Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis si. (trist. proprietor. > 3Ui Jiulfpendent (Jjauiiln JfUiispapcr: J:or the promotion of the political Social, Agricultural and (tlommercial Jnferests of the ^outh. | terms?$2.00 a year IX advance. VOL. 40. YORKVILLE, S. C? WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 1894. jSTO. 37. THE OVER" BY MARTHA MeCUI Copyright, 1K94, by the American Press Assm CHAPTER XIX. Side by side, with set faces, with burning eyes, neither speaking a word, those two rode for hour < through the heart of the wilderness, threading dark | hollows where the fern either side of the single track brushed the raddle skirts with rank green fronds; skirting perilous hillsides, where a single misstep might j send you instantly to rocky deeps below. A cloud had risen and veiled the sun. Low mutterings of thunder came up from the south. The wind sank to fitful gasps sobbing through the tree tops. Not a bird sang. A curious resonant stillness lay over and possessed the world. At length Dare stopped her horse short, saying: "Surely, Mr. Cleve, yen have missed the way! You said we could easily get to the old forge by 12 o'clock. It must | be near 2 now, and I see 110 sign of it." "Dcn't you? Look ahead there to the left," Cleve said, indicating with his whip an opening at one side of the road. Dare was inexpressibly relieved to see the looming outlines of a big weather stained building. Springing down before Cleve could swing himself from the saddle, she flung the reins loose upon her tired horse's neck and ran forward, call- j ing eagerly: "Aunt Mel, Aunt Mel, did you think we were lost? I am sure we have been though Mr. Clev6 would aot say so." The noise of hoofs made her turn suddenly to see Cleve lash both horses so sharply that at once they dashed awav into the dim woods beyond. "Why did you do that? What do you mean?" cried Dare, now thoroughly i aroused. Cleve stood with folded arms, 1 ' ? -a i? ? ?a,? lOOKUlg Ub I1CI 1IUI11 uuui'i uaiiLiiujj brows. "Oh, nothing!" he said quietly. "Come, let us look for our friends." Dare darted before him into the open door, to find herself facing vacancy in a huge desolate room, where for more than 20 years the spiders had been spinning undisturbed their tapestry of ruin. "Why, they have gone and left us! We must follow them at once,'' she said, standing up very tall and straight, her eyes full of contemptuous light. Royal Cleve came close and said in a repressed voice: "That will not be easy, for they have j not been here." "Where are they? Take mo to them at once!" Dare said, with a little stamp of her foot. Cleve smiled faintly, saying: "As nearly as I can estimate it, they j are about leaving the old forge, 15 miles as the crow flies from where we stand, j and 50 at least if you oount hills and windings of the road." Dare's heart gave a wild leap, but her | blood, neither the brave Overton strain nor the hot tide of the Dares, had no | taint of cowardice. Uuquailing, she looked at the man who held her so entirely in his power and said, low and hard: j "So it is as I feared. You purposely misled me. May I ask what you* hope or j expect to gain"by it?" "The thing I caro most for in all the world?yourself," Cleve said, drawing a pace away and continuing: "I do not say 'fear not' I see there is no need for it Upon my life, Dare, I never loved I you so well as now, when I see of what j superb mettle you are. Any other worn- j an so placed would be vixenish or hysterical. You only look at me with the eyes of an insulted goddess. I am sorry, more than sorry, that you forced me to i this extremity. You might have escaped it Had you given me me merest snreu 01 i hope" "Excuse me. I must be going. I can- ; not listen longer," Daresaid, making as if to pass him where he stood. At once he stepped into the door, j spread his arm across its space and said, I with an undertone of thick tremor: "Go back, Dare. Don't force me to touch you. Even if I let you pass, you would but go to your death.. This place is the farthest of the outlying works. In the broadest daylight you would starve I before you could find your way out. With night and storm approaching, you would indeed have small chance. Be assured, when we do not return, they will 6eek for us and find us tomorrow." "When, I suppose, you think I will marry you?" Dure said, with cheeks aglow. "You must Your family will demand it," Cleve said, looking at her with kindling eyes. For a minute Dare faced him in silence, then came close to where lie stood and said, looking up at him with fearless eyes: "Mr. Cleve, I never thought you a ruffian. Please show me that I was not mistaken bjfrjetting me pass." Cleve caught his breath and said hurriedly: "I cannot. I dare not. Don't you see it is too late? It would be madness to venture together even. I could not find the way back on foot. We must wait for Unqualliiw she looked at the man who held her so entirely in his power. rescue. It will surely come. Meantime let me make you comfortable as may be. Come, sit on this bench. There must Iks food and wine somewhere." "Ah! You prepared for all this. It is like a romance," Dare said, walking away to the window at the room's far end mid noeriner thronirh its small dustv panes. Heavy wooden shutters lixm^r flapping outside, the freshness of their inner surfaces showing that it was but. a little While since they had l>een flung wide. The sash likewise showed signs of recent opening. No doubt the place had been made ready for her detention in case she dared to balk the conspiracy against her house, for conspiracy it must be. This man would surely never have dared to offer her so great, so terrible an affront had lie not felt sure that his villainy would be glossed over until it could be effectual. Clearly Hawkins was in league with him. He would delude her aunt into letting him head the search and so manage that they should be found exactly as had been planned. Even had she felt fear, the flame of auger in her must have burned it away. In the strength of it she felt able and willing to defy the conspirators, the elements, the wrath of heaven itself. The clang of the door made her turn to see Royal Cleve carefully barring it in place. nti tit rtiin niul Itlrm* " he saicL "This old barrack will bo damp enough at best. I must see to it that it gives you all the shelter possible." Without speaking, Dare unfastened the belt of her heavy riding skirt, dropped it upon the floor and stood revealed in a close frock of dark wool that came just FON CLAIM.! I jLOCH WILLIAMS. I'iation. to the instep." Still in silence she went up to the rough tuble, where some food had been spread, and though all unconscious of hunger forced herself to eat. Cleve looked at her, half in compassion, wholly in worship, but came m\ nearer than the door, against which he still leaned. After a little he said: "Dare, if you do not, cannot love me, j * .1. T 1_ _ .1 T x wish 1 nau never seen juu. x miuh what I am doing?how intolerably vile it all is. With you in the balance, the shame, the vilene.fs has not a feather's ; weight. Tell me now truly, do you love any other man?" Dare's only answer was a quick, scornful look. She went on eating, swallowing slowly and with such evident i difficulty that Cleve came forward, saying: "Will you drink a little wine?" Dare shook her head "No," she said '"Conspirators stop at few things. I know you do not mean ' to harm me bodily, but drugs are potent, and I have no doubt you would like to keep me quiet until tomorrow." In spite of himself Cleve's eyes fell. "There is no harm in the wine," he ' protested "I will drink with you if you doubt it." "I will take your word for it," Dare said "In return, as I really am very thirsty, will you not let me go outside for water? There must be a spring close at hand " "I will show it to you if you will take my arm," Cleve said, unfastening the door and waiting for her beside it. ' 'We must hurry," he went oil "The storm is almost upon us. We shall barely have time to go and come before it breaks." Holding Dare's hand close to his side, ho led the way to where a cold Stream gushed from under mossy rocks at foot of a huge hilL The house they had just quitted stood at the head of a long valley, narrow, winding and crisscrossed with the stream that here had head This had been the storehouse and superintendent's quarters. Lower down came the furnace itself, the stack,of it fallen half way, the sheds and outbuildings utterly ruined Dare glimpsed it all faintly through gaps in the thick growth about her. Cleve took a silver drinking cup from his pocket, filled it from the spring's heatj and placed it in her hand, saying: "Pardon me that I did not think of this sooner. I shall not soon forgive myself, though, for letting you go thirsty with water so close at hand " Dare dropped on her knees beside the well head, flung off her hat and said coldly: "Stand back a little, please. I want ! to bathe my face." Cleve drew a little away, but kept his j eyes full upon her, while with quick, i impatient motions she dashed the water i hither and yon. At last ho said courteously: "Pardon me, but really we must get to shelter. It has begun to rain." Dare got slowly to her feet, took up her hat in one hand and walked toward | him. Just at Ins side she dropped it, j apparently by accident. A gusty wind i caught it and sent it whirling along the j path. Instinctively Cleve darted after it-, I caught it 20 yards away and turned to ! find himself alone. Dare had vanished as if by magic. CHAPTER XX. Royal Cleve got white to the lips. "Dare! Dare!" he shouted. "Come back! Come! You are mad. Come! I will take you out of this. I will, on my : soul. Come! For God's sake, come! It is murder to let you go thus. Only come, and I will take you wherever you will." All in vain. No word came back to him from the dim, tangled depths. No i stir of bush or brake, no noise of foot on j rock or pebble gave him hint of her presence. Spite of his calling, his crying out, his wild running to and fro, he found no trace of her. Dare was last to him, to the world, it might be to life itself. At the spring's brink she had noted a blind path run- j niiig down the jungly hillside above it. As Cleve for a second took his eye from her she had run swiftly toward it, gain- , ed it and was crawling upward, safe hid by its overhanging growths. Face downward, flat upon the earth, she drew herself painfully toward the hilltop, with the wild adjurations of the man she had balked falling full in*lier ears. She had no thought of going back. Better a hundredfold death or madness than to feel herself once again helpless in his hands. The fitful rain had ceased. It came out of a broken cloud that had deluged the lower valley, but here sent I down only a scattering fall. The air was hot and humid. The wind came in long gasps, heavy freighted each with the presage of further storm. The night would doubtless be wild, but there were still some hours of daylight. If they did not suffice to tako her to safe shelter, they at least made it possible to put a long space betwixt her and her so violent lover. Through minutes that seemed Injurs sho crept painfully along, her hands scratched and bleeding, her bare head catching ever mid anon some vagrant twig, some down dropping bough. The path was the merest trace, hardly a foot wide. Even when at last she followed it upright, hers was a snail's progress, so thick, so clinging, so interlocked were the briers and tangle on either hand Slowly, blindly, she followed it. She had 110 idea whence it came, whither it ran, by what feet it was made. All her thought was it must lead her somewhere. If she persevered, it would take her out of this wilderness that might otherwise bo her grave. tip hill, down dale, it ran, now crossed by other and fainter tracks, now cutting sharp through a disused cartway. Dare had lived enough in the fields to know its smooth surface meant the habitual tread of human feet. Evidently they went upon a secret errand, else the wild growth would not be so left to mask the path. Miles and miles the girl tramped through the waning day. More than one ruffed grouse flew up from the thicket as she came too near. A fox stopped and looked her full in the face on top of a high hill. A wild turkey, with young half grown, went with wide skimming wings adown a long narrow valley. Sunset came on, full of red, stormy light. At the very last a bloody rim rested upon the hill crests. The sky was full of warring clouds driven hither and yon a* flawy winds swept up from south or north. Dare shivered at the sight. There was thunder in the air. What if she must face it, the storm, the night, alone in this wild waste! The dread lent wings to her feet. She almost ran along the path, which was now broader, better trodden, less encumbered with hindering boughs. Bats came out and circled low above her head. She listened hopefully, but in vain, for the whippoorwill, whose crying means no rain. Sunset faded out in dusk; dusk fell to black darkness. Still the path stretched endlessly before her. She had climbed a long hill, and j had been for some minutes descending, when a log bv the wayside caught her eye. It lay, a mass of fox tire, gleaming through thedark. Spent and breathless, she sank down upon it, saying under her j breath: "T itt\ niiirli farther in this * " f darkness. Maylie 1 had better stay here j until morning." Suddenly she started t<? her l'eet. A wild druuint; chant was burno upward ' to nor car, the souna or many "strong ! voices pitched in a minor key. It came from tlio right, evidently below where she sat. After a minute she knew what it was?the death song wherewith negroes seek to ease the passing soul. Feeling each step in advance, she went forward a little way, to find the path dip sharply in the direction of the sound and at last run into the small clearing about Jincey's cabin. Door and window stood wide, letting I big blurs of faint light fall outward j athwart the dark. A dozen were within, men and women, standing about the bed where the old woman lay, her gasping breath coming shorter, shorter, with each cadence of the wailing chant. At the bed's foot stotxl Jubilee, Jincey's solo living descendant, his wide, solemn eyes fixed hard upon her withered face. As Dare paused for a moment in the door, she caught the eye of a tall, white haired old man, evidently the leader of the watchers, who beckoned her to come forward as though her presence was expected and said iis the rest fell back: "Speak to her, Miss Dare. She's mast gone, but I reckon she'll know you. Seems like the fam'bly's been all day on her min'." "Granny Jiucey, do you know me?" Dare asked, taking the withered clammy fingers within her own. The song had died to a brooding hush, broken only by the far muttering of thunder, the tick of the deathwatch in the wall. The old woman stirred uneasily. Her lips moved, but no word came, and still the lids lay heavily over her. eyes. Daro bent almost to her ear and said clearly: "Granny Jincey, can I do anything for you? Is there any message I can take for you?" The young voice pierced through the gathering mists of death. Jincey's eyes flew wide; her hands clinched; she sat convulsively upright, crying aloud: "Mistis! Miss Alice! Jincey never meant to hurt you!" "She takes yo' fer her mistis, yo' great grandmother. Yo' ar lik' her," the old man said in Dare's car. Jincey's hand was groping feebly under her pillow while her lips moaned: "The key, the key, find it, find it for Miss Alice!" "Is this de one?" Jubilee said, hold- ! iug a bit of brass close to the dimming i eyes. 'Yes, yes," panted the old woman. pnru r*. in nhnvf nf de bottom," falling back at the last word with the death rattle in her throat. "Bredren, sisters, sing whiles I pray fer dis departin soul," the old man said, dropping 011 his knees at the bedside with rapt upraised eyes and moving lips from which came only soundless pe titions. Low and wild, with a ringing undernote, the death song swelled out through the summer night, to end only j when the old man, rising from his knees, laid the dead hands straight, say- | ing, with simple solemnity: "Dust an ashes dow art become. De silver cord is loosed, de golden bowl is broken, de soul has gone back ter God who gave, an blessed be de name er de Lord." Dare's eyes were brimming. She knew how these simple souls interpreted her ' appearance. To them it was evident that, 1 hearing the old woman was dying, she had come as a last kindness to one who j had been her grandfather's slave. It was i 110 strained interpretation. She would I not undeceive them. Jubilee would put j her in the road to Ridgcley, and weary I as slio was it would not tako so very j long to reach it. As if obedient to her thought, the boy came to her elbow and whispered: "Miss Dare, I know de box dat key 1 fits. Hit's in de bottom er de big cliis'. j I'll git it. Den yo' better go home." Following him in silence, Dare saw j him fling up the lid of a huge coffer that ! Dare saw him fling up the lid of a huge | coffer. set against the wall, saw him delve deep , in its heterogeneous depths and bring up a small pine box, most incongruously fastened with a wrought brass lock. Trembling through and through, she turned the key in it, saw the lid fly open, and within a long, thick, folded paper, with a seal at one end. As she thrust it within her bosom a confused noise of hoofs and trampling feet came from the outer dusk. Three or four tall, roughly dressed men came into the cabin and stared curiously around. Dare recognized the foremost as a liillman who often did odd jobs for her grandfather. Now she stepped eagerly forward and spoke his name. Instantly he fell back a step in blank amazement, then said hurriedly: "Oh, Miss Dare, your grandpa's outside. I?I think he wants to see you." CHAPTER XXI. "My girl, we can show them the Overtoils know how to die." Dare had indeed found her grandfather with the mob, found hiiu bound and helpless, yet sitting as upright and fearless upon his horse as though for the chase. It had all passed like a dream, the sight of him, the mounting behind one of the leaders the tramp into the wilderness, from which she had but just escaped. Now the hillmen had halted in front of the house Clevc had chosen for her prison, had hurried tlw two within it and were deep in counsel outside. "We can die," Dare echoed, "but we shall die innocent. We have never harmed, but always helped as far as lay in our power, these lawless men. What charge can they bring against us?'' "That we are Overtoils," the oldnuui said bitterly. "Overtoils," he repented, "the rightful owners of this which other men wish to sell and buy. At sundown as I sat in my study these fellows came upon me, demanding that I give up my rights. In their phrase, 'Take it or leave it and let men who have money set the wheels turning.' They were tired of waiting and starving if I was not. If I dared to refuse, 1 must take the consequences. I did refuse, then and forever. 1 was alone in the house, almost so upon the plantation, (tagged and bound, I was sat upon my horse and headed for this place. I know it well, the loneliest, the wildest spot in all the tract, so wild and lone murder might be done here a hundred times with 110 risk of detection. All the way I was thanking (led that you were safely away. Tell 1110, my child, how it happens that you, too, are entrapped?" Dare told him, keeping back nothing save the scene in .lincey's cabin. The -I., , ! more man liiiiuii^ni n.iiuiK'^ >m mi ii prison house hid tins old man's face as In; listened, hut his liaml lay on that of ! his grandchild, and amid all her stress of feeling she noted the surging leap of ( his pulse as she told of her peril, her es- j cape. "Oh, for one more day of life to meet that gentleman!" he said through his 't set teeth. "My child, my ehild, it seems I let you go into the very lion's den. j Forgive me, my girl. I have not been tender and thoughtful of you. 1 shall j love yon more through our little inch of ; time than in all the years of your life. " j "There is nothing to forgive," Dai'e i said, laying her cheek softly against his I liana. A quiver of lightniiig played 1 along tlie floor and showed her hip: tears dropping from the brave ohl eyes. "I have not shed a tear before since Margaret died," the old man said, with a gulp over the name. "You must not cry now. We need all our spirit," Dare said, nestling closer. "Keep a good heart, grandfather. These men surely dare not murder As outright, and help must come before long." i "You don't know them asldo, daugli- 1 ter, "Major Overtoil said, with a sigh. "They have gone too far to draw back now. Our lives are the price of their own safety no less than their prosperity. My wonder is that they have not given us shorter shrift?indeed that we came into this room alive." Thcliillmcii themselves wondered not i a little. In truth, there was a division of opinion among their heads. i "I tell ye, both must die, er we'll swing for it," said the man Dare had j recognized. "I tell ye, ye might 'a' ! : knocked me down with a feather when I seen tliet tliar gal inole Jineoy's cabin > an she sjKike up so, 'Why, this is Mr. Hensley!' I'd rather take er year's whippin 'an ter tetcli her rough, but whut's er man ter do? She knowed me. I tell ye thar ain't no safe way lmt the bloody one." ' 'An I tell you, you fool,'' said a deeper voice, "if harm comes to her, ter so , much its a hair of her head, we'll all have our trouble fer our pains. The fel ler dat's got most er de money we're so anxious he should spend here is plumb crazy about her. The man dat touches j her is as sure ter swing fer it as de spendin of a million dollars can make , him. I know, fer H , yo' know who, told me dat was in de game. Ef he don't j git her, most lik' he'll quit de country. j I say de thing ter do is keep 'em here, keep 'em comfortable, treat 'em lik' j fightin cocks, but keep 'em close till i j they're willin ter agree ter hold their j tongues." "That'd be cenabout always. Man, j yo' don't know them Overtoils. Bad as , I hate 'em fer their high headed, high handed ways, I know they're game, ain't afeared o' man ner devil and 1 ] wouldn't budge a hair from what they ] said wus right fer all dis world, with de ] next thrown in. Talk about makin , terms! Put it ter vote, I say. Fixer hat, i somebody. All in favor of makin a sure thing o' dis job put crossmarks on their tickets. Dcm ergiu it, leave 'em white." A oit/1 flA mnn enmo rvicf the hat, over which hung their solitary lantern, each dropping from his hand a fluttering slip whoso import was life or death. "Mr. Somebody didn't think whut his letter wus ter he used fer when he writ it," Henslcy said, with a grim smile, as the ballots fell in. "Reckon it wouldn't 'a' bothered him much if he had,'' his opponent remarked. The teller raised a hand, saying laconically: "Ye better be fixiu. Thar's 20 crosses." "We'll draw lots who's terdode job. Do rest kin go erway," Hensley said, speaking thickly in spite of his sense of necessity. " 'Twon't take but two? one erpiece, yo know." Inside Major Overton talked in low tones to Dare. "It was a miracle, your escape, and to think you are Hius brought back," ho said, breathing hard. "There is fate in it. I am sure," Dare answered. "Do you know, grandfather, J I believe Jincey had made the path I j found tramping to this place. What mo- ) tive could possibly have brought her so often over such a weary way?" "Maybo we will know soon. Jincey j , was a mystery always. We are at the } gate of mysteries. I wonder why they j are so slow?" ! j Dare pressed his hand hard and said in his car: r "Hush! I hear hard breathing. Some I one elso is in the room." ' "If it is the scoundrel who lured you 1 here, let me throttle him before I die, i and death will lose half its sting," the ^ old man cried aloud. ( Instantly a light flashed out, the light j of a dark lantern in Royal Clove's hands. < Weary with his fruitless search for j Dare, ho had come back and at last , dropped into sleep so sound that only ^ within tho bust few minutes had lie awakened from it. He walked directly j over to Major Overton, saying as ho held out a revolver: j "I deserve that you should shoot mo, ^ sir. But pray postpone it until I have , paid my respects to those scoundrels out- rj side." j "You do well to turn against them, g sir, after inciting them to their present course," Major Overton said, with curl- { ing lip. "By contrast with yourself g they are almost respectable. They have j at least the palliation of ignorance and j necessity." j Cleve fell back in amazement. s "Can you think, believe," he asked, H "that I had any hand in, any knowledge r of, this outrage?" t "Why not? Youareguiltyofwor.se," f the other said, with a deep frown. Dare ^ laid a hand on her grandfather's arm and said, half timidly: j "I think, sir, Mr. Cleve is innocent j of this. I know, too, ho will savo us c from all harm if only we do not thrust g his help aside." r "Whether you will or no," Cleve j said, striding to the door. "Open, j open," he shouted. "Open, you villains, c or the last one of you shall hang." r There was a noise of unbarring, a rush f and intrampling of many feet, a volley of shots and shouts and curses, but no r foot came inside. Royal Cleve had g barred the way, and as they recoiled from his rapid fire swung tho door to, _ calling lmskily: j "The bar, the bar! Keep them back! They shall not touch" ^ Quick as thought. Dare sprang to his j side, shot the inner bar in place and f called aloud: "Help, grandfather, ho is falling!" j "He is?dead?almost," Clove said, j reaching for her hand. By the lantern's c glimmer Major Overton saw that blood was pouring from his breast. Outside a a babel of rude speech, more than one deep groan, undervoiccd the wild roar of B a swiftly coming storm. "Listen! I hear horses galloping. You j are saved," Clove said as Dare bent ! c above him, trying to stanch the blood, j He went on huskily, "Throw?the light a on?her face. I have not much longer? j to see it. Let me?see it plain. " ^ ' '' ^? "Throw the liij/it mi her fair. Let mc net ^ II plain.*' K "Don't talk," Dare said, pressing her hand hard against the welling blood t Slowly, painfully, Clove laid her fingers a upon liis mouth and panted rather than c spoke the one word "Forgive!" "I do forgive you fully, freely, as I J hope (Sod will forgive nui at the last 1: day," Dare said; then, answering the appeal of his eyes, put her mouth to his t in a tender kiss. i A thunderous knocking fell on tho J door. Mr. Ilildreth's voice called: t "ATfiinr Overton ! IVTiiiiiv Overtoil! Can l you open the tloor?" As it swung wide 'Royal dove smiled t softly and said in gasps: i i "Dare! Now I am dead?ami you? 1 safe?you won't tal:e back your forgive- ' < nesg?" 1 His sonl went out with the last word, i CHAPTER XXII. "This caps the climax of villainy, but I sco Hawkins in it all," Mr. Hildreth said when a few minutes' rapid speech had made him master of tho facts. "How did yon happen to come thus in the nick of time?" Major Overton asked. Daro had risen, but stood with eyes Btill fast 011 the dead man's face. "Ask thoso two," Hildreth said, with , a shrug, pointing to Vance and Allen [ Fauntlerov. "All I know is that they i camo uiioii 11: d like a whirlwind about dark, had mo sworn a special deputy, had a posse all ready for mo and then rode either sido of me, telling me: 'Go fast! Go fast!' We went first to Ridgeley. It j seems they had. got,an inkling of ,what your danger wasT" There we found ourselves three hours too late, but with a plain trail to follow, which, thank God, wo did not lose. But I tell you it was rough experience, pushing through these hills, this tangle, and never knowing but the next hollow might lead you into ambush. Our beasts are so blown that, little as I like the place, I think we ! must stay hero till morning. Luckily that is not far off. It must bo 2 o'clock uow." "Later," said Vance. "But, Fauntle- j roy, why don't you speak? Major.it is all his doing. He has been watching rour enemies, and as soon as they wero ready for this grand coup ho was ready with checkmate for it." "I thank him deeply," the old man said, with his stateliest courtesy. Dare went impulsively forward, saying, with quivering lips: "Oh, Mr. Fauntlcroy! I hope you will never know how it feels to be snatched from the very jaws of death. " "I did nothing," Allen said. Then in i low whisper: "Dare, I envy that dead man. Whatever his sins, he truly died for you.'' I "Hear the wind, the thunder! This t is a storm to remember," Vance said, with a shiver. "Suppose we wore out in it on those black hills again!" Nobody answered him. The room, lit here and thero by a smoky glimmer of lanterns, was weirdly spectral. In their I*""!**- ^1*A /lrtn/l mniih. fo/in enonin/l f A Minn u^ui niv; uinui iiiau o xatv iu &uvjs rnd mow as though the soul had come Sack and sat there mocking its fellows. vV 1 1 . Allen drew Dare to him. bailee laid a handkerchief over it and [ notioned to two of the posse standing luddled about the door to lift the corpse ; ;o tho long table at one side. One came forward readily enough. | Hio other hung back, whispering: "Wait, wait! Don't yo know light- | ling'11 strike yo if yo try to move a dead ; nan while it's thunderin this way?" Truly the rush and roar of wind, rain, i huuder, were appalling. The windows if heaven seemed to be open, tho eternal j lills to bo cracking about their ears. Still Vance bent above the dead man, coking almost in pity at the face, so vhite, so stirlcss, so goodly. Two or hrco others came forward and made to ; ift the poor clay from the door, where ! t lay so inert Slowly, slowly they raised it, laid it j air and straight. Before a hand fell to i lie sido there came straight overhead m appalling flash, a deafening noise. The old house shook and quivered, groanng through all its timbers as its big j itono chimney toppled half to earth. "I knowed it. I told ye, but ye ; lidn't believe it," said the man who had : hrunk from laying hands 011 the dead ' nan. The rest stood silent, in awed exicctanco of they knew not what. It night bo even a deadlier flash. But the j torni king had done his worst. Very liortly the wind sobbed itself out; the ain ceased; the thunder drew away to , he river valley. As the east reddened or dawn, stars were peeping in tho sky hrough veils of lacy mist "Thank God and my friends for day- 1 ight! I never thought to see it again," Jlajor Overton said fervently, his hand tn Dare's shoulder. Suddenly Viuico 1 ;ave a sharp, low cry. He stood at the oom's end, critically contemplating tho 1 ightning's work. As the rest turned to j 00k lie darted across the wido hearth, 1 aught something that lay amid the musses of loosened rock, waved it in rout of them, crying out: "Tho record, the record I Major, 110 natter who saved your life, I havo as ;ood as found your fortune." There indeed was the missing volume, clcased by tho lightning stroke from ts 50 years' entombment. "Open it quick, quick," Major Overon almost shouted. Vance hurriedly urncd leaf after leaf, then silently held he book before the old man's eyes. Then a tine hubbub broke out, for here, plain to view, undisputed, indisputable, tho Overton claim wius fully onfirnicd upon those yellow pages. "How 011 earth did it over get here?" sked Hildreth. Major Overton thought a minute, then aid slowly: "I remember now. They were buildug this chimney when the first hint anio that our title was in dispute. Jrucc Stirling 110 doubt stole the book , ud gave it to old Ike to hide for liinu ke as a conjure man easily terrified the j ilack chimney builders into putting it I iere. No doubt it was in a sort of niche, ! vhere, if need were, it coul 1 have been eclaimcd. Dare was right. That ac- | ounts for tho path. Jinccy knew and 1 .11 these years has come here to gloat iver her secret.'' "She repented at last. See what sho ;avc me," Dare said, laying in the haver's hands the papers from the bottom if tho chest. After one glance he said: "The day of miracles is not past, maor. With the deeds, the record, our case s won. You, Miss Dare, are the greatest leiress in the state." Allen Fauntleroy came forward, holdng out a hand to the major and to his granddaughter. Both were eagerly hisped, though Dare drew her hand [uickly away, noting that it bore yet the tain of Royal Clove's blood. "Heaven only knows how glad I am 1 hat this wrong is righted at last; that fter so many, many years you are to j 01110 into your own," Allen said, look- j ng full into the old man's humid (yes. ; Jajor Overton half turned away his lead, saying: "W' in (Jin nresenon of death wo for yet much, very much. I sun an old, old n;ui; you just upon t lie threshold. Into ^our hands I commit both the fortune I hat is mine and the woman to whom it ] nust rightfully descend. I do not say, i Take care of them.' Your conduct lor lie best month proves to mo that you 1 jould do nothing else." Allen drew Dare to him and led her jut into the fresh, dripping morning. Ys they crossed the threshold where their rate nan so strangely culminated I ho said, looking over his shoulder at tho ' rigid figure they left behind: "Dare, darling, I do not envy him any mora Poor fellow! Ho loved and j lost you! And though he died for your life, it is my privilege to live for your happiness." Dare said, "I love you, Allen," but ' she, too, looked back at tho dead, and her sigli was half a sob. TO ?K<'ON?T.I?l?KI? NKXT WKKK. . | PiSfcUmiraus Reading. ni l ur n.vi'R .ninni. OuiM'i'Old l'itslii)>iii-<l Citsli Flowing IntoL'ncl<! Sum's Tri'iisur.v Tor ICedfinplioii. The hard times are forcing people to rake in every odd corner for cash. Everywhere they are extracting ancient. hoards from stockings and teapots, and much queer and out of date money tlitis put in circulation is now j finding its way to Washington. Suspicious looking notes, doubtful coins, i and even fragments of old greenbacks, j are received by the treasury every day from the owners, who want to know J if they are worth anything, writes Uene 1'aehe. i During the last twelve months the i treasury has received and destroyed j So,15(17 in fractional currency. This j exceeds the record oft he previous year by nearly $-l()l). Most of that sort of cash comes from the estates of old people, who leave small quantities of it j stidled away in disused pocket-books i and other odd places. The heirs send in the queer little pieces of money for redemption. Last week a handker- j chief full of this currency arrived, consisting of the earliest issues in tine condition, each note signed by (Jeneral Spinner's own hand. The collection | was worth far more than face value, if the owner had known it. Sometimes the fractional currency reaches the treasury even now in the shape of blocks of sheets from banks, which have held the money unused for a quarter ofa century, perhaps. It was issued in sheets originally, the ' sheets being cut apart at first with scissors. Afterwards they had perforations like postage stamps, so as to be torn apart. There is now outstanding $15,274,791 worth of this currency. In 1879 congress estimated that $8,000,000 worth had been destroyed or lost, i and this sum Was transferred to the fund for the payment of pensions. It j is now believed that this reckoning was a mistake, and that not more than $1,000,000 has passed out of existence. The remaining $14,000,000 arc suppos- ' ed to be held today by collectors and ; private individuals. Ever so many persons have put away a few speci- . mens of the fractional paper for euriosilies. Out of date United States coins are flowing into the treasury in small quantities. Among them are some of the old !!-cent and 5-cent silver pieces, which used to be contemptuously des- ; ignated as "fish scales." It was a re- j lief to the. officials in charge of Uncle Sam's coffers wnen they were withdrawn from circulation. Counting them was fearfully hard work. As- ! sistant Treasurer Meline tells how he i once had to count abouta peck of them i in the sub-treasury at Baltimore. The labor was rendered much greater by I the fact that nearly every one of the ! little pieces had been bent by biting, so ' that they overlapped on the counting- j board like veritable fish-scales. For ! some reason unknown, people could not ] resist the temptation to bite these j II >111(1 I I >1 I \ v l UUIII>. The melting pot at the mint is the bourne toward which all the out-ofdate coins that reach the treasury travel. Among them arc the silver 20-cent pieces, which were authorized by the act of March, 1875. They only ran for three years, because they made I themselves obnoxious, being so fie- | quently mistaken for quarters. Kven ' more objectionable were the nickels with a big V, on which the word 'cents' did not appear. Of these, 2,000,000 were thrown into circulation before their dangerous character was perceived. Then they were altered. Persons of an imitative inclination gilded them and passed them off for $5 gold pieces. The nickle .''.-cent pieces, ! minted from 18(55 to 1890, are rarely j seen nowadays. Three millions of them exist somewhere unaccounted for. j Of 4,500,000 bronze 2-cent pieces, is- , sued from 18(54 to 1878, 8,000,000 re- I main outstanding. Yet it is not often that- a specimen is found in one's j change. What has become of all the big cop- i per cents, of which 119,000,000 are | unaccounted for? Nearly all of them have been lost. They were issued from 1792 to 1857, and 800,000 of them are still outstanding. The metal "blanks" for the bronze cents now minted cost the government only onetenth of a cent a piece, being like the 5-cent nickles, merely tokens. People often apply to the treasury for ?1 gold pieces, the minting of which was discontinued in 1890. Hut the government will not sell them. It is desired to withdraw them entirely from circulation, because they proved inconvenient, being so easily lost. In the same year the issue of gold ?8 coins was stopped. They were a firstclass nuisance, being often mistaken for other pieces, and to count them was no end of a bore. The number three is about the most awkward imaginable for reckoning, and these coins could not be put up in bags of $1,000 or $5,000. Some of the old fractional notes are quite valuable now. A limited number of 15-cent pieces, signed by Spinner, with the heads of (Irani and Sherman on them, were issued as curiosi 'PI....- ..... in n-w.il l/wl-iv A few of the notes were printed with red bucks, and they are quite rare and correspondingly precious. Some specimens were printed on cardboard, only on one side, and were sold at face ! value. When silver dropped out of circulation during the war, being hoarded, j people began using postage stamps for small currency. They were inconvenient for many reasons, one of which was that they got stuck together. So the postollice department issued ungunimed stamps. In place of these, a so-called "postage currency" was issued in lS(i2, the engraving 011 the face rep- j resenting postage stamps, with the head of Washington. l-'or this the fractional currency was finally substituted. KAMA ShKKlMMi CAKS. 11 was just about 40 years ago that the idea of a sleeping ear for night travel lirst took took tangible form. To say positively that this man or that i man was the original inventor of the sleeping car would probably be met with protests and expressions of diverse opinions. The American Railway says thai the prototypes of tin* sleeping car were used on the Cumberland Valley railroads, between Harrisburg and Cumberland, as early as the winter of lSdti- I " 7. These ears, however, were not of the combination order, and they were j abandoned in IS4S. According to the traditions preserved l?y the Wagner Palace Car company, the originator of the sleeping car was | Theodore '1'. Wood mil', The honor i is also elaimeil fur "Hen" Field, of Albion, in this Slate, once a prominent politician. Albion was the early resi- I donee ol'tieorge M. Pullman, and it is | to liiin, it is said, that the I'nllman j cars owe their origin. Mr. WoodniH' prepared his model, it is said, in the of- j lice of James Tillinghast, at Rome, N. I Y.. in 1S")4. Mr. Tillinghast was then in the service of the Koine iind Watertown railroads. He did not have sufficient faith in Woodrulf'sinvention to advance the money to have it patented. So, like many other inventors as well as prophets, who have found little honor in their own country, Woodruff 1 was obliged to go out from the original scene of his labors to Iind somebody to appreciate bis new idea and to give 1)im linunciul support. Woodrntl' finally found a patron ni Mr. Watson, the oar builder of Springfield, Mass., to whom the inventor had gone with his precious model wrapped in an old Imndana handkerchief. Mr. Watson built a trial car, which made its first trip on the New York Central i and the Koine and Watertown railroad. The car was afterward run to Cleveland, Cincinnati and other Western cities, where it was looked 011 as a great curiosity. It was finally sold to the Ohio and Mississippi Kail road company, and was regularly run on its line for a number of years. At first the new sleeping cars were more popular with passengers than with railroad managers. The railroad men looked at all improvements likely to increase the comfort of travel with dis- : 1111st. They argued that the more con- i venienee travelers had the more they ; would want, and the cost of them to the companies would he enormous. , They probably realized that more at- j tractive traveling would increase the j volume of travel, but their deductions as to the amount of traveling that would probably be done were drawn from the days of stage coaches, and they apparently never suspected what an immense impetus to travel and what an enormous increase in their business would result from the adoption of such improvements as sleeping cars. The public had its way, however, as it generally does, and in a few years sleepers were runing 011 most of the prominent railroads of the United States. The first sleepers that were built j would not be considered fit to travel in now, but they were regarded as great luxuries then. The fittings and furnishings were of the plainest sort. A shelf was placed across the seats, which accommodated passengers as usual in the j daytime, to form the lower berth, and j two were let down from the sides, forming three tiers of berths on each side of the car. The car was lighted by kerosene lamps attached to the ceiling, ; and warmed by an old-fashioned wood 1 stove, placed near the centre of the car. ! By taking care in selecting the position of the berth, one might, on a cold night, have the privilege of sleeping in the temperature of the tropics, in the varying degrees of the temperate zone, or in the frigidity of the arctic circle, according as he should be near to or remote from the stove. The exterior of the cars, like that of ! other passenger coaches of those days, was unornamented. IRRITABILITY. Some people aro naturally calm and | not easy disturbed. Others are epiick to feel, and strong in the exprssion of their feelings The difference is constitutional. But every one, whatever his natural temperament, is liable to become irri- , table as a result of physical disturbances. Marked irritability is often the I first symptom of ut\due brain-work. A man who may have been remarkable for bis self-control, is suprised to find himself disturbed by trifles. An- | noyanee such as he once hardly no- I liced, now fairly unnerve him. He is 1 impatient, and expresses himself in j tones, if not in words, of which he is soon ashamed. Overwork of the brain is not confined to professional men. Merchants, the uncertainties of whose business ; often involves the keenest anxiety, are at least equally liable to it, and in this case the trouble is-often aggravated by I a luxuriousness of social and personal habits. Nor are the wives and mothers free from the same danger. Woman's work is never done. For her, care seldom ceases while she is awake, and too often it pursues her even in her.sleep? Fashion and social life sometimes make large demands upon her, while the j petty annoyances of home fall to her lot almost exclusively. At length tin- i wonted impatience, frelfulness, and I severity with her children give warning of nevous prostration, and her husband may perhaps precipitate the crisis < by his unjust reproaches. In softing of the brain, one of first j indications of something wrong is in- j creasing irritability; which however, j is seldom referred to the true cause. If the patient is a mother, she finds fault with her children on the slightest i provocation, and punishes them with unwonted severity. Irritability and general feebleness of the nervous centres are frequently due j to a lack of suitable nerve-food, just as the muscles may he enfeebled | through lack of the food essential to i their proper nourishment. Friends of the morbidly irritable i should guard against increasing the evil by their own conduct, and gener- 1 ally should take counsel with a physician. ? ^ Sukk of Ills Wifk.?"Pooh !" said one man in the horse car, as a group of business men were 011 their way down town, "my wife is the most methodical, careful neat woman you ever saw. It is all nonsense for a woman to let a house run into disorderly ways. You ought to see how my wife does things." "Well, of course that is all very well in theory," responded another; but the best housekeeper gets behind sometimes." "My wife never does. She is always the same. "She must be a remarkable person," said another man. "How long have you been married ?" "Ten years. And she never disappointed me. Why, gentleman, she always puts everything in the same place, and you know just where to find what you are after. For instance, I went to my handkerchief drawer tliis morning before daylight, and took j out a handkerchief and put it in my pocket before starting out, and I know just as well as I know my own name . that that handkerchief is just such a ' size, and has my initials worked in silk in one corner." And the boastful man put his hand i in his pocket and pulled?and unfolded ?a large white night-cap, with long strings dangling from it! Sktti.kd a Qfakkki..?ltev. Dr. Huge, of Richmond, Ya., tells of two Christian men who "fell out." One heard that the other was talking against him, and he went to him ami said : - - . . . "Will you bo k i in I enough to loll mo my faults to my face, that I may profit t by your Christian candor and try to got rid of t hem ?" "Yes, sir,'' replied tli- oilier, I "will do it." They went aside, and the former said : "Heldre you commence telling me : what you IIiink wrong in me. will you i please how down with me and let us pray over it, that my eyes may he ' opened to see my faults as you will tell | them? You lead in the prayer." It was done, and when the prayer was over the man who had sought the interview said; "Now proceed with j what you have to complain of in me." j But the other replied: "After pray- . ing over it, it looks so lime uiai h i.-> j not worth talking about. The truth is, I feel now that in going around talking ! against you I have been serving the I devil myself, and have need that you pray for me. and forgive me for the wrong I have done you.'' The quarrel was settled from that hour. And there are several other diflieulties that might be settled the same way. Try it. THK KIKsV*TKLK(Jimi. In the year IS.'IT, while Samuel F. B. Morse, professor of literature and the arts and designs in the 1'iiiversity of the City of New York, was vainly cndeavoring to perfect an apparatus for recording signals at a considerable distance by the instantaneous action of electricity, he met by chance Alfred Vail, a former student of the university and a man of great mechanical skill as well as a born scientist. The plan of Morse, conceived but not embodied, produced a profound impression upon the mind of Vail, who after satisfying himself as to its feasibility, and learning that the professor desired pecuniary assistance to proceed with his plans, offered to associate himself with Morse, and to procure the money necessary for the furtherance of the idea. Morse gladly availed himself of this offer, and the two became friends and partners. Yail's first step toward the monetary part of the contract was to endeavor to interest his father, Judge Steven Vail, of Morristown, N. J., in the enterprise. This he succeeded in doing, for Judge Vail, a mechanic of no mean skill himself, and proprietor of the Speedwell Iron works, had ideas ahead of his time as well as a marked respect for the judgment of his son in scientific matters, and so it came to pass that Alfred Vail received permission to invite Professor Morse to Speedwell, where he met the judge. This meeting resulted in enlisting conditionally the aid of Judge Vail, and the two partners began work at once upon the apparatus which was to prove conclusively for the first time the practicability of the telegraph. A special room in one of the shops was set apart for their use, and there behind locked doors the work on the machine was prosecuted with the utmost secrecy by Alfred Vail and a young mechanic named William Baxter. Professor Morse in the meantime having returned to New York to prepare his caveat. Although Vail and his youthful as sistant worked day and nignt toward completing the machinery, their progress, retarded by countless difficulties, was necessarily slow. Morse made occasional visits to Speedwell to observe this progress and also to observe bow Vail was improving step by step on his own more or less impracticable desigus. Of all the changes and substitutions made by Vail none was more important and far reaching than that of the lever. Finding that Morse's transverse lever was unsatisfactory, Vail constructed a new lever, capable of a vertical motion which produced dots, dashes and spaces. Professor Morse's idea was to record numerical instead of alphabetical signs, which were to be translated by means of a corresponding dictionary? a decidedly more tedious and lengthy process than Vail's dot and dash alphabet, which has since become the universal telegraphic language of the world. As the time dragged on with no signs of a practical result, Judge Vail became impatient. His temper was not improved by the sarcastic remarks of the neighbors on "Vail's folly;" in fact, he became so morose and ill-tempered that he refused to have anything more to do with the machinery or its construction, and left the workers to find their own way out of the accumulating difficulties. This was a critical period in the history of the telegraph, for Morse and Vail felt that at any minute the judge might order the experiment discontinued. To avoid meeting the irate old gentlemen, and so hastening, perhaps, the dreaded catastrophe, the three confined themselves to the shop, and made every effort to complete their work before they lost the opportunity. Young Baxter was appointed to watch the movements of the judge, and when at noon he would report that the enemy had left the works for dinner, Morse and Vail would slip out for their hasty dinner, and hurry hack to the room before the judge returned. But at last their perseverance was rewarded, and the apparatus stood completed. "William," said Vail to Baxter, "go up to the house and invite father to come down anil see the telegraph machine work," and off dashed the hoy coat less and hat-less, although it was the 5th of January, to carry the glad tidings to the judge. He was just preparing to go out as Baxter entered the sitting room breathlessly, but on learning the news he went directly to the shop. Entering the room, he found his son and Prefessor Morse awaiting him. Around the room ran several lengths of bonnet wire, with the two newlycompleted machines at either end. After some explanations the two inventors each took their places at their instruments, and Alfred requested his father to send a message. Cautious to the last, while knowing that there could be no collusion between the experimenters, and in any case having perfect faith in them both, the judge wrote upon a piece of paper the words: "A patient waiter is no looser," and handing it to his son, said; "If you can send this, and Mr. Morse can read it at the other end, I shall he convinced." Only the clicking of the machines now broke the silence. Finally even that ceased, and Morse handed to the judge a slip of paper, on which he found the duplicate in every word of his own dispatch. Then, for the first time, Judge Vail fully realized the actual importance of the demonstrated success, and for an instant he gave way, wholly overcome by his emotions. The telegraph had vindicated itself just in time. Judge Vail had hardly seen or spoken to his son for six weeks, and was at the point of ordering the whole experiment discontinued, when he was summoned for the conclusive test. As it was he now became the telegraph's steadfast friend, bearing all of the expenses of the costly youngster up to the time of its recognition by congress, which took place five years later, in the shape of an appropriation of $30,000 for erecting the historical line between Baltimore and Washington.?Stevens Vail, in Constitution. fler""Itis astonishing 10 learn unu nearly all the building lumber imported by Africa comes from the United States; that Japan buys it, and that no other lumber enters South American ports. In Samoa 4 cents a foot is paid for rough Oregon pine and California redwood. Hawaii, by letting American lumber in free of duty and charging 10 per cent, duty on Canadian lumber,virtually prohibits the importation of the latter. Consul Mills, of Honolulu, reports that all the timber used there comes from the United States. Even the island of New Caledonia prefers pine from Washington and pays about $20 for r>:j cubic feet. All the timber used in Madeira comes from Maine, North Carolina and Nova Scotia, while Mexico and the West Indies, rely wholly upyn the United Stales. Australia buys $1,000,000 worth every year, and would lake as much more if it could be bought readily. Hindoos UskTiikik Kkkt.?Strangers in India, said Prof. E. 1'. Worthington, of Boston, in St. Louis, recently, are usually a good deal surprised at the curious ability possessed by the Hindoos to use their feet and toes in various industrial occupations. In the native quarters of the town it is no uncommon sight to sec a butcher seize a piece of meat in his hands and cut it in two with a stroke of his knife held between the lirst and second toes of his foot. The shoemaker uses no last, but turns the unfinished shoe with his feet, while his hands are busy in shaping it. The carpenter also holds the board he is cutting with his great toe, and the wood turner uses his tools as well with his toes as his hands. ' j This use of the feet to assist the hands in their labor is not the mere result of practice, but, as investigators have proved, is principally due to the fact that the Hindoo foot is quite different from ours in its anatomical conformation. The ankle of the Hindoo and the articulation of the hack of the foot permit considerable lateral motion. Then the toes possess a surprising mobility, and can be moved freely in all I directions. The articulation of the hip is also peculiar,and this renders it easier ""? ll>n (not ill tin ml lili ir nllipr>t? 1?V IU U.-.C W.*> ? - j , enabling the Hindoo to sit in :i squatting posture mneh more comfortably ' than we can do. POLITENESS. There are some tilings of more interest to us in our association with our > fellows tliau money. We cannot purchase, with money, friends?real friends?persons who wjll love us. Love cannot he bought in the markets. It is not one of the commodities which we find in a store for sale. On the other hand, we may, without mon| ey, make friends who will cling to us : through the whole of life's journey. ' It costs us nothing to he courteous and kind, and in the end it is a most profitable investment. It requires no more effort to utter a kind word than it docs to utter a harsh word; and yet the former may make a friend while the latter is sure to make an enemy.. Two men meet on the public highway the same boy ; the one speaks to him kindly and the other either does not speak to him at all or says something designed to tease him. The boy is sure to go home feeling a respect for the former, and a per feet contempt for the latter. The opposite feelings will he cherished by the boy I as long as he lives. In the one case a good impression has been made ; in the 1 other an unfavorable one, and time itself will not be able to rub out either. ;' The opposite of politeness is rudeness. In the former there is something very beautiful, while in the latter there is nothing beautiful: but everything : -i-. tu..? llllll n llj;i \ , I'vcn iu unui uiitj . i iicic ' is nothing in which the American people, as a whole, are so defective as in politeness. It is this that gives the educated class of foreigners who visit our country a bad opinion of our civilj ization. It may be that the great liberty which we think we enjoy gives us, we think, the privilege of treating rudely every stranger who makes his appearance among us. No matter whence our American rudeness find its i origin, it is evidence of neither civili! zatiou nor religion. The direct tendency of the religion of Jesus Christ is to make men polite I each other. It transforms the savag*. into a gentleman. The proper place to teach politeness i is at home, and the teachers are the i parents and the scholars are the cliili dren. If parents suffer their children to grow up in rudeness, the probability | is that traces of this rudeness will he discovered in them when they are old men and women. It is a sad fact in the history of so; eiety that many persons think that ; rudeness is smartness. Never were any persons more mistaken. It is a i rare thing that the rudest boy in school , is the smartest. In fact it is often the j case that the dullest boy in school is ' the rudest. This is the only thing he 1 is good at. It is all he tries to be. Polite poor children have a better I start in the world than rude rich chil| dren. The former may rise in the world ; the latter are almost sure to fall i into disgrace. Politeness will take us where we cannot purchase admittance with money.?Rev. I)r. R. Lathan, in The Associate Reformed Presbyterian. fitaT" We let our friends go through life without many marks of appreciationWe are chary of compliments. We hide our tender interest and our kindly feelings. We are afraid to give each j other the word of praise or of encouragement lest we should seem to flatter, lest we should turn each other's head. Even in many of our own homes there is a strange dearth ofgood, whole-hearted, cheering words. Let ns noi ue Hiram 10 say appreciative and complimentary words when they are deserved aud are sincere. Lotus lose no opportunity to show kindness, to manifest sympathy, togive encouragement. Silence in the presence of needs that words would satisfy is sinful. Btrif The old story, good enough to ] he true, is revived about the late John Quincy Adams as a disciple of the gentle art of fishing. It is told that a Quincy client of his, whose case was to be tried on a certain morning,'was unable to get his counsel to go to Boston, or to leave his fishing boat, except long j enough to write a note to the judge, which, when presented, caused that worthy magistrate to announce to the court, "Mr. Adams is detained on important business." The note read: < "Dear Judge?For the sake of old Isaak Walton, please continue my case until Friday. The smelt are biting, and I ! can't leave." BfetT An interesting relic of the Revolutionary war recently came into possession of Stan V. Henkels, of Philadelf phia. It is a large silver-pointed star, ! with a square cross in the center, surrounded by a ring of red enamel. It formed the head ornament of the war horse that bore General Francis Marion?otherwise the "Swamp Fox"? through his world-renowned campaign in the Carolinas during the struggle of the Colonies for freedom. This relic, together with another similar to it, except thut it was made of brass and was used by the 'general's lieutenant, was sent to Mr. Henkels by General Ma! lion's descendants in South Carolina. j Capping Stories.?Mr. Barnum once told of an old lady who was so deaf that when some playful persons fired a small cannon near the old lady's door, I she merely said : "Come in !" "That was a pretty fair story when I heard it some time ago," continued j the veteran ; "but I heard one a day or two ago that beats it. Two gentlemen were walking along a highway near a railroad. One of the pedestrians was somewhat hard of hearing. Along came a train, and the engine emitted a frightful shriek. ! " 'H'm,' said the deaf one, 'that's the s v first robin I've heard this spring.'" ? (paT* Fish fighting is a favorite sport in Siain, and is the subject of much I gambling. The lighting lish are little , things of about two inches long, and not thicker than a child's linger, but they are full of "fight," and liyatcach other with the utmost ferocity as soon 1 as they are let. into the same water. The gamblers will not only stake all their money and their goods, but even their wives and children. The right to keep lighting lisli is bestowed only ; by the king, and is so highly paid for that the royal rollers derive a large I revenue from granting the licenses.