University of South Carolina Libraries
LEWIS >1- (rRIST, Proprietor. J 2^11 Jndfpmdenf rvt'aniilu ^leuispaper: .Jfor the promotion of the political, Social, Sfgi-iciiltural and (Commercial Jnterests of the ,Eolith. | TERMS?$2.00 A YEAH IX ADVANCE. VOL. 40. YOBKVILLE, S. P., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8, 1894. NO. 32. ft Fill? FOf BY JOHN J. ^<opyright, ISO 1, by the American l'rcss Assoc CHAPTER XVI?OoxTixrKP. Mortimer moved the other hand un- [ til he had brought it to his sister's. He placed hers in the doctor's, and instinctively they looked at each other, then cast down their glances on the hands on which Mortimer's rested. 'Doctor, will you protect her if she will have it so! 1 know she loves you," ; said Mortimer. "Am I right, Inez?" The head was still bowed, and no response came. While her brother asked the question, the doctor's hand pressed ! hers. For answer, she returned the i pressure, and the quick, impressionable sense of the dying man noticed the consent and understood the meaning -so delicately conveyed. "Let not my death deter the realiza- , tion of your happiness," said Mortimer. I Talking was becoming painful to him. The thirst that comes upon opo dying from the complications Mortimer , was afflicted with annoyed him. The nurse was near, wetting his parched lips with champagne or helping him to small drafts. A tap on the door startled tbem. In the stillness of this scene the sound came like the rapping of the messenger of death.' "It is Mangan," said Dr. Leland. J "Nurse, admit him." Mangan was ushered in and was unprepared for the scene before him. Inez buried her face in the pillow and sobbed aloud. Mortimer's hand raised perceptibly. He was no longer able to 1 lift it high. Mangan divined his intention and advanced to the bedside, took the hand and said: "Phil, I'm sorry." 'Forgive me," begged the dying man. "I've nothing to forgive." said Mangan. "Don't give way. You may pull through yet" 11?* ??ki'n hood Ftio rnioB iUUi I IUUC1 OUVA^a Uio uvuv?. M.w >? ?? . was growing fainter. He motioned to ! Mangan to bend lower, and the newspaper man complied. "In my library at home is a diary kept by my old friend with whom Raymond and I etudied. On his deathbed ! He motioned to Mangan to bend lower. he expressed the desire that it shonld be ! sent to me. I locked it away?never reading it?get the key from Inez. Maybe the book tells something about" The voice faltered. Inez was bewil- i dered. She did not understand the pur- j port of the words. She looked from her brother to Mangan, -then turned to the doctor. A gurgling sound welled up from Mortimer's throat, the feet of the dying man grew colder, the heart's power depreciated. Gradually the frost of death crept up his limbs. He j battled against the giant that came to j strangle him, and Inez appealed to the j doctor to give him relief. Never did , his profession seem less powerful to j him, never did the science of medicine j appear less potent, less worthy ot prac- I tice than now, when he bad to express bis regret at his inability to ease the ! pain that tossed the sufferer from side to side. "Then God be merciful," exclaimed Inez. "Spare him this suffering." * ! The eyes of the dying man were directed tn hpr. then wandered to the doc tor. A momentary glance at Mangan, j and the eyes rested again on Inez and again beseechingly on the physician. The icy progress of the great conqueror had advanced to the vitals. Faster it went, the nearer it approached the heart There was a sudden shudder, the body writhed, the seat ot life had been struck, unconsciousness came, and Philip Mortimer awakened in eternity. CHAPTER XVII. THE SECRET OF THE DIARY. Lanrence Mangan supervised the ar- 1 rangemeDts for the temporary entomb- ; ment of the body of Philip Mortimer, which was placed in a receiving vault in Denver until such time as preparations would be completed for its transfer. Some days later Dr. Leland, Mangan and Inez left Denver. Dr. Leland had been very attentive to Inez. He had j been assiduous in her interest, assuming the manner and privileges of the guardian more than those of the physician, and his care and love soothed her anguished heart. Mangan had a strange presentiment that the diary Mortimer had referred to contained some allusions that would give the motive of Raymond and afford , a clew to lead to his humiliation and dethronement, even if it no further elucidated the mystery of the Lelands. There might in that diary bo some record that could be used as a club over Raymond to compel him to do justice. "What was meant by Phil about this diary? His words sounded so queer." This question was asked by Inez during tho course of conveisation one evening as the train sped eastward. "He thought it might bo of some use to Mangan in his newspaper work, 1 suppose," said Dr. Leland. "I can soon tell when 1 see it," romarked Mangan. Inez gave the keys of the honso which she and her brother had occupied to Dr. Leland. They reached the city aft- \ er nightfall, and so eager were Dr. Leland and Mangan to see the diary that they excused themselves shortly after arriving at the hotel and started for the Mortimers' old home, Inez never | suspecting the object of their nocturnal walk. They were soon in the library, and from a drawer filled with odds and ends of various sorts, municipal reports principally, they delved the old diary out of the placo where it had lain for years. It was frayed and worn looking with knocking about by continual rummaging for papers. Mortimer had evidently not prized the volume, had not even deemed the gift of his old preceptor worthy of examination, and had cast it aside as the repository of a crank's out pourings. But Mangan handled the book reverently, untied tho ribbon that 6ealed its' pages, most likely as its original owner had left it, and opened it, the pages parting where tho last memoranda had been written. Their eyes scanned the page, Mangan holding up the book under the chandelier. There was nothing there concerning their quest. They turned over the leaves to reach the introductory pages until tho name Leland in each third or fourth line, in zigzag fashion, attracted their attention. Under datoof Feb. 10, 1874, the memorandum was written. The introduction indicated that tho writer was confined to his home when engaged in writing in tho diary. The Leland record read: {flUIONS. ! McGINNIS. hit ion. Feb. 10,1s7-c.?The telegraph today announces ; the murder of Georgo Leland, the queerest client 1 ever had. His wife had died when lie rame to mo and asked me to take charge of his property a little over a year ago. Leland had invested in lands outside the city limits which ho believed will bo yet part of tho city proper. Leland said he had an infant daughter Isabel in the Convent of Mercy, this city, and that he proposed going west with his littlo ! boy George. lie was a bold investor, and it seemed to me Leland was as sanguino as he was radical. His will leaves all his property here to his daughter, and all western investments, of which he was to send mo a record,, j to his son. Ho said that when his daughter camo of ago this would be all slio would ever require. Ho was of the Lelands of Liverpool, and his wife's maiden name was Alden. 1 i must 6cnd down to Raymond to get the papers in shape. "What do yon think of it?" asked Mangan. "It is all theevidence required. Bat how do you account for tho failure to i carry out my father's wishes?" "Raymond was about 22 years old ! then,"6aid Mangan. "He transacted business under thisold man's direction. Ho saw that his patron was neariug his end, and he put the matter off. He knows of you, you may rest assured. He also knows who your sister is. He has kept track of you both, and he had ! this delinquent tax law passed to get control of your sister's property as well as the property of others, no doubt." j " What do you suggest?" "Tomorrow wo will visit the office of the registrar of arrears, see what taxes are due and prepare to redeem it from Raymond. Take my word, with the knowledge we possess, he will 6ign it i over and not even ask the bonus and interest ho is entitled to by law. The will he has destroyed, no doubt, and much trouble can be avoided by taking possession under the delinquent tax Jaw, | without entering the surrogate's court. Get a quit claim frem Raymond. But, after all, he may fight." When they returned, they said nothing to Inez about their mission. They talked of the prospects that sprang up j before all. It was taken as a matter of j course that Inez?alone and dependent ?would consent to an early marriage, but when they talked,of Maugan's lovo nf Tsnhpl h? shook his head sadlv to imply that it was unrequited. "Now,! have an idea,"-suggested Inez. "I will pay a visit to Isabel to- j morrow afternoon and find out all about it. But maybe you are going tip ear- i lier?" "No," said Dr. Leland, "thero are a few matters to be settled first. You go up in the afternoon, tell her of her brother and don't forget to say it was Mangan to whom credit is due for the reunion." "Never mind that," said Mangan. "But I will mind it," said Inez. And so they chatted until the honr j came for parting. Next day, early in the afternoon, i Dr. Leland and Mangan went to the , office of the registrar of arrears. When : i Tfictr eyes scanned the page. they entered. Registrar Black and his clerks looked at Mangan in surprise, j The registrar said: "Gracious, Mr. Mangan,is that you?" ; "Of course it is I. You didn't think it was my astral body, did you?" "No, but I thought it was your ghost." "My ghost?" "Yes. Didn't you read tho account j of your suicide?" 1 "My suicide?" "Why, yes. Hero it is." He brought over a file of The Trum- { pet kept in tho office for reference to the advertisements of the departments, and Mangan read the story. It contained eulogistic references to his ability and speculations as to the probable cause of his alleged self destruction. "I'm one of the few men who has had the distinction of reading his own obituary. I suppose people who know me will run away from me when they see me on the streets." "I was going to run, I tell you, "said ; Black. "Well, never mind that. It's ancient history now. We want to see the record of the Leland estate. That's what we came here for." "Mr. Mangau, that brought me trouble before. Please don't ask me. Raymond was very angry." "Well, give us the tax debt, and we'll let you off at that." "I'll do that gladly." Ho went over to the redemption clerk, secured the figures charged up against the estate from tlio beginning, amounting to hundred of thousands of dollars, and handed it to Mangau. "Let us have one of your redemption forms," said Maugan. "I am a notary public by favor of a senatorial friend," explained Maugan to Dr. Leland in tho registrar's absence. "We'll fill the paper of transfer to Miss Leland; you'll serve as witness, and I'll be protbonotary. It is simple and will stagger him." Registrar Black returned with tho form and ere ho paited with it said: ( "Don't mention my name, will you? l'vo had trouble enough." "Don't worry," said Maugan. "Just tell me whero I can find Raymond now. "Ho is getting married today," replied tho registrar. "Quietly, of course. I happened to know it as I inado somo purchases and arrangements. This is confidential, of course, and 1 know you will not usu it. You have tho reputation of preserving confidence." "Yes, that obituary says so," laughed Mangan. "Doctor, I guess I'll livo up to tho reputation," ho added, turning to tho physician. "But," ho continued, looking up at Black, "he's not marrying for love, unless it is lovo for money. The idea of Raymond entering tho matrimonial state! Ha! Ha! What a joke!" "It is no joke," said Registrar Black. "It is 1 o'clock, and he is being married now. He's not marrying for money either. Why, it is a poor girl from tho Convent of Mercy. Isabel Le Clair, her name is!" "What!" exclaimed Dr. Leland as ho grasped the registrar by the throat. "How dare you!" "Hold on, doctor!" interposed Mangan. "He is not to blame. The arch fiend, I fear, has beaten us after all." Tho clerks ran forward to their chief's rescue. Mangan had loosened tho physician's fingers from tho registrar's throat, and that official sank back on a cushioned chair gasping for breath. Mangan stepped between Dr. Leland and tho clerks, saying: "This is a misunderstanding. Black i is frightened. My friend will return and apologize. We musl go now." These clerks knew Mungan. He was fearless and powerful. No one among them would attempt to grapple with him single handed. It is curious how the individual lack of confidence, where discipline and organization are wanting, is the collective feeling cf a gang or rabble until it gets a leader. These men shrank back as the two passed out, and the clerks tried to hide their cowardice by professing an interest in their chief's condition. "You made a blunder, doctor," said Mangan. "But time is too precious to correct it now. My God! Was it for Raymond I was thrust aside? It may be too late! But let us do our best to reach the convent." "How far is it?" "A 20 minutes' ride." "One o'clock the hour, 20 minutes for the ceremony. They'll be married before we can reach them! Oh, God, Mangan, can this bo true?" "Here's our car! Hope for the best. Run!" Sentiment had temporarily died in Mangan. The old newspaper instinct to keep cool and rush was his still, just as on many occasions when he fought against time and unforeseen difficulties in getting his story into the office while the last form of type was awaiting the finishing touches 011 the imposing stone. He fairly dragged the doctor onto the car and then said: "Now you can pray. I'll think." CHAPTER XVIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END. Raymond was seated in the rectory of the little parish church just across from the convent. There the marriago ceremony was to be performed. Isabel was tocomo from the convent, attended by thesisterof the priest, who was pastor of the little parish and chaplain to the sisters. Raymond had requested the privileges of escorting her from the convent, but Mother St. Gertrude, who had her own ideas of the proprieties, would not tolerate the slightest infraction of the rule that no bride should be recognized therein but she who had taken vows to the Saviour. There was a delay. Isabel had been overcome by the sensations of the situations and had fainted. Word had been sent to Raymond that she had recovered and would soon join him. The door of the rectory was ajar, and Raymond was nervously pacing the priest's study, where he had been brought by theclercvmnn. who wished to iusnect the dis pensations that abolished the publication of the bans and other formalities incidental to the marriage contract when religiously carried out. Mangan, on the way up, had thought it most likely that the marriage would be performed in the rectory. The car ran past the door on its way to an adjoining country town. Dr. Leland and he alighted, ran up the steps, rushed in, and Raymond and the priest came out, expecting the bride's arrival. Both started back. It was Mangan's presence that surprised them. The priest believed him to be dead; Raymond deemed he had been frightened away. His appearance upset both. "Has he been married?" asked Mangan breathlessly, pointing to Raymond. "No," answered the priest. "Where have you come from, in God's name?" There was no reply. Mangan dashed by him like an electric flash, his right band struck out, and Raymond lay prostrate on the floor. "It is my turn now, Raymond," said Mangan. "What is this?" exclaimed the priest. "What is this?" "You'll soon know," was tho reply as Mangan placed his hand on Dr. Leland to restrain him from following tho example set by himself. Raymond arose and cowered beneath the glances of the two visitors. The "It is my turn now, Raymond," said Mangan. priest, who knew Mangan well, understood that there was something to justify the newspaper man's conduct and anxiously awaited developments. Raymond entered the study and sat down at the command of Mangan. A suspicious movement toward his hip pocket prompted Mangan to say: "Put your hands on the table and keep them there." Raymond obeyed. Ho looked appealingly to the priest, and the latter turned to Mangan, asking: "What is the meaning of all this?" "It means first that I am still alive. Again, that this man is a scoundrel trying to insnare an innocent girl. The rest you will learn if you listen." "I ought to kill you," said Dr. Leland, advancing toward the politician, but Mangan again motioned him to silence, and he obeyed. "And who are you, pray?" asked Raymond of the doctor, his boldness returning. "His name is George Leland, "said Mangan. "He is the brother of her whom you schemed to make your bride." Raymond fairly jumped from his seat. Tho priest, who stood near him, placed his hands on his shoulder and pressed him back to the chair, foreseeing that more startling revolutions were to follow. "Here," said Mangan, passing over ine reuempuou xorin, is u paper ^ uu must sign. Yon havo mismanaged tho Lflaml estate, and you must forfeit the taxes. We have here tho documentary evidence of your perfidy, taken from tho private diary of your benefactor, whoso trust you havo betrayed. This property should havo paid these taxes. Its owners must not suffer for your misconduct." "I'll pay them," said Dr. Leland, "I'll give him a check now." "Then I'll leavo at once," said Siangan, "if you do." "Do as you please, then," was tho doctor's remark. "I would not loso you for tho whole estate." Raymond looked at tho threo men. He reached for a pen, and tho priest interposed : "I cannot allow this," said he. "Why should ho do it?" "Theestate belongs to the woman no tried to lead into marriage," Mangan explained. "It covers the ground of the park sites. Ho has secured it by improper means, and fearing ho might loso it sought to gain control of its owner. You will know tho details later." "Is this honest and just?" asked tho priest. "I'll believe you. Tell me?" "It is." "All right then." Raymond took tho pen again, flo dipped it in the ink, and while carrying it to tho paper questioned: "May I ask where you found this diary?" "Philip Mortimer had it. flo died in Denver, and it was a legacy to me." Thu muscles of Raymond's face I twitched. Mangan as notary public attested the paper, the priest acting as witness. Raymond arose, never said a I word and passed out unmolested. "I will go over to the convent," said the chaplain, "and prepare them to receive you. But, Mangan, we all thought you wero dead." "I havo been in Denver. Mother St. Gertrudo will understand. Wo will follow you over in a littlo whilo. This is ono of Raymond's moves wo arrived in timo to checkmate." Shortly after ho had left the two proceeded to the convent. The priest had explained all to Mother St. Gertrude, and she was awaiting them. But for the habit she wore, sho would have eni: braced Mangan. Her joy was unmis! takable, and Dr. Leland, as he received i her welcome and read her kindly nature, at once concluded that his sister had not been reared or taught by an unsympathetic soul. "Oh, I must go and tell Isabel," she said. "But recovering as she is from faintness I'm afraid -she cannot stand tno gooa news. " Joy seldom kills," said Dr. Leland. "It will be an antidote." "One moment, mother," said Maugan. "I must leave before she comes, i I liavo found her brother. I have fulfilled my assignment and kept my word. You know why I do not care to meet . Isabel." j "You will stay," said Dr. Leland firmly. "Ho must stay," tho nun declared. "You ought to," the priest remarked. "But I wiil not," insisted Mangan. "It would be painful to her and painful to mo whom sho has rejected." "She never did," said the sister warmly. "She was led to believe by Mr. Raymond that you were her brothj er, ana she declined to marry you." "Her brother! Tho infamous scoundrel, did he say that? But why did she not tell me?" "Becauso she had been enjoined ! against doing so," said Mother St. Gertrude, who briefly reviewed tho story wbile the three men listened and ex| changed meaning glances that indicat! ed their surprise at tho ingenuity and rascality of Raymond. "1 now understand, " said Mangan, "why a reference I once made to Worcester in-a distasteful way gave a semI blance of truth to the story. I have a i few relatives there who have never been : overkind. A family difference accounts for it." I "Theroyou are. You have helped to deceive her. Can you not see how great is her love for you?" "Mangan," said Dr. Leland, grasping him by the hand, "let me appeal i for my sister. I hope sho is worthy of you. I know you aro deserving of her." "I will remain. Tho rest will bo as sho wishes," consented Mangan. "Then I'll go,"said Mother St. Gertrude. "I'll tell her of all your adventures whilo preparing her to meet you ! both." Minutes passed that dragged like hours. Mother St. Gertrude appeared at last, preceding Isabel, whom sho introduced to Dr. Leland without much form. "Your sister, doctor," sho said. They embraced each other, shedding tears of joy, but no word was spoken. Mangan was pleased nt tho reunion his work had brought about, sharing no less in its bliss than tho sister and brother. Dr. Leland was not the man to be inconsiderate of others, and loosening his affectionate hold led his sister to Mangan, saying: "I am selfish." Mangan looked at Isabel. Sho held her head down, fearing that her consent to marry Raymond had been misconstrued and that forgiveness would : not be extended. Mangan surmised tho cause of her diffidence, outstretched his arms, and with a ferver that left no doubt of his lovo simply said: "Isabel!" What a charm there is to woman in her own name when uttered passionately and with endearment by tho one she loves! Tho head of tho fair girl raised, and her eyes met his. There was tho old glad light in tho orbs of each, and the two lovers, united again in spito of the machiavelian schemes that had temporarily separated them quickly bridged the intervening space, and locked in each other's arms forgot every one else, and the world to them was simply the zone of their memory and their thought. Mother St. Gertrude walked outside to tho corridor, motioning to tho priest and tho physician to follow. They walked across to tho convent office. "They have many things to tell each other," said tho sister, "and I want to know Isabel's brother better." "You will," said Dr. Leland. "1 will not soon forget you or your convent. Now that we are alone, however, I want to settle one matter. Can we have a double wedding tomorrow?" "A doublo wedding!" repeated the priest and nun almost simultaneously. "Yes." "Who aro tho couples?" asked tho priest. "Well, Isabel and Mangan, and a Miss Mortimer and myself." "Knowing tho circumstances so well, I think it can be done." "I would havo it so. It will end all misgivings, restore peace and that sense of security essential to Isabel?to us all, let us say, at this tikne. The villainy of this man Raymond surpasses everything I have ever heard." "And he appeared to bo so generous and so friendly," remarked tho nun. "Leave him to God, "said the priest. Let the past remain buried." CHAPTER XIX. OLD LOVE GETS A NEW LIFE. When the priest, nun and physician returned, announced tho programme to the lovers and asked their wishes, Mangan turned inquiringly to label, whoso eyes expressed her happiness at tho suggestion of tho ceremony that would end all doubt and unite her to her lover and her idol for all time. Her silence gave consent. Tho brother stepped forward and kissed her, then to tho priest said: "You can proceed." "Oh, there is Inez Mortimer," exclaimed Isabel as sho saw through the window her old classmato and friend coining up tho courtyard. "I'm so glad to seo her," sho said as sho ran out to flir, dnnr nrwl hill her WplcOlllO. I vi,v" "Wo expected her to come hero and prepare you for us," said Laurence, addressing Mother St. Gertrude. "It seems wo have prepared tho way for her." Inez seemed surprised when Dr. LnInnd appeared, and it quickly dawned upon her that the services she had come to perform were unnecessary. Mangan advancod until lie stood at Isabel's side, and Im-z looked at both and kissed her old schoolmate, saying: "I'm so glad." And they all knew what she meant? that tho reconciliation of Mangan and Isabel had given her joy second only to that of tho two themselves. "There is something going on in which you aro interested," said Dr. ijeiaiiu to jliil'z. "And what is that?" sho inquired. "Well, Laurence and Isabel will wed tomorrow. Shall wo fulfill our promise to each other?" She offered him her hand and bent her head as ho drew nearer. Ho would . lift up her face to his, bnt sho hid it on his shoulder, and ho let her head rest there, whispering soothing words, while tho tears, suggestive of her mixed emotions, relieved her surcharged heart and carried on their flow tho thoughts that brought happiness with resignation. i Sympathetically ho led her into tho reception room, where sho guthered strength to drive back tho welling flood i of feeling as sho said: "That .promise isi sacred." | "Sacred through liiin, sacred through i our own love," added Dr. Leland. They all came in, ignoring the interruption as if all had been as joyous as the beams that suddenly broke through I tho windows as if the sun, as it is said to do on Easter morning, had danced out from behind the clouds to cast its dazzling lights into the room and give to j that circle of friends in the splendor of its presence a bright omen of future , bliss. 1 "But have we not forgotten Mother St. Gertrude?" asked Dr. Leland. "1 j think I ought to state that 1 mean to live hero in Brooklyn and that her institution shall be my care." i This news had the effect of bringing : Mother St. Gertrude and the two girls together in a congratulatory embrace, Isabel saying: "And whatever i have is yours, mother, when you need it." What wonder the hours sped'then until they parted to meet the next day in the rectory, where the two weddings were solemnized? There was no display in the ceremony. A short trip had been planned, and after the marriage had been performed the two happy couples wer* driven to the railroad station to begin the journey of the honeymoon that promised to be in perpetuity their own. Mangan went to the bookstall to procure some light literature and the little et ceteras that suggest conversation and i entertainment in travel by train. His ' eye caught this flaring announcement in an afternoon paper: "Raymond a Suicide!" Eagerly he scanned the successive head lines that hinted at the details. It would not do to acquaint the young brides with the news just now, and his delay might prompt leading queries as to what was so deeply interesting him. He folded the paper, bought the supJi JHh eye caught this flaring announcement, "Raymond a Sulcldcl" 1 plies he desired and returned. Later, on the car, he read the story, and dospite the tragedy of which it was the record had to smile. It was The Trumpet he was reading, j It ascribed Raymond's suicide as the ; act of a man temporarily insane. He j had everything to live for?power and wealth. Why, then, should he blow his I brains out if he were not deranged? He had been too active of late, the story ran, had labored hard in matters 1 affecting municipal growth, and his j mind became unbalanced. He had left I no clew to the cause of his suicide, ; and the theory of The Trumpet was the : popular verdict. "My theory is this," whispered Man' gan to Dr. Lelnrnl, while their fair com! panions wero wrapped in contemplation of a particularly enchanting piece of nature's handiwork on the scenery fliti ting by. "I believe Raymond feared j exposure that would ruin him, and life had no charm to him if tho adulation of the populace and the power and prestige he enjoyed were taken from him." "I imagine that was his nature," said Dr. Leland. "Raymond is dead," said Mangan j musingly. Then, looking Dr. Leland in the face, ho added words as true today u3 men; i "The laws framed to please him do not die with him. They still live in the statutes of the state, still shelter | fraud and legalize crime and stand as a blot upon the fame of a thriving municipality, whoso name is everywhere tho synonym of a City of Churches and a City of Homes." CHAPTER XX. THE TOMBSTONES TELL THE REST. Two monuments face each other in a cemetery that within the past decade has seen the growing city of Brooklyn rush by it in a mad race to circle the i great county of Kings. One of these monuments is of white marble and bears the name of Francis Raymond. The inscriptions show that it was upreared by popular subscription. Mangan had thrown the charity of silence over Raymond's record. The people knew nothing of the politician's secret doings. The public manifestation wa3 all they saw, and they considered j his tragic end the natural result of mental aberration, superinduced by the exactions of n public spirit that assumed tasks of municipal development too great for one man to fulfill. On Decoration day passersby drop I flowers upon his grave, and the warden, j morgue keeper and others who had an insight of his character, but shield themselves in not exposing it, stop there for a time to meditate. They are serving other masters now, are as useful to tho i- ii 1.1 .1 Iiew as 10 uiu uiu, mm uiucuvim miU unfeeling as they are they think themselves in tho words of the fairy in , "Midsummer Night's Dream:" Wliat fools theso mortals be! The other monument, of lirown granite, erected "to one unknown," excites curiosity through its anonymity. It frowns upon tho "whited sepulcher" beyond. It was erected by Mangan over I the grave in which rested the body that had been represented as his own. He secured a plot without regard to location, and it was simply a coincidence that tho two graves were so near. It was not vindictiveness on his part, but thero aro somo who. did they know the circumstances, might tako it as a visible testimony of the certainty of retrij bution. In another cemetery a white shaft points upward, towering gracefully above tho other memorials within tho bronzed railing that mark tho spot whero generations of the Mortimers lie buried. It is to tho memory of Philip Mortimer, erected by Dr. Georgo Leland, and on days sacred to the remembrance of tho dead?days around which the nation has thrown a sacred halo? four friends of ours, whom tho reader will recognize, place their floral offerings 011 tho plinth that rests on a sod whose beauty is evidence of caro constantly bestowed. They who aro true to tho dead are never false to tho living. Mother St. Gertrude could tell you this if you 4i,^ onniwri); bml her confidence A11U?Y L11U V.U1A T \ UV) and asked her about the characters who figuro in this tale. TIIE END. To Save Asphyxiated l'eoplc. Attention is drawn to the fact by Lea Aunales Politiques et Litteraires that asphyxiated people may be saved by systematic traction of the tongue. The movement does not only consist in raising or lowering the tongue with the fingers (covered with a handkerchief), but in using reiterated and to some extent rhythmic movements. A Great Country. "Timber grows down there as long aa i there is sap in it," declared tho visitor i from New Mexico. "I have planted a green stick for a hitching post in tho spring, and by tho time it was seasoned j in tho fall it was a liberty pole."?ExI change. I iUtsccUannnto ^tailing. I COTTON AU SURPLUS j A Good Object Lesson For Intelligent Farmers. | MR. THOMASSOX SHOWS TIIK WAY. ' i Live at Home anil Iton't liny Anything Yon Can liaise?Meat Can be Raised Cheaper Than it Can he Untight With , l'i Cents Cotton?The Idea That Wheat ' Cannot he Profitably Produced in Tills , I - Country is a Humbug. "I have two boys. I have raised them on the farm and tried to teach | them all I know about farming. Ten years ago I was not certain what vocation in life I would prefer to have them i follow. I no longer have any doubt, j j They shall be farmers?that is, if I j have any influence with them ; and , they shall never engage in any other ] ; business. The profits of the farm may i ! be slow ; but they are sure, and great- i er than in any other business in pro- i | portion to the labor and intelligeuce ' expended. Not only this, there is | no doubt about the fact that the life of , the farmer can be made to approach j as nearly to independence, as it is possible to go. It is true that no man I | can live within himself; but the farmer can come nearer than anybody else, i and if he gives proper attention to his business, he need not be under very i great obligation to any man." These are the sentiments of Mr. : John M. Thomasson, a York county , farmer, who has been in the business j 40 years. He started at the bottom of ; the ladder, has had a hard light in the ] ! battle of life, has met with most of ! j the discouragements as well as the en; couragcments of his vocation, and the 1 sentiments quoted above emenatc i from the mature deliberation of a ' thoroughly ripe experience. The reason why we have selected Mr. Thomasson as the subject of the present ' article, is easily explained. Some weeks ago, a correspondent of a daily paper spoke of a York county farmer who, for more than 110 years had pur; sued the "all cotton" system of farming, ; | and then changed to the "cotton as a ! surplus" system. Under the "all cot- j 1 ton" system, notwithstanding the high i ! price of the staple, he was burely able to live; but under the "cotton as a ! surplus" system, he has been making | money. The story has been published ! I north, east, south and west, even in | far away Texas and Missouri, and the , j papers everywhere have been asking : the name of this intelligent farmer. ' The farmer is Sir. John M. Thomasson, K??nc a? iKn T*r!nfr'c ATrmnttiin rnnrl \> 11U 11 VW Ull 11IV. JVlti^ o Aiivumuiii ? VMM) about seven miles north of Yorkville. ! A reporter of The Enquirer visited Mr. Thomusson at his home one day recently, and the sentiments quoted j above were expressed in I he interview. Sir. Thomasson's story, as told by , ; himself very briefly, is as follows: '."When I eamo home from the war, I j i was weak and sickly, owed $">00 on | that land over there, (about two hunj dred acres) and had only one old i i poor horse. I went to work on the j I "nil cotton" plan and struggled along j ; as best I could. Of course I made I ; some money every year; but most of ! j it bad to go for supplies, and I got so j ! little of it for myself, that T found it j j discouraging. About 10 years ago the j i idea began to grow upon me that this ! ! thing of buying things that I could ; i raise was very poor policy, and I com- \ j menced shaping things toward pro: ducing, as far as possible, everything ; needed in the making of a crop. To break loose from old ideas and carry j out this policy has been the hardest j struggle of my life ; but, at last, I have j ! been successful, and now, for the first j time, I am beginning to feel that the actual profits from my labor compare favorably with those derived from the i same effort expended in any other j business." Asked for a few figures, Mr. Thornj asson said : "Well, I need hardly go back further than 1890. Up to about i ! 1887, it was the 'all cotton' system, i and consequently little to relate but a j j very hard- struggle. The next three years were the 'experiment stage,'so to speak. That is, I was not exactly certain that I was trying to do the right thing, and was more or less at I sea. During the year 1889 I raised a fairly good crop of corn and a big \ lot of hogs, and was in good condition I to go through 1S90. In addition to the supplies I already had, I also j bought largely. I made 47 bales of 1 cotton that year, plenty of meat, and enough corn to carry me through the 1 next year. My actual net profit, above living expenses, was something j over $000. "Well, in 1801,1 fell back into temptation, probably as the result of my success in 1890. I had plenty of corn . in my cribs and did not nuike proper provision for the future. I ran seven plows, planted 75 acres of cotton and only 50 acres of corn. My supply bill during that year was about $500. It ' came a wet year, and I made only 22 bales of cotton ; though as good luck ! would have it, I made a big crop of corn. Not counting the corn as assets, I figure that, in 1891, I lost about $1,000. "Now, with a good corn crop on hand, I went into 1892 with a determination to win. The first thing I did was to make arrangements to raise lots of meat. Then I began operations with six plows and planted only 50 acres of cotton and 75 acres of corn. On account of the failure of 1891, my grocery bill was especially heavy. It ran up to the neighborhood of $G00; but i that year, not counting living expenses, I made $500 clear money. I was now in good shape to go into 1898, and started out with six plows, with which I worked 05 acres of cotton and 75 of I corn. My grocery bill for the year J | was only $40?for sugar and coffee and j other little things that I could not raise. I made 48 bales of cotton, sold them at 7.35; and after paying out what balance was due for labor and about $200 for guano, I had left $800 net cash, which, though small as it may seem, was the biggest cash balance I have ever realized any one year during my experience." "Now, Mr. Thomasson," asked the ; \ reporter, "most people, when they I speak of raising their own meat, mean J for their own families. Do you mean that, or for the whole plantation ?" "I mean for the whole plantation," was the reply. "In 1892, I raised every pound of meat that was used on my plantation in 1898, and weighed it out to the hands myself. Last year I > again raised enough to do me this year. I Tn one respect, however, I have made ; a slight change. Last year I found that the business of running store and keenimr accounts was rather too trou / n blesome, and so, this year, I sold the whole supply to a merchant. The | only dillerenee is this : I get rid of the trouble and get the use of the cash, while the merchant assumes the risk, takes the trouble, and gets his profit : just the same as if he bad bought the meat from the West. This arrangement suits me better, suits the mer- | chant better, and, in fact, suits better j all round ; wnue me uunui? mui . would have otherwise left the country, j remains right here with us." "Otic more question on that line. Is j it profitable to raise your own meat?" j asked the reporter. ! "If it wasn't," Mr. Thomasson re- ! I plied, "I guess I would drop the j I business like a hot potato. I am not | going to argue 1 he mutter; but I will make this proposition to you. You can lur better allbrd to raise corn and put it into meat at the present prices, than you can allbrd to buy meat with, I don't say (i cents; but I say and mean 12 cents cotton. I won't try to prove this by figures. I only base it on a practical experience of 40 years on both sides of the question." Asked whether, in view of the low price of Hour, it still pays to raise wheat, Mr. Thomasson replied : "Flour is no cheaper than it has always been. In this country, we measure nearly all values by the price of cotton. When cotton was higher, flour was higher; and now that cotton is lower, Hour is lower. A pound of cotton will buy but little more Hour than it always would. Therefore, if it paid to raise wheat 10 years ago, it pays to raise it now. It did pay 10 years ago, and it pays now. My statement is based on the same information as is what I said about meat. Of course, I know that people often get discouraged on account of the failure of the wheat crop. They don't seem to remember that each particular crop sometimes fails. Especially is this the case with cotton. If cotton fails, the farmers always know that it is on account of the unfavorable season, or some other legitimate cause. Anyhow, they never think of going back on cotton because of a single failure. Why can't they give wheat the same showing? It would certainly be a more intelligent policy and would be lots of money in their pockets. "Speaking of wheat," Mr. Thomasson continued "I made a complete failure last year; but I did not get discouraged. It reminds me of another year when I did not fail. That year I sowed live bushels, and without even putting a plow to it, harvested 75 bushels. The wheat was sowed 011 good cotton land. Before it was sowed, I went across the cotton with a disk harrow. Then. I sowed the wheat, and next went across the other way to cover it up. That was all the work I did to the wheat except to cut and thresh it. I think that paid. What I did that year I can do again with equally favorable seasons, and I am not yet ready to say that wheat can no longer be raised at a profit in this country." MEATS THAT ARE* DANGEROUS. Animal foods are not generally conducive to good color or a fine complexion. Milk, eggs, butter and cheese are exceptions. Meats once a day is a sufficiency for all children, and for all women who prefer the spiritual to the sensual type of beauty. The school of vegetarians may not be famous for its Venuses and Apollos, but it is not a large contributor to the freak museums. Many meats are positively dangerous. For instance, only giant constitutions have the ability to digest fresh pork ; undigested it is a fruitful source of dyspepsia, tuberculosis, scrofula, gastric fever, nervousness, and iu fact, all the diseases resulting from inflammai \r\rt r\f tKo rraotiMO avufom TTrncll rtArir l.W.l Vf. f,...,.,. .v^-vu., rw... is not a safe fooil for any woman to eat unless she runs a ranch, a steamboat, a farm, or is engaged in some equally active pursuit necessitating outdoor life and muscular exertion. Even ham and bacon of the choicest "cure" need the purification of (ire. Veal is another bad meat, unless cooked to shreds, and rare mutton is under suspicion. While beef is the most nutritious of meats properly served, it is often so badly served as to uselessly tax the digestive organs. Much of the hash is no better than stewed brown paper, and the fried steak and corned beef of the average home dinner would do the consumer far more good in the garbage box. Foods that fill the stomach and foods that feed or nourish it are not the same. The value of meat is in the juice and nothing else counts. That is why the trained nursery maids who get $80 a month to keep infant heirs of complicated estates from dying, and so annulling legal documents, never allow the tots to swallow a morsel of coarse meat, as beef and mutton are called. There is inore nutriment in a piece of broiled steak the size of spool of thread, than in a five pound piece of pickled and smoked beef.? New York Letter. GENERAL PUTNAM'S DUEL. Every schoolboy is familiar with the story of "Put-man and the Wolf," but here is another story about the doughty Revolutionary general which is not so well-known. Some four years before the War of Independence, Putman offended a haughty Regular officer (who looked upon the l'rnvlnciiila with ennfemntV hv assert <. ? ? ? rvi ing that the latter were as courageous as the former. The dispute rau high, and at length the scarletcoated lieutenant asked scornfully : "Dare you light a duel with me?" "Yes, at any moment," answered the provincial major. "Then I challenge," said the lieutenant ; "choose your weapons." "Two kegs of gunpowder?one for you and one for me?are the weapons I choose," said Putnam. "The time tomorrow morning at sunrise, the distance ten paces. The method, you to sit on one keg and I on the other, and a slow fuse attached to each to he lighted ; and the one who sits longest shall he declared the victor." The lieutenant was annoyed, but was compelled to accept the strange conditions. Putnam was to furnish the kegs of powder and the fuses, and at the appointed time the next morning they were at the designated places. The combatants seated themselves, and the fire was applied to the fuses. As it went Hashing along the lieutenant became uneasy, and turned pale, while the major sat composed and smiling in the presence of threatened danger. As the fire drew near the kegs the lieutenant's courage failed him, and he arose and fled, while his antagonist, unappalled, remained seated until the fuse was exhausted. The kegs were filled with onions! The lieutenant al x .1:^.1 Ill UM U It'll U1 Thk Kincs ok a Tkkh.?Almost every one is aware of the fact that when a tree is cut down its age can be determined by counting the rings, each of which represents a year's increase; hut closer observers find in the irregularities of these rings and other signs a very faithful register of climate and other conditions in any given year during the whole period of growth. The years of small rings, that is, of little growth, were either vory dry or the tree was exhausted by bearing an exceptionally heavy fruit crop. The broad rings indicate abundant rain and good growing conditions. Brownish spots on the cut surface, looking as if they were worm-eaten, are evidence of a severe winter, the young sapwood formed in summer having been partly destroyed by the severe cold, and the injured part covered with sound wood next year. The year may easily be fixed by counting the rings from the outside. If the layers of wood are not of uniform thickness all around, they afford evidence that at this stage of growth there were conditions which hindered its growth on one side. The spread of its roots or branches has been arrested, perhaps, by a neighboring tree. The number of layers showing this irregularity inditl m nittitltntv r\ f voarc tltiviiur which the tree was exposed to the unfavorable conditions. The student of forestry may learn lessons of practical viilue in the management of a forest by a careful study of the annual rings.?Baltimore American. ABOUT THE GERMAN ARMY. There are nearly halfa million soldiers in the emperor's army, which is the most wonderful machine that was j ever put together. Think of 1,000 horses being so trained that they keep | perfect step and make so many steps to the minute and march in perfect harmony with one another. The sol| diers themselves move like clock-work, I and the artillery and the infantry move across the field like one machine work- ! i ed by cogs of even magnitude. I have seen the Russian soldier and the French I soldier, but they are nothing like these, and I doubt whether in the world i there has been at any time such an | organization as the army of Germany. ( i One can have no idea of the wonder- : ful machine that this army is, and how | j well Germany is prepared for war. A 1 chart has been drawn up which shows i just what the soldiers must do in the ; j case of wars with the different nations. , | And every officer's place in the scheme j is laid out beforehand. There is a I schedule of trains which will supersede ! all other schedules the moment war is 1 declared, and this is so arranged that the ! j commander of the army in Berlin could ' i go and telegraph to any officer-to take I a train and go to such a place at a i moment's notice. 1 When the Franco-Prussian war was declared, it is said that Von Moltke was awkened at midnight and told of the fact. He said coolly to the official who aroused him : "Go to pigeon-hole j number blank in my safe and take a j paper from it and telegraph as there j directed to the different troops of the empire." He then turned over and went to sleep and awoke at the usual hour in i the morning Every one in Berlin was excited about the war, but Von Moltke took his morning walk as usual, and a ; friend who met him said : "General, you seem to be taking it I I very easy. Aren't you afraid of the . I situation ? I should think you would be , busy." "Ah," replied Von Moltke. "all my work for this time has been done loug beforehand, and everything that can j be done now has been done." At the present time the army has j stores at various points, and they are j ready for emergency, and every com- j ! pany and every officer is down in the scheme for every situation that might I come up, and the whole works like ' clock-work. If the emperor presses i the button the army will do the rest. The improvements in army methods j are wonderful, and the German gov- , . eminent is experimenting all the time j I 011 powders, balls and guns. It keeps its chemical experts at work upon the J food for the army, and it has been experimenting on potatoes and corn as ! meal for bread. Horse food is quite as important as human food, and they have food here condensed for horses. They have balls of horse food so small that a man can carry enough in his pocket to j feed a horse for a week, and they are ! studying the concentrated essence of food for horses. Upon such food the horses will run down, but they can march a week and live. The emperor is the head of the army and he has the entire control of it. It is uot subject to public opinion, and the German troops have to obey him unconditionally, and they swear an oath of fidelity to him. The emperor is not yet 36 years old. He has hardly reach I ed his prime, and it would be wonder' ful if he did not feel somewhat inflated 1 by the power which he has under him. Think of it! He knows that he has the best military machine ever got together,, and he has 500,000 men always under arms. He knows that he can call 2,000,000 soldiers into the field by raising his finger, and he has 250,000 horses to mount his cavalry. There are other troops which can be called from the people, which make his war strength fully 3,000,000 of trained fighting men, and this vast i army is so organized that it can be directed by him, sitting iu his palace at | Berlin and pressing his fingers on the ' telegraphic button which calls his officers to him. The machine-like character of the whole is wonderful. A German officer i is expected to be a machine, and he is punished if he acts on his own responsibility. One of the most famous officers of the war of 1870 achieved a victory by acting quickly, without orders, against the enemy. In England or in France he would have been a hero, but in Germany he was I stripped of his command and ordered to go home. This was General Steinj melz. Officers are not given places because of their bravery, but because j of their ability to handle troops. There is no such thing as favoritism iri the German army, and promotions are I by merit rather than by length of service. Influence counts for nothing, as proof of which statement it may be mentioned that while Bismarck was chancellor his two sons were serving i as privates. The emperor watches the drilling of the troops very carefully, and if a regiment pleases liiin he puts on the i uniform of the regiment. The soldiers consider this u reward, and are very < much complimented by it. He is very | rigid in his conduct with the array, > and ho is doing all he can to make i j Germany a vast military camp. He j encourages the establishment of a military club in every village, and con- i stant drilling goes on over the whole empire. The soldier is, in fact, omni present in Germany, and you can't get out of the hearing of a military band, j ; in whatever part of the country you may be. TWO CONQUERORS. i Alexander the Great, after he had j scattered the army of Darius and conquered Tyre, is said to have gone to Jerusalem, worshipped in the temple, j and heard the high priest read the i prophecies of Daniel concerning him- | | self. He was told, according to the leg- J end,that he was the agent of heaven i to humble the kingdoms of the East, j i The revelation pleased him, but he considered himself a divine person, and nothing less would satisfy his ambition than the honor of this supreme claim. In Lybia, the flattering shrine keepi crs of Amnion were made to hail him | as the son of a god, and as such he ever afterward signed his name. He was a brave, brilliant, fortunate soldier?and a king. That was all. j His character was a motley of virtues j j and vices. He was by turns, modest and bombastic, noble and mean, just and unjust, kind and cruel, vindictive ! and magnanimous, temperate and in1 temperate. The he-goat of Daniel's vision was his emblem. Within 13 years he made himself master of 10 nations, and he ended his j i life in early manhood, because he could not make himself master of his own appetite. He died a drunkard. ! Men called him the "conqueror of the world but the world could not well own him conqueror who fell a victim j to its temptatious. More than 300 years after Alexan- ( der's visit to Jerusalem, Jesus Christ ' | stood there in the temple. No one | showed him the prophecies that foretold him, though there were many in the sacred books. The scribes and doctors were astonished at the understanding of the marvelous boy, but they did not know him. He went home with his mother, and j said nothing about himself till he was j 30 years old. Then from the privacy i j of his simple village life he went | forth to be a preacher and teacher, and to do good in a more public way. His doctrine's sank into men's hearts. His miracles blessed the sick and the poor. He needed no Lybian oracle to declare him the Son of (Jod. He had journeyed into Egypt in his childhood, but he brought buck no borrowed divinity. When his three year's wonderful ministry were ended he was in Jerusalem again; and there he died. His words to his friends were remembered, and he had done enough to make them true; "He ofgood cheer; I have over come the world." It would have been worth to Alexander more than all his victories to be able to say these words with the confidence of a saint and martyr, rather than with the boastfulness of a warrior king. The great Macedonian was naturally thoughtful and humane, but he had an insatiable lust for power and glory, so that justice, gentleness, truth and the lives of men were nothing when they stood in its way. The only shining virtue in him that this passion could not kill was his love for his mother. The great Nazarene loved his mother, and loved all mankind. In genuine greatness Jesus was not only everything that Alexander was, but everything he was not?unwarlike, unrevengeful, unselfish, unsordid, uncarual, unboastful, and to temptation invincible. His power was not in splendid strife and boundless spoil, but in forgiveness, humility, purity and peace. He taught men to love one another and overcome evil with good, and he made plain the path of the perfect life. Alexander and Jesus both died at the age of 33. But the difference of their conquests is almost too wide for comparison. One was a destroyer, the other was a Saviour; and unlike the empire of the man of blood, that went to pieces at his death, the empire of Christ is greater today than ever, and is growing still. As Dr. Felix Adler, a Jew, says of his earthly work, "In those three years he changed the current of the world's history." The son of Olympias, with his victories of violence and ambition, survives only in the story of his time, as a memory. The Son of Mary, with his victories of love, is a living influence among living men. If there were no higher lesson iu this contrast, it at least sets forth clearly the kind of success that brings the noblest winnings. Goodness is contagious as well as wickedness, and it is longer-lived, for it is nourished in afiectiou that imitates, and gratitude that never forgets. Every person has one or more "followers and he who purifies others by beiug himself pure, secures a triumph that is immortal. UlIEER SPEECHES. William Andrew, who was at the head of the great dye works in Manchester, England, oflen used to say that he attributed his success in life to what he learned in the Sunday-school. Day schools were then few, and reading and writing used to be taught on Sunday in the old church, now the cathedral, of the cotton-spinning city. Mr. Andrew was a little queer, for ! when he became a rich man people could see scarcely any change in his ! habits. He lived frugally, as he had always done, worked hard, wasted not ; a penny, and was at his dyeworks | from 6 in the morning till G in the j evening. It is said that he always j stipulated with his wife?he was married four times?that she should get up at 4 o'clock to provide his breakfast before he went to his works. He also retained other old-fashioned ! notions. He attended church morning and afternoon, continued to serve i the Sunday-school as teacher or su! perintendeut, found time to be at missionary meetings, and gave liberally whenever he thought that giving ! would do good. It was at a missionary meeting of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, held in a Sunday-school room, that he made this queer speech: I "Now, you little boys and gels, and you young men and maidens, sit you still on them benches and hearken and mayhap you'll hear something to your advantage. I can call to mind when Broughton Lane and Bury llond were j all in the country, with hedges cover! ed with May blossoms, and where thrushes and blackbirds sang. "Now one day there was a young couple who were keeping company, but who hadn't made up their minds what to say to each other. So the young man said to the young woman : " 'What's that bird saying?' "Nay,' said she, 'I can't tell.' " 'Well, then,' says he, 'I'll tell you: "How I love you ! How I love you,"' (imitating the song of a thrush). "Then they went on a little farther, and the girl says, 'What's that blackbird singing?' " 'I dont know,' says he. "Well,' says she, 'I'll tell you : "Show it! Show it!" (imitating a blackbird). "So, you see, they made it up and got wed. Now if you love Society for Propagation of Gospel," (he seldom used the definite article) " 'show it, show it' by what you put into them plates when collection is made." The queer speech brought in a goodly sum. The author of "Random Recollections," who was present at the funeral of Mr. Andrew's second wife, reports another queer speech which he made on that occasion. It was before "fuvnfnrm" WHS thoilfrllt Of. and "v-1 O-- , when respect for the "dear departed" took the form of mutes, mourniug, coaches, scarfs, hat-bands, gloves and a banquet. At the funeral feast, when friends and neighbors, more than a hundred, had eaten and drank of the best, the old man heaved a sigh and delivered himself thus: "Friends all, I'm not one of them as frets after them that's gone, if it please the Lord to take 'em. He knows best, and I thank the Almighty that she as is gone has lacked for nothing. [Sigh.] ' "Now if she's cost me a penny in her illness, she's cost me ?500. There's the doctor and the apothecary as can testify, if they've a mind, for they've got what I paid 'em in their pockets ; and there's the undertaker, who cau tell you what's the cost of the coffin aud dues, and all paid; and if she'd cost me all my fortun', she'd ha' had it and welcome. "The only reflection as might be cast on me is that I haven't buried her in lead ; [Sigh.] but when my time comes, if I'm laid in as good an oak coffin as her that is gone is laid in, I shall have every reason to be thankful." When a twelvemonth had passed away, about the same party was asked to celebrate Mr. Andrew's nuptials with his third wife. An ingenious inventor has provided himself with a pair of bicycles for his feet. The wheels are about four inches in diameter, and are strapped to his feet like skates. They have rubber tires, and glide over the concrete pavement with great ease. They are very superior to the common roller skates, and the owner moves along almost as fast as the bicyclist.?Scientific American. 6&? A Chinaman is speaking to him self as lie irons a shirt, l'icks up a shirt showing evidence of having heeu well cared for, and says : "Bachelor. Him landlady fix him." Picks up another, buttonless and all frayed at the wrists and neck, and says: ,lMallied man." ? v * * 2 . - ..