind of feeling in tho realm of religion; Unitarianism lays emphasis on the right kind of conduct j in daily life, and Christianity lays cra; phasis on tho fourth?being tho right kind of a person. You say, Is that antithesis correct? Is Unitarianism better than Methodism or Calvinism? No! the antithesis is not correct, and it is hecauso it is impossiblo to state what 1 I want to state in n sentenco that I must I go on and elaborate it a little, and ask 1 yon to meditate with mo n little upon it this morning. 1 say again: To think right is important; to feel right is more important than to think right; to do right is moro important than to feel right, but to bo right is tho most im portant of all. IMPORTANCE OF BELIEF. It is a very common saying that it makes no difference what we believe, and it is said by schools of thought that are supposed to bo very antagonistic. 1 The agnostic says that all thinking , about God and immortality is tinkling brass nnd sounding cymbals, for we can know nothing abont them. Dogmatism, second cousin of agnosticism, says it is no use to think about them; you must j accept what was thought about them in i the sixteenth century, or the fourth cenj tury, or the first century; we want not j thinking, but an unquestionable faith, j Agnosticism says that you must stop i before you begin; dogmatism says that j you may go a little way and then you must stop. But that liberalism which says that it makes no difference what a man believes is equally deadening to the human intellect?that liberalism which says you must have a very short, simple creed, and all beyond that Is superfluous. Our problem is to discover, not how littlo we can know, but ' how much we can know, and the whole I eternal and infinite world is before us | for our investigation. To put a cieed up ! at the entrance and say, You shall not I enter school until you have learned all , it has to teach you, is absurd,of course; | the creed ought to be, not at the porch : door, but over the pulpit. But to say ! to men, It makes no difference whether ! you think rightly or wrongly respecting these great fundamental problems of life, Who and what God is, Who and what eternal destiny is, Who and what I am, and How ought I to act toward my neighbor?this is a folly so extremo that it does not need to be criticised. These threo isms?agnosticism, dogmatism and the pseudo liberalism?are children of the same parent. The philosophy that says you cannot know anything, the philosophy that says you can know only what your fathers knew, and the philosophy that says it does not make any difference what you think? they aro nil of the same bad stock. It is important that we should have right ideas of the problems of life, but it is not enough that wo havo right idens. An opinion is of very little value unless it has becomo a conviction. What is a conviction? A conviction is an opinion that has conquered. It is born of battlo nnd of victory. No opinion ever becomes conviction until it has been in battle and has conquered. The boy has inherited from his mother a belief thnt God is; ho is assailed by doubt, and when theso two havo fought together, and the belief thnt God is ppnsps to be an oninion and becomes a conviction, it ia because it lina conquered tho unbelief. But unbelief ia not the only thing to be conquered. There nro pride and selfishness and vanity to bo conquered. And nothing becomes conviction until it has been so wrought into the soul that it is conqueror of tho soul, so that it shapes and directs the destiny as master, so that it holds the scepter, so that it 6its on tho throne?in other words, no opinion is of valuo until it becomes a part of that character i of which I am speaking this morning, j A creed is not a real creed until it gets | below tho intellect and enters into tho | heart. The man takes the proposition "God is love," and he says, Why, certainly; I believe that; I abominate tbo 1 old pagan teaching that God is hate, J and I abominate the teaching which I represents God as though ho were not good; 1 will have nono of it; I believe j that God is love. And then ho goes on his way as though there wero no God at | all. This is an intellectual proposition, and ho looks at it with critical judgment, and ho says, Ay, that is true, as he might say it of a proposition of Eu| clid's geometry, but it has not becomo a part of his being; it is not a conviction. And a theological opinion is not religion until it ceases to bo an opinion and becomes a conviction; until it has conquered something in tho man, and so becomo master of the man. FEELING AND OPINION. Feeling is more important than opinion. A man may go right if ho has right impulses with a poor judgment, but ho cannot go right if ho has a good judgment and bad impulses. Man is like an ocean steamer with two screws. If the screws are in order, you can steer the steamer w ith the two screws even if the rudder is unshipped, but if the rudder is all right and the machinery has broken down there is no steerageway, and the 6teamer drifts wherever tho currents take it. More than right opinions, therefore, men need right emotions?that is, right motivo powers. When Mrs. Crane goes down to the Bethel and talks to tho men out of tho lodging houses, do you suppose they need instruction? Do you suppose they need to bo told that to be idle, to bo dissolute, to bo drunken, to bo shiftless, brings disaster? No! What they need is now power, power to do what they know ought to bo done. What they need you and I need also. Wo go aatray, not chiefly becauso wo do not know better, but becauso wo lack tho power, when tho time coines, to do tho things wo know wo ought to do. And so tho motivo power is moro important than tho intellectual opinion. But tho motivo power, if it is meru emotion, is of very little valuo. Ono man goes to tho theater and sees a wife maltreated and is stirred to pity and indignation and then goes homo and scolds his own wifo because tho dinner does not suit his delicato palate. What good has tho theater dono him? Tho next day ho goes to a beautiful church, and tho choir sings beautifully, and tho minister portrays suffering in such n way as to stir his emotions, and ho takes out his handkerchief and wipes his eyes, and presently tho benediction is pronounced?and ho goes homo and scolds his wifo becauso his Sunday dinner is not to his liking. Tho emotions in tho church were not any moro religious than tho emotions in tho theater, for tho emotion that simply plays on tho surfaco of a man's heart, but does not go down into his life, is idle and nugatory. As his opinion must bo a conviction, conquering tho man and controlling him, so this emotion must bo> harnessed to the lifo and direct tho life. Tho man who weeps over an imaginary wifo on tho stago and then goes homo to scold his own wifo is 110 better for j tho play, nor is tho man whoso reverence is kindled by tho choir or tho minister and then goes out to forget God | and carry 011 his business as though there were 110 God in tho world better for tho service. As tho opinion must enter into tho character, so the emotion must enter into tho character and becomo a part of tho man himself. CONDUCT AND CHARACTER. How about the conduct? Suppose tho ! man does right, is that enough? Nol Conduct that is not n part of character j is but littlo better than creed or emotion that is not a part of character. Tho minister has been studying all tho morning, and been very much interested in his problems and his books. Evening n/>*v?Ain i ici o oVinr/iV? onoi Un UUUiUO , iiiuiu io ci tuui^u outiauiu. xxxj Bays, I supposo I must go; I will bo sociable; I am determined that I will bo sociable, and ho puts on a smile, and shakes hands with everybody, and all tho timo wishes he wero out of it. Do yon not know that most men seo through it, and all women seo through it? Conduct is of very littlo value unless it is tho spontaneous expression of character. We tak"> tho lifo of Christ and look it through. Here was ono who knew tho truth and taught it, wo sny?and we reverence him as a teacher for his wis- , dom; hero was ono who felt tho pulsations of reverence and faith and hope j and love and went everywhere inspiring feeling in men he touched?and wo reverenco him for his feeling; hero was , ono who went al>out doing good, heal- | ing tho sick, bringing sight to tho blind, ; , giving comfort to the afflicted?and wo | J reverence him for his brotherly love. "Theso things saith ho that is holy, he that is true." "I know thy works: be| hold, I have set beforo theo an open j door, and no man can shut it: for thou j hast a littlo strength, and hast kept my ; 1 word, and hast not denied my name." j "Becauso thou hast kept tho word of ; ! my patience, I will also keep thee from j ! tho hour of temptation." a well. The well was to be cleaned, but j the man who took the job was afraid to j go down until ho had ascertained the | 1 quality of the air at the bottom. Ho let 1 down a lighted candle, and when it do- ( 1 scended to about six feet of the bottom it went out as suddenly as though ex tin- I [ guished by a whiff of air. This was all ! j he wanted to know. He was then suro j ' j that the well had poisonous gas in it, I i I and took a small umbrella, tied a string ; 1 l to the handle and lowered it open into ! I j the well. Having let it go nearly to the i i : bottom, he drew it up, carried it a few ! < ; feet from the well and upset it. He re- j j pouted this operation 20 or 150 times, with i < j all the bystanders laughing at him, then i \ again lowered the light, which bnrnod ! 1 ] clear and bright even at the bottom. He J ' then condescended to explain that the ; i ; gas in the well was carbonic acid gas, I j which is heavier than the air, and there- , ! j fore could be brought up in an umbrella j just as though it were so much water, i * ' ' ?i ??ii e I j Jt was a snupie tries, yet periecuy ei- j fectivc.?St. Louis Globe-Democrat. | 1 pwuancous gkttdtng. Why Crime Increases.?Judge Isaac Parker, of the United States district court for Western Arkansas, lately made some startling statements, and followed them with suggestive com merits. In charging the grand jury at the opening of his court at Fort Smith, he said that whereas the ascertained number of murders in this country in 188!) was less than 8,000, and in 1800 but 4,800, it was nearly 0,000 in 1891. It is startling to learn that there were twenty-five more supposed murderers lynched in 1889 than were executed according to law, and the excess of lynched over executed murderers was sixty-seven in 1890; but assuming that only one person was concerned in each murder, hardly one in twenty of those guilty of the crime in these two years suffered the penalty of death, either at the hands of the law or by the violence of a mob. Judge Parker gives several reasons for the shocking state of affairs thus revealed : The indifference and incompetence of courts; the general prevalence of peijury ; the use of corrupt means?money, and social and otjier influences?to shield criminals; the sickly sentimentality that turns an assassin into a hero as soon as he is in danger of his life ; and finally, the indifference of the people at large. This comment is substantially true. The remedy niusi come msi ui me fountain head. The people are the source of all power. If they so will the evil can be stopped. Society must protect itself, but the first tiling for society to do is to recognize the danger it is in because it does not protect itself. The Most Interesting Thing.? An English traveler passed through Boston on his way to London, lie had spent three months in the United States seeing things. A friend asked what was the most interesting thing he saw in the country, and he answered without hesitation that it was a mule! Then he explained that he had visited certain mines where mules were used lo haul tram cars, and their wonderful j patience und intelligence had made on him a deep impression. Some of the tunnels were so low that | llie animals had to hold their heads i down to go through, but there was never any trouble. He pointed out a 1 characteristic of the mule that makes : him unlike the horse. Many Ameri- , cans have noticed it. If a horse touches his ears in going under a low bridge or a tunnel, he will invariably throw J his head up and receive a hard knock. When a mule's ears touch anything his head goes down. In some parts of this I country it is a high compliment to a . man to say that he has as much sense ; as a mule. There is a spriug in Brooks ! county, Ga., which in a very short time converts wood and several other * - * i J 1- rni I UKJl^VJ Ail kJ ULl.^Ui I , Religion does not consist in doing ! , j things. If a man goes into tho market, | saying, 1 am going to be honest, yon < I would better watch him. The man who ! ( | has to watch himself needs to be watch- , ed by his neighbor. It is not enough to , do honest things?one must be honest; j it is not enough to tell tho truth?one must bo truthful; it is not enough to j , do deeds of love?ono must be loving. ( Between the man who simply tells the ( . truth and tho man who is truthful, be- i ( : tween tho man who simply does what is ' | honest and tho man who is honest, be- 1 ' | tween tho man who does charitable (' ! things and tho man who is charitable, there is an enormous gulf, and wo all i know it. And no man has come into that state in which any man should be willing to be until truth and honesty and charity flow spontaneously out of him. The conduct of a man ought not , to bo liko water in a well, when ono has to pump hard to get a little out; it ought to be like a spring that flows spontaneously out of the hillside, and ( you cannot stop it if you try, and if 1 you stop it hero it will find somo new : vent elsewhere. Wo all know this. To ! bo is moro important than to do, and to 1 do is moro important than to feel, and 1 to feel is moro important than to think, 1 and thinking and feeling and doing are of very little value except as they tend 1 to mako character and aro the expres- 1 sion of character Tho other summer, whilo sailing along tho shores of tho sound, I landed 1 at a little cove; there wero n lighthouse tower and a fog bell, and the keeper showed us tho fog bell, and how tho [ mechanism made it strike every few j moments in I ho darkness and in the night when tho fog hung over tho coast, 1 and I said, That is the preacher; there he stands ringing out tho messago of ( j warning, ringing out tho messago of in- ' struction, ringing out tho messago of | [ cheer; it is a great thing to be a preach- j er. And wo went up into the lighthouse tower; thero was a tower that never said anything and never did anything? it just stood still and shone, and I said, | That is tho Christian; ho may not have i | any word to utter, he may not be a I | prophet, ho may not bo a worker, ho I I may achieve nothing, but lio stands ! j ttill and shines, in tho darkness and in ! tho storm, always and every night, j Tho fog bell strikes only on occasion, ' ! hut all tho timo and every night tho light flashes out from tho lighthouse. ] All tho timo and every night this light ' is flashing out from you if you aro God's 1 I ntilUmn T .,if I'nnr HfrVit. nn nhlne. Do j not flash it?let it Bhine; just have it, i and then let it shino. You cannot let i ' it shine unless you have it, and if you havo it you cannot keep it from shining, i ; Til t: I'HIACIS A IN Lf 1 njli UAioi. ! Aro you sometimes discouraged and i despondent? You never have been able i < , to give much in money nor in strength j 1 of service; you cannot teach in the j Sunday school; you cannot work in the < 1 club; perhaps you were active once, i ; and have been laid aeide and say some- j ] I time? to yourself, I am of use no more, | i I might as well bo dead. If you can- j not do, you can be, and that is most j j important of all. I read or heard years J , 1 ago a little parable. A certain prince i , I went out into his vineyard to examine | j it, and he came to the peach tree, and ] i ho said, What are you doing for me? ] , and the tree said, In the spring I givo , t my blossoms and fill the air with fra- ( j grance, and on my boughs hang the j ; fruit which presently men will gather I , : and carry into the palace for you, and ( the prince said, Well done, good and 1 | faithful iervant. And ho came to the ; J maple, and he said, What are you do- , ing? and the maple said, I am making- i , i nests for the birds and shelter for the , | cattle with my leaves and my spreading i branches, and the prince said, Well J ! done, good and faithful servant. And ; he went down into the meadow, and he ! | said to the waving grass, What are you i ( I doing? and the grass said. Wo aro giv! inc ud our lives for others, for your | j sheeji and your cattle, that they may be j nourished, and tho prince said, Well 1 done, good and faithful servants that j givo your lives up for others. And then j he came to a little daisy that was grow- i ing in tho hedgerow, andhosaid, What | aro you doing? and tho daisy said, j , Nothing! nothing! I cannot make nest- I] ing places for tho birds, and I cannot j : givo shelter to tho cattle, and I cannot ! ] send fruit into tho palace, and I cannot i ( even furnish food for tho sheep and the [ cows?they do not want mo in tho | meadow; all I can do is to bo the best i littlo daisy I can be. And tho princo ! , bent down and kissed tho daisy, and 1 said, Tliero is 110110 better than thou. j Hoisting Foul Air Out or a Well. I saw a curious method used the other j ' 'lav in Illinois to take the foul air out of ] ' suosiances into naru iuck. mc pucu- i liar qualities of this Georgia fountain | have been known since early in the j century, when an old "bar hunter" | nccidently lost his knife in the basin, I which has been hollowed out of the ' granite strata by the ceaseless bubbling of the water. A month later the old trapper was agreeably surprised to find j his favorite knife. The water had no ! effect on the bright steel, not even to the extent of leaving a speck of rust, but with the wood of the knife's banille it was far different. The petrifying particles, with which the water is so highly impregnated, had entered cVery pore and sap tube in the wood, and what was but a few weeks before a hickory handle of homemakc, was now two thin slabs of solid stone, wood-like in appearance, but as hard and unyielding as a chip from a granite boulder. To this day the place is known as "Old Moore's Petrifying Spring." ? ? ? His Own Valuation.?People are j not always rated so high by others as they are by themselves. Every man [ has a more or less good opinion of him- ! self, but often he falls below his own valuation. When Count Chambord, the Legitimist claimant to the throne of France, was making his final effort, it was proposed by those interested to raise a subscription of 20,000,000 francs for i his benefit. Among those upon whom the agent in charge of the affair called, with a 1 view to soliciting a donation, was a wealthy but penurious nobleman, who professed, from the first, great sympathy with the count's cause. Upon the agent making Known ins errand, the nobleman replied pompously : "My blood is always at the service of His Majesty." "Yes," replied the agent, as be made bis exit, "but we are not going to start it sausage factory." Why Hair Turns Gray.?Hun- I ilreds of queer theories have been [ advanced to account for the phenomenon of hair turning gray in the genus homo, the latest being this: Each hair is a hollow tube filled with granules of pigment and air bubbles. As old age approaches the pigment diminishes both in quantity and quality, the air bubbles enlarging and expanding to take the place formerly occupied by the coloring matter. The hair which is filled with these bubbles turns white for the same reason that the crystals of white sugar appear of that color, the phenomenon being due to the reflection and refraction of light. Why hair sometimes turns | "white in a single night," has never been explained. True, a microscopic examination of such hair shows that the granules of pigment have either been abolished or forced out by the air bubbles, but exactly how or why is i a mystery. Building up a Business.?"Mr. Bong," said the secretary of the Fearful Accident Insurance Company, "be , sure and drop in at L'urmuage s as you pass this morning, and express your sympathy over the loss of bis , brother in the railway accident yester- I day. Express mine also to him." "But old Curmudge had no brother I in the accident," said the canvasser. "What has that to do with it?" said 1 the secretary, cheerily. "All he can do is to tell you so." "But it might unnecessarily alarm him," persisted the canvasser. "That's the point; that's exactly , the point," returned the secretary, cheerily. "Alarm him as much as possible. His own policy runs out 1 next month, and it is one oHfltr duties to remind our patrons that in the midst of life we are surrounded by accidents." 8JdF" While two wedding processions were lighting for the road at one of the gates of Hankow, the chairs holding the brides got mixed and each lady was taken to the wrong bridegroom. The gentlemen, never having j seen their wives before, according to the Chinese custom, knew no mistake. J When the next morning the mothers uf the two brides went to present the 1 usual hair oil to their daughters, each found a.stranger installed in her place. Neither mother, moreover, had any .... .... ,-vf finilimr r\iO tvlinrn lmr ilntieh LIICUUO Ul n-ter had gone. After a very difficult i search of the city the brides were both found, and then the idea of making the best of things was blocked by the fact that one of the brides, who was j rich and intended for a rich husband, j had fallen into the hands of a very I poor man. The problem remains unI solved. Wnf The spirit which makes parents i willing to endure much self-denial in ' order that they may the better ho able ! to provide for the wants of their chil; dren, is one of the most beautiful things I in this world. Hut it is not always [ wisely directed. The parents who inI variably surrender their own.comfort, i on/1 vnfncn nn ilntnmul flinf ttioip children make, are smitten with moral blindness. Such a policy is an education in selfishness to young souls, and | ought to he avoided. It puts a pre! mium on filial discontent. The happiI est household is one in which every j member is expected to make some sac| rilices for the sake of the rest. We j pity the boy or girl that has never been required to serve as well as be ' served, to give jus well as to receive.? Nashville Advocate. i Six Months' Food for Paris.? , The French commissariat and the j minister of war have been figuring on I another siege of Paris and the amount of food that would necessarily have to i be laid in for man and beast. Here are j. the figures : lJrcadstuH's, 24:1.000 tons; j salt, 14,?J8:I tons; dry vegetables, 34,I 440 tons; potatoes,21)5,2(50tons; milk, I 9,(502,000 cubic meters; coal, 1,000,000 i tons; hay, (588,040 tons; oats, 50,052 ! Inn? cti'fiiv Inns i ? *?"~i"" The above are given as (lie very lowest estimates of a six months' food supply for the 3,300,000 human beings and the 2,740,000 <k>mestic animals now within what is known as "the outer defense lines." Such a supply would cost $10,000,000. flfir For the privilege?of wearing ! trousers the French govcrnmnt charges women a tax of from $10 to $12 a year. This by no means gives every woman ; who is willing to pay the tax a right to I wear trousers. The government, in; stead, confers the right as a tribute to great merit. Trousers are, in fact, a sort of decoration given to women as the ribbon of the Legion of Honor is given to men. The only women to whom has been granted the right to wear trousers arc George Sand, Rosa Ron hen r, Mme Dieulafoy, the Persian arclueologist; Mine Foueault, the bearded woman, and two feminine stone cutters, Mme. Fourreau and La j Jeannctte. Velocity of the Earth's Rotation.?Everybody knows that the earth makes one complete revolution on its axis once in 24 hours. Iiut few, how* ever, have any idea of the high rate of speed necessary to accomplish that feat. The highest velocity every attained by a cannon ball has been estimated at 1,626 feet per second, which is equal to a mile in 3.2 seconds. Therefore?it has been calculated that if[a cannon ball were fired due west and could maintain its initial velocity independent of the earth, and could keep up its speed with which it left the mouth of the gun, it would beat the sun in his appareent journey around the earth. I T t r,io vix Uctnj T-T^nrtr T-Ton t ll I1A1S HVIIt J AAVWV** & Co., the great English firm of hatters, send their wares all over the world, and in so doing have a good chance to study the distinctive features of the I various nationalities. A synopsis of Mr. Heath's studies is given below: German heads short and round, average head measure 28 inches; English, well-shaped, rather long, average hat ! a 7\, which means a hat measuring 22.77 inches; Scotch heads long and thin ; Canadians exceptionally large; average United States head and hat same as English. South Americans and Australians have very small heads, seldom measuring over 20 inches. Human Skeletons 25 Feet Lonc.? M. Le Cat, the French scientist, in his monograph on giants says: At Dauphinc on January 11, 1013, at a place known as the giant's field, a brick tomb 30 feet long 12 feet wide and 8 feet high, was discovered. When opened it was found to contain a human skeleton entire "twenty-live and a half feet long," 10 feet wide across the shoulders ! and eight feet thick from the breast bone to the back. His teeth were about the size of an ox's foot and his shinbones each measured 4 feet in length. Sizbof Kuropkan Famimes.?The Berlin Anthropological society has recently completed some curious tabulations on the average size of families in the various countries of Europe. According to these statistics the average number of persons in families in the different European countries is as follows ; France, .3.01]; Denmark, 3.01; Hungary, 3.70; Switzerland, 3.94; Austria and Belgium, 4.05; England, 4.08; Germany, '4.10; Sweden and Norway, 4.12; Holland, 4.22; Scotland, 4.40; Italy, 4.58; Spain, 4.05; Russia, 4.83 and Ireland, 5.20. 8??T The custom of bottling tears is peculiar to the people of Persia. There it constitutes an important part of the obsequies of the dead. As the mourners arc sitting round and weeping, the master of ceremonies presents each oue with a piece of cotton, wool or sponge with which to wipe away the tears. The cotton, wool or sponge is afterward squeezed into a bottle, and the tears are preserved as a powerful and eflieacious restorative for those whom every other medicine had failed to revive. It is to this custom that allusion is made to in Psalms Ivi, 8, "Put Irnii mu tziorc intn f li v brittle." wtuu I.IJ ? jjsaT The words breeches, trousers, and pantaloons are now used interchangeably, hut originally the significatious were quite different. Pantaloons were at first nothing but long stockings, worn in Italy as a sort of religious habit by the devotees of St. Pantaloon. Breeches originally reached from the waist half way to the knee, and finally the knee, where they were fastened with a buckle. Trousers are the present style of leg gear; a combination of the former two. Recently Miss Xellie Bullard, of Waycross, Ga., was dumb. The cause of her being speechless was a clef palate. Now she talks fluently. The change has been wrought by means of an artificial palate obturator made of vulcanite and rubber by a skillful dentist. It was adjusted in her mouth, and for the first time in her life she uttered a word, and after a few days of trying simple words she has become able to converse with her friends. ^ # t!s?F In China women who mourn for dead husbands wear old, dilapidated garments, neglect to wash their faces, comb their hair and look as unattractive as possible. The l'unxutawny Spirit has discovered that here it is different. The dear creatures, out of pure respect for the deceased, try to make themseves appear neater and sweeter than ever before. "Twice round an elephants foot is its height." This, on first thought, seems almost incredible, but is in reality a fact. The largest elephant in the Zoological (!.miens at the present time measures exactly ">S inches round the front foot, and stands 9 ft. 8 in. at the shoulder, and to elephants of any size the same rule applies.?Philadelphia Times.