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lewis m. grist, proprietor.! 3ui Independent Jiiiiiiltj Jtepaper: Jan; the promotion of the folifical, ^ooial, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of flic ^otifh. J terms?$2.00 a year in advance y0l. 40. yobkville, s. c., wednesday, novemeer 7, 1894. ]sto. 45. ? BY RIDER Author of "King Solomon's "Allen Quar Copyright, 1893, by the Author. CHAPTER V. ' GOODDY, SWKETIlKAIiT. Within 13 days of the burial of jpy mother and the telling of the story of his marriage to her by my father, I was ready to 6tart upon my search. As It chanced, a vessel was about to sail from Yarmouth to Cadiz. She was uamod the Adventuress, of 100 tons burden, and carried wool and other goods outward, proposing to return with a cargo of wlno and yew staves for bows. In this vessel my father bought mc a passage Moreover, bo gavo mo ?50 In gold, which was as much as I would risk upon my person, and obtained letters from tbo Yarmouth firm of merchants to their agents in Cadiz, in which they wero advided to advance mo such sums as I might need up to a total of 150 English pounds, and further to assist mo in any way that was possibla Now, the ship Adventuress was to sail on tho 8d day of J una Already it was tho 1st of that month, and that evening I must rido to Yarmouth, whither my baggage had gone already. Except one, my farewells were made, and yet that was tho one I most wished to make Since tho day when we had sworn our troth I had gained no sight of Lily except once at my mother's burial, and then we had not spoken. Now it seemed that I must go without any parting word, for her father had 6ent mo notice that if I camo near tho hall his serving men had orders to thrust mo from tho door, and this was a shame that I would not risk. ?Yet it was hard that I must go upon so long a journey, whence it well might chance I should not return, and bid her no goodby. In my grief and perplexity I spoke to my father, telling him how tho matter stood and asking his help. l'I go hence," I said, "to avenge ouj common loss and if need bo to give my life for tho honor of our name. Aid me in this." - "My neighbor Bozard means his daughter for your brother Geoffrey and not for you, Thomas," he answered, "and a man may do what ho wills with his own. Still I will help you if I can. At the least, he cannot drivo me from his door. Bid them bring horses, and wo will ride to the hall." Within the half of an hour wo were there, and my father asked for speech with the master. Tho serving man looked at me aakanoe, remembering his orders; still he ushered us into the justice room, where tho * 4 Bquiru sob uiiuuiig oio. ' Good morrow to you, neighbor," sold the squire. "You are welcome hero, but you ' bring one with you who Is not welcome, though ho be your son." 4,I bring him for the last time, friend Bozard. Listen to his request, then grant or refuse It as you will, but if you refuse it it will not bind us closer. The lad rides tonight to take ship for Spain to seek that man who has murdered his mother. Ho goes of his own free will, because after tho doing of the deed it was ho who unwittingly suffered tho murderer to escape, and it Is well that he should go." "Ho is a young hound to rim such a quarry to earth and in a strange country," said tho squire. "Still I like his spirit and wish him wclL What would he of me?" . "Leave to bid farewell to your daughter. I know that his suit docs not pleaso you and cannot wonder at it, and for my own part I think it too early of him to set his fancy in the way of marriage. JBut if he would see tho maid it can do no harm, for such harm as there is has been done already. Now for "your answer." Squire Bozard thought awhile, then said: * - "The lad is a bravo lad, though ho shall be no son-in-law of mine. Ho is going far and mayhap will return no more, and I do not wish that he should think unkindly of me when I am dead. Go without, Thomas Wingfleld, and stand under yonder beech. Lily shall join you there, and you may speak with her for the half of on hour?no more. See to it that you keep within sight of tho window. Nay, no thanks?go before I change my mind." So I went and waited under tne oeecn with a beating heart, and presently Lily glided up to me, a more welcome sight to my eyes than any angel out of heaven. And indeed I doubt If an angel could have been more fair than sl?, or more good and gen Lie 'Oh, Thomas," she whispered when I had greeted her, "is this true that you sail over 6ca to seek the Spaniard?" "I Bail to seek the Spaniard and to find him and to kill him when ho is found. It was to come to you, Lily, that I let him go. Now I must let you go to como to him. Nay, do not weep. I have sworn to do it, and were I to hrcuk my oath I should be dishonored." ''And because of this oath of yours I must be widowed, Thomas, before I am a wife? You go. and I shall never sec you more." "Who can say, my sweet? My father went over seas and came l?aek safe, having passed through many perils." "Yes, ho came hack and?not alone. You are young, Thomas, and in far countries there are ladies great and fair, and how shall I hold my own in your heart agaiust them, I being so far away?" "I swear to you, Lily" "Nay, Thomas, swear no oaths lest you should odd to your sins by breaking them. Yet, love, forget mo not who shall forget ""w' ..I "Oh, Thomas" she whispered. you never. Perhaps?oh, it wrings iny heart to say it?this is our last meeting on the earth. If so, then we must hopo to meet in heaven. At the least, bo suro of this?that whilo I live I will be true to you, and, father or no father, I will die before I break my troth. 1 urn young to speak so largely, but it shrill be as I say. Oh, this parting is more cruel than death! Would that wo were asleep and forgotten among men! Yet it is best that you should go, for if you staid what could wo be to ouch other while my father lives? And may ho live long!" '"Sleep and forgctfulness will come soon enough, Lily. None must await them for very long. Meanwhile wo have our lives to live. Let us pray that wo may livo them to each other. I go to seek fortune as well as foes, and 1 will win it for your sako that wo may marry." She shook her head sadly. "" It were too much happiness, Thomas. Men and women may seldom wed their true loves, or if they do it is but to lose them. At the least, wo love, and let us be thankful that wo niVVU 1CUTI1CU Wllllb IOVC I'UII LA", lUt HUtlII|< loved here perchance at the worst we may love otherwhere when there are none to 6ny us nay." Then we talked on awhile, babbling broken words of love and hope and sorrow, as young folks so placed are wont to do, till at length Lily looked up with a sad, Bweet smile and said: "It is time to go, sweetheart. My faIhor beckons mo from tho lattice. All is finished." 'Let us go then," I answered huskily and drew her behind the trunk of tho old beech. And there I caught her in my arms and klsscnl her again and yet again, nor was she ashamed to kiss me back. After this I remember little of what happened, except that as wo rode away I saw her beloved face, wan and wistful, watching me elepartlng out of her lifo. For 20 years that sud and l^autiful fuco haunted me, and it haunts me yet athwart life and death. One thing I have forgotten. As we kiss irt iii# HAGGARD, Mines," "She," "He," "Jess," termain," etc. 1 cd and clung in our despair behind Hie I bole of tho grout beech, Lily drew a ring ! from her linger and passed it into my ! hand, saying, "Look on this each morning when you wako and think of me." It had been her mother's, and today it still | is set upon my withered hand, gleaming in tho winter sunlight as I traco these ' words. Through tho long years of wild i adventure, through all tho timo of after ' ?n Irm. nnrf wnr In fhn shinn of tho campflro, in tho glaro of tho sacrificial flame, in tho light of lonely stars illumining tho lonely wilderness, that ring has shone upon my hand, reminding me always of her who gavo it, and on this hand it shall go down into the grave. It is a ! plain circlet of thick gold, somewhat worn | now, a posy ring, and on its Inner sur* ' face is cut this quaint couplet: Heart to heart. Though far apart. A fitting motto for us indeed, and ono that has its meaning to this hour. That same day of our farewell I rodo with my father to Yarmouth. My brother Geoffrey did not como with us, but wo ported with kindly words, and of this I i am glad, for we never saw each other again. Mary, my sister, who after Lily Bozard was now tho fairest maiden in the countryl 6lde, wept much ot my going. Thcro was I but o year between us, and we loved each j i other dearly, for no such shadow of jeal: ousy had fallen on our affection. I com- ! ; forted her as well as I was able, and tell- j | ing her all that had passed between mo and Lily I prayed her to stand my friend : and Lily's should it ever be in her power j : to do so. This Mary promised to do read- j ily enough, and though she did not glvo ' I tho reason I could seo that she thought it j | possible that she might be able to help us. ! As I have said, Lily had a brother, a | young man of some promise, who at this ! time was away at college, and he and my : sister Mary had a strong fancy for each j | other that might or might not ripen into i something closer. So wo kissed and bade { farewell with tears. And after that my father and I rodo away. But when wo had passed down j Pirnhow street and mounted the littlo hill | beyond Waingford Mills to the left of Bun- i gay town I halted my horse and looked ! 1 nlnucu^t: rnllov ftf thft WllV- i j UOVA U|A>U WUV yiVMOWUV v. ..... . eney, where I was born, and my heart grow i full to bursting. Had I known ull that must befall mo before my eyes beheld that j scene again, I think indeed that it would , have burst. But God, who In his wisdom i has laid many a burden upon the baeks of | ' men, has saved them this, for had wo ; j foreknowledge of the future I think that, , ; of our own will, but few of us would llvo ' to see it. So I cast one long last look to- 1 ward the distant mnssof oaks that marked tho spot where Lily lived and rode on. On tho following day I embarked on board tho Adventuress, and we sailed. Before I left, my father's heart softened much i toward me. for ho remembered that I was my mother's best beloved and feared also i lest wo should meet no more. Of my voyage to Cadiz, to which port I had learned that Do Garcia's ship was i bound, there is littlo to bo toli^ Wo met with contrary winds in tho bay of Biscay I and wero driven into tho harbor of Lis1 bon, whero wo refitted. But at last wo j camo safely to Cadiz, having been 40 days : at sea. . I CHAPTER VI. I A.VDRES DE KONSECA. Many travelers have told of the glories of Seville, to which ancient Moorish city I Journeyed with all si ced. Foreseeing that | It might be neccssarj for mo to stop some : time in Seville, nnd being desirous to cs; eapc notice and to be at the smallest cx| penso possible, I bethought mo that it would be well if I could find means of continuing my studies of medicine, and to ! this end I obtained certain introductions from tho firm of merchants to whose caro I had been recommended addressed to doc; tors of medicine in Seville Those letters an my atiuusu ?uiv ukhiv uuv uuv ?? own name, but in that of Diego d'Aila, for I did not wish it to be known that I wus an Englishman. Nor indeed was this likely, except my speech should betray me, for, ns I have said, in appearance I was very Spanish, and the hindrance of the 1 language was one that lessened every day, sinco having already learned it from my mother, and taking every opportunity to read and spcuk it, within six months I ! could talk Custilian, except for some slight : accent, like a native of the land; also I have a gift for tho acquiring of languages. When I was come to Seville and had placed my baggage in an Inn, not ono of tho most frequented, I set out to deliver a letter of recommendation to a famous physician of tho town whose name I have long forgotten. This physician had a fine houso in tho street of Las Palmas, a great avonue, planted with graceful trees, that has other littlo streets running into it. Down ; ono of theso 1 came from my Inn, a quiet, i narrow place having houses with imtios, or courtyards, on either side of it As I I wulked down this street 1 noticed a man sitting in tho shade on a stool in tho doorj way of his patio. He wus small and wlthi ered, with keen black eyes and a wonderful air of wisdom, and he watched me as | I went by. Now, tho house of tho famous physician j whom I sought was so placed that tho man j sitting at this doorway could commund it with his eyes and tako note of all who 1 went in and come out. When I had found ; the house, I returned again into tho quiet street and walked to and fro thero for awhile, thinking of what talc I should tell ; to the physician, and all tho timo tho liti tlo man watched mo with his keen eyes. ! At last I had mado up my story and went j to tho house, only to find that tho physician was from homo. Having inquired when I inight_flnd him, I_left and_onoe inoro tooic To^Uie~hnrrow street, walking slowly till I came to where the littlo man ! stit. As I passed him his brood hat, with j which he was fanning himself, slipped to ! tho ground before my feet. I stooped i down, lifted it from the pavement and restored it to him. ! "A thousand thanks, young sir," he said in a full and gentle voice. "You are courteous for a foreigner." "I -? - 1 ....... t-.. V... ? nun uu ,iuu niiun mu iv uui> iviwifjuvi, Benor/"' I uskcd, surprised out of my caution. "If I had not guessed it lief ore, I should know it now," lie iiiiswcml, smiling gravely. "Your Cnstilian tells its own 1 tale." I lowed and was ubout to pass on when ! ho addressed me again. "What is your hurry, young sir? Step in and take a cup of wine with me. It is | good." I wus ubout to say him nay when it came into my mind that I had nothing to do, and that jierhaps I might learn soinei thing from his gossip. "The day is hot, scnor, and I accept." He spoke no more, but rising led mc | Into a courtyard paved with marble, in the "Your health, scnor." center or which was a basin of water, having vines trained around it. Hero wero chairs unci u little table placed In the shade of tho vines. When he had closed the door of tho jmtio and we were seated, he rang a silver bell that stood upon the table, and a girl, young and fair, appeared front the house, dressed in ft quaint Spanish dress. "Bring wine," said my host. The wine was brought?white wine of | Oporto such us I had never tasted l>cfore. '"Your health, senor." And my host stopped, his glass in hand, and looked at mo inquiringly. 'Diego d'Aila," I answered. j "ITumpli," lie said. "A Spanish name, i or perhaps an imitation Spanish name, for ! I do not know it, and I have a good head for names." "That is my name, to take or to leave, scnor," and I looked at him in turn. "Andres do Fonseca," he replied, bowing, 4 n physician of this city, well known enough, especially among the fair. Well, Scnor Diego, I take your name, for names i arc nothing, and at times it is convenient to change them, which is nobody's business except their owners'. I sec that you ! ore a stranger in this city?no need to look surprised, scnor. One who is familiar with I a town docs not gaze and stare and ask ! tho path of passcrsby, nor does a natlvo of Seville walk on the sunny 6ido of the Btrcct in summer. And now, if you will not think mo impertinent, I will ask you what can bo the business of so healthy a young man with my rival yonder?" And ho nodded toward tho house of tho famous physician. "A man's business, like his name, is his own affair, scnor," I answered, setting my host down in my mind us one of those who disgrace our art by plying openly for patients that they may capture their fees. "Still I will tell you. I am also a physician, though not yet fully qualified, and I seek a place where I may help some doctor of rcputo in his daily practice, and thus gain experience and my living with it." "Ah, is it 6o? Well, senor, then you will look in vain yonder," and again lie nodded toward the physician's house. "Such as ho will tako no apprentice without the foe bo largo indeed. It is not the custom of this city." "Then I must seek a livelihood elsewhere or otherwise." "I did not say so. Now, senor, let us seo what you know of medicine, and, what is moro important, of human nature, for of the first none of us can ever know much, I I but he who knows the latter will be a lead- i er of men?or of women?who lead tho men." And without moro ado ho put mo many j questions, each of them so shrewd and going so directly to the heart of the matter in hand that I marveled at his sagacity. Some of theso questions were medical, dealing chiefly with the ailments of worn- 1 en; others were general and dealt moro j with Jhcir characters. At length ho finished. "You will do, 6enor," he said. ''You are a young man of parts and promise, j though, as was to be expected from ono of your years, you lack experience. There is j 6tuff in you, senor, and you have a heart, | which is a good thing, for tho blunders of j a man with a heart often enrry him farther than tho cunning of tho cynic; also you havo a will and know how to direct it." I bowed and did my best to hold back my satisfaction at his words from showing in my face. "Still," ho went on, ' all this would not cause 1110 to submit to you tho offer that I am about to make, for many a prettier fel- j low than yourself is, after nil, unlucky, or a fool at tho bottom, or bad tempered and destined to tho dogs, as for aught I know V"* nlc<, Tint. T tnkn mv chancn of that bocausc you suit mo in another way. Perhaps you may scarcely know it yourself, but you havo beauty, senor, beau- j ty of a very rare and singular type, which j half tho ladies of Seville will praise when | they como to know you." "I am much flattered," I said, "but might I ask what all these compliments may mean? To be brief, what is your offer?" ; "To bo brief, then, it is this: I am in need of an assistant who must possess all the qualities that I see in you, but most of all ono which I can only guess you to possess?discretion. That assistant would not bo ill paid. This house would bo at his disposal, and ho would havo opportunities of learning tho world 6uch as are given to few. What 6ay you?" "I say this, 6enor, that I should wish to know more of tho business in which I am expected to assist. Your offers sound too liberal, and I fear that I must earn your bounty by tho doing of work that honest men might shrink from." "A fair argument, but, ns it happens, not qulto a correct one. Listen. You biivo been told that yondor physician, to whose bouso you went but now, and these"? hero ho repeated four or flvo names?"are tho greatest of their tribe in Scviilo. It is not so. I am tho greatest and tho richest, and I do more business than any two of them. Do you know what my earnings havo been this day alone? I will tell you? just over 25 gold pesos (ubout ?05) more than all the rest of the profession have taken together, I will wager. You want to know how I earn so much; you want to know also why, if I havo eurned so much, I am not content to rest from my labors. Good; I will tell you. I earn it by ministering to the vanities of women and sheltering them from the results of their own folly. Has a lady a sore heart, she comes I to mo for comfort and advice. Has sho pimples on her fuee, she flies to me to euro them. Has sho a secret love affair, it is I who hido her indiscretion. I consult tho future for her, I help her to atone the past, I doctor her for Imaginary ailments, and often enough I cure her of real ones. Half tho secrets of Seville arc in my hands. Did I chooso to speak I could 6ct a score of 110. bio houses to broil and bloodshed. But I | do not speak. I am paid to keep silent, ! and when I am not paid still I keep si* j lent for my credit's sake. Hundreds of j women think mo their savior;' I know I them for my dupes. But, mark you, I do i not push this game too far. A love philter j ?of colored water?I may give at a price, but not a poisoned rose. Those they must ; seek elsewhere. For tho rest, in my way i I am honest. I take tho world as it comes, j that is all, and as women will bo fools I i profit by their folly and have grown rich i upon it. j "Yes, I have grown rich, and yet I cannot stop. I lovo the money that is power, , but moro than all I lovo the way of life, j Talk of romances und adventure! What romance or adventure is half 60 wonderful . as those that come dally to. my notice? i And I play a part in every ono of them, and none the less a leading part because I do not shout and 6trut upon tho boards." "If all this is so, why do you seek tho help of an unknown hid, a stranger of whom you know nothing?" I asked blunti iy"Truly, you lack experience," tho old man answered, with a laugh. "Do you, then, supposo that I should chooso ono ! who was not a stranger?ono who might ; havo ties within this city with which I i was unacquainted? And as for knowing I nothing of you, young man, do you think ; that I have followed this strange trado of j mino for 40 years without learning to I Judge at 6ighf? Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself. By tho way, I tho fact that you are deeply enamored of that maid whom you havo left in England is a recommendation to me, for whatever follies you may commit you will scarcely embarrass mo and yourself by suffering I your affections to bo seriously entangled. Ah, have I astonished you?" j "How do you know?" I began, then ceased. "How do I know? Why, easily enough. Those boots you wear were mode in England. I have seen many such when I traveled there. Your accent also, though faint, Is English, and twico you have spoken English words when your Castlllun failed you. Then for the maid, Is not that a botrothal ring upon your hand? And when I spoke to you of tho ladles of this country my talk did not Interest you overmuch, as at your ago it had dono wcro you heart whole. Surely also tho lady is fair and tall? Ah, I thought sol I hnvo noticed that men and women lovo their opposite In 1 color, no invariable rulo indeed, but good for a guess." | "You are very clever, eenor." "No, not clever, but trained, as you will bo when you liavo been a year in my hands, though perchance you do not intend i to stop 60 long in Sovllle. Perhaps you j came here with an object and wish to pass the time profitably till it is fulfilled. A good guess again, I think. Well, so bo it. I will risk that?object and attainment aro often far apart. Do you take my offer?" "I incline to do so." "Then you will take it. Now I havo something more to euy before wo como to terms. I do not want you to play the part of an apothocary'B drudge. You will flgI uro before the world as my nephew, come from abnmd to learn my trade. You will help mo in It Indeed, but that Is not all J your duty. Your part will bo to mix In i tho llfo of Seville and to watch thoso j whom I bid you watch, to drop a word hero and a hint there, and In a hundred ways that I shall show you to draw grist | to my mill?and to your own. You must bo brilliant nnd witty or sad and learned, as 1 wish; you must make the most of your person nnd your talents, for thcso go far with my customers. To tho hidalgo you must talk of arms, to the huly of lovo, but you must never commit yourself bo! yond redemption. And, above all, young man"?and here his manner changed, and J his faco grew stern nnd ,almost fierce? | ''you must never violate my confidence or ' the confidence of my clients. On this point | I will bo quite oi>cn wiai you, and I pray I you for your own sake to believe what I i say, however much you may mistrust the | ' rest. If you break fnith with me, you die; ! you die, not by my band, but you die. That is my price; take it or leave it j Should you leave it and go hence and tell what you have heard this day, even then misfortune may overtuko you suddenly. ' Do you understand!'" "I understand. For my own sake I will respect your confidence." "Young >Jr, I like you better than ever. Had you said that you would respect it lxs, cause it was a confidence, I should have l mistrusted you, for doubtless you feel that ! 6ccrcts communicated 60 readily have no claim to be held sacred. Nor have they, j j but when their violation involves the sail j j and accidental end of the violator it is another matter. Well, now, do you ac- I cepti" | "I accept." ! ' Good. Your baggage, I suppose, is at the inn. I will send porters to dischargo | I your score and bring it here. No need for j you to go, nephew. Let us stop and drink I another glass of wine. The sooner wo i crow intimate tho better, nephew." ! It was thus that I first became acquaint ed with Senor Andres do Fonscca, my ' benefactor, the strongest man I have ever ; known. Doubtless any j>crson reading this j history would think that I, the narrator, was sowing a plentiful crop of troubles for I myself in having to deal with him, sotting him down us a rogue of the deepest, such as sometimes for their own wicked pur- , poses decoy young men to crime and ruin. But it wu9 not so, and this is the strangest 1 ' part of tho strange story. All that Andres i | dc Fonseca told me vriia truo to tho very j ; letter. j Ho was a gentleman of great tnlcnt who i had been rendered a little mad by misfor- | tunes in his early life. As a physician I j havo never met ids master, if indeed ho ; has ono in these times, and as a man versed in tho world and more especially in tho world of women I havo known nono to j compare with him. Ho had traveled far and seen much, and ho forgot nothing, j In part ho wjis n quack, but Ids quackery always had a meaning in it. IIo fleeced i tho foolish indeed and even juggled with astronomy, making money out of their superstition, but on tho other hand ho did many a good act without reward. Ho would make a rich lady pay 10 gold pesos for tho dyeing of her hair, but often ho would nurso some poor girl through her troublo and ask no charge?yes, and find her honest employment after it. He who I knew all the secrets of Seville never mudo : ? money out of them by threat of exposure, 1 as ho 6aid because it would not pay to do B so, but really because, though he affected ? to bo a selfish knave, at bottom his heart was honest For my own part, I found lifo with him j ? both easy nncl liappy, so lor as nunc couiu i j bo qulto happy. Soon I learned my role J and played It well. It was given out that ; I was the ncphow of tho rich old physician Fonseca, whom he was training to take his place, and this, together with my own ap- ^ pcarance and manners, Insured 1110 a welcome in tho best houses of Seville. Here I j took that sharo of our business which our master could not take, for now ho never ^ mixed among tho fashion of tho city. . Money I was supplied with in abundance, so that I could ruffle it with tho best, but soon it becaino known that 1 looked to bus in ass as well as to pleasure. Often and often during some gay ball or carnival a lady would glide up to mo and ask beneath her breath if Don Andres do j ? Fonseca would consent to sec her private- j ly on a matter of some importance, and I I would fix an hour then and there. Had it I * not been for me, such patients would have I been lost to us, since, for the most part, their timidity liad kept thein away. , In the same fashion when the festival ; was ended, and I prepared to wend homo- j ward, now and again a gallant would slip I his arm in mine and ask my master's help j ? in soino affair of lovo or honor or even of i . the purse. Then I would lead him straight to tho old Moorish house where Don An- ? drcs sat writing In his velvet robo llko some spider in his web, for the most of v our business was done at night, and straightway the inntter would be attended ^ to, to my master's profit and the satlsfac- ? tlon of all. By degrees it became known * that, though I was so young, yet I hod dis- J cretion, and that nothing which went in * at my ears camo out of my lips; that I neither brawled nor drank nor gambled ^ to any length, and that, though I was * frigidly with many fnir ladies, there wero I nono who wero entitled to know my so- * crcts; also it became known that I had j ' 601110 skill in my art of healing, and it j j was said among tho ladies of Seville that ; j thero lived no man in that city so deft at | 1 | clearing tho skin of blemishes or chang- < ing tho color of tho hair as old Fonseca's J nephew, and as any 0110 may know this i ' ; reputation alono was worth a fortune, i ' i Thus it came about that I was more and , ' i more consulted on my own account. In 1 * 1 short, things went so well with us that in j ' | tho first six months of my practice I add- i i cd by one-third to the receipts of my mas- ! ' i tcr's practico, large as they luul been bo- | 1 I fore, besides lightening his labors not a j 1 j little. j 1 It was a sUnngc life, and of tho things j ! that I saw und learned, could they be writ- , ! ten, I might make a tale indeed, but they ' i have no part in this history, for it was j ; as though tho smiles and silence with I j which men and women hide their thoughts j were done away, mid their hearts spoko to j ! us in the accents of truth. Now sonio fair j j young maid or wife would como to us j l with confessions of wickedness that would ' : bo thought impossible did not her story J ' j prove itself?the secret murder perchanco ' of a spouse, or a lover, or a rival; now j some aged domo who would win a husband ! ' ! in his teens; now sonio wealthy low born man or woman who desired to buy an al- j J ' lianco with one lacking money, but of no- 1 ble blood. Such I did not care to help I ' indeed, but to tho lovesick or tho lovo do- | I luded I listened with a ready ear, for I , 1 ! luul a fellow feeling with them. Indeed j * 80 deep and earnest was my sympathy i that more than once I found the unhappy ! fuir ready to transfer their affections to j my unworthy self, mid in fuct once things ; conic about so that, had I willed it, I could j 1 i?.i ~ e 4.1.,. ! ; liuvu lliurnuu unu ui mu iu> cucav uuu j i wealthiest nublo liulies of Seville. But I would none of it who thought of ; iuy English Lily by day and night. CHAPTER VII. THE SECOND MEETING. It may be thought that while I was em- | ployed thus I had forgotten the object of my coming to Spain?namely, to avengo my mother's murder on the person of Juan do Garcia. But this was not so. So soon as I was settled in the house of An | dres do Fonseca I set myself to make in- ! i qulries as to Dc Garcla's whereabouts with I all possible diligence, but without result. Indeed when I came to consider the mat- ! ter coolly it seemed that I had but a slen- j dcr chanco of finding him in this city. He : ' I had indeed given it out in Yarmouth that ! ho was bound for Seville, but no ship bear- ; lng the same name as his had put in at < Cadiz or sailed up tho Guadalquivir, nor ; | was it likely, having committed murder . 1 in England, that lie would speak the truth ! . j as to his destination. Still I searched on. 1 ! Tho house where uiy mother and grand- , mother had lived was burned down, and 1 , as their mode of life hud been retired after 1 more than 20 years of change few even ro- ! I i membercd their existence. Indeed I only | i j discovered one, an old woman whom I found living in extreme poverty, and who once had been my grandmother's servant and knew my mother well, although she ' i was not in the house at the time of her I i flight to England. From this woman I ) i gathered 6omc Information, though, need- ] less to say, I did not tell her that I was tho j grandson of her old mistress. < It seemed that after my mother fled to < England witli my father De Garcia perse- j ' cutod my grundmothcr and his aunt with lawsuits and by other means till at last sho was reduced to beggary, in which con- J dltlon tho villain left her to die. So poor j was sho indeed that 6he was buried in a j rmhH^ ,rruvi> After that tlio old woman. 1 I my Informant, wild she liad heard that Do ! Garcia had committed roiuo crime and been forced to flee the country. What tho crime was she could not remember, but it j had happened about 15 years ago. ; All this I learned when I had been about I three months in Seville, and though it was ' of interest it did not advance mo in my ' j search. j Somo four or flvo nights afterward, as I i I entered my employer's house, I met a young j ! woman coming out of tho doorway of tho i | patio. She was thickly veiled, and my no- j J tico was drawn to her by her tall and beau- i | tiful figure and because she was weeping , j so violently that her body shook with her | 6obs. I was already well accustomed to I j 6uch sights, for many of those who sought | my master's counsel had good cause to i weep, and I passed her without remark, j But when I wascomo into the room whoro j he received his patients I mentioned that I > had met such a person and asked if it was | any ono whom I knew. *'Ah, nephew," wild X'oiiscca, who always called mo thus by now, and indeed began to treat mo with as much affection | as though I were really of his blood, "a aid cascTtmt you do not know her, and sno I < 3 no paying patient. A poor girl of nolle birth who had entered religion and I ^ikcn her vows, when a gallant appears, nccts her secretly in the convent garden, iromlscs to marry her if sho will fly with dm, indeed docs go through some mum- j licry of marriage with her?so sho says? uul the rest of it. Now ho has deserted icr, and she is in trouble, and, what is : norc, should the priests catch her, likely ;o learn what it feels like to die by inches n a convent wall. She came to me for j lounscl and brought some silver ornaments as the fee. Here they are." "You took them?" 1 "Yes, I took them?I always take a fee? j tut I gave lior back their weight in gold, j kVhafc is more, I told her where sho might lido from tho priests till tho hunt is dono ,vith. What I did not like to tell her is ,hat her lover is tho greatest villain who ;ver trod the streets of Seville. What was ,hc good? She will sec little more of him." And now I must tell how I met my :ousin and my enemy, Do Garcia, for tho ;ocoml time. Two days after my meeting ,vith the veiled lady it chanced that I was vandering toward midnight through a > onely part of tho old city little frequented t )y passcrsby. It was scarcely safe to bo ,hus alone in such a placo and hour, but ;he business with which I had been charg- j id by my master was one that must bo iarried out unattended; also I had no 1 mcmles whom I k ww of and was armed vith tho very swonl that I hnd taken from Do Garcia in the lano at Dltchingham, tho ' iword that had slain my mother, and j vhich I bore in tho hope that it might ; icrvo to avenge her. In the uso of this venpon I had grown expert enough by low, for ever}* morning I took lessons in ;ho art of fence. My business being done, I was walking ilowly homeward, and as I went I fell to j Milking of tho strangeness of my present ! lfc, and of how far it differed from my j loyliood in the valley of Wavency, and of nany other things. And then I thought ' >f Lily and wondered how her days pass- ' d, and if my brother Goeffrcy persecuted ] lcr to mnrry him, and whether or no sho vould resist his importunities and her fa- t hcr's. And so as I walked musing I camo c 0 a water gate that opened on to tho Guadilquivir, and loaning upon tho coping of j 1 low wall I rested thcro idly to consider ho beauty of tho night. In truth, it was a ] ovcly night, for across all theso years I j ?member it. Let those who havo seen it ^ ay if they know any prospect more beau- f lful than tho sight of tho August moon 6 hining on tho brond waters of tho Guad- n Jquivir and the clustering habitations of j ho ancient city. ^ Now, as I leaned upon tho wall and lookd, I saw a man pass up tho steps beside ^ no and go into tho shadow of tho 6trcet ^ ! took no note of him till presently I heard k murmur of distant voices, and turning t ny head I discovered that tho man was in B onversation with a woman whom ho had net at the head of the path that ran down ^ o tho water gate. Doubtless it was a lov- | * rs' meeting, and since such sights aro of c nterest to all, and moro especially to tho v oung, I watched the pair. Soon I learned hat thcro was littlo of tenderness in this ^ ryst, at least on tho part of tho gallant, j vho drew continually backward toward no ns though ho would seek tho boat by ^ vhich doubtless ho had come, and I mar- j, eled at this, for tho moonlight 6hono ; ipon tho woman's faco, and even at that I-i. T 4k?i 44- ^,.U C LlhWWIL'U X UUU1U DUU UiUU It I1UO ^ ML J iuu. j ["he man's faco I could not see, however, inco his back was toward me for the most wirt. Moreover, ho wore a large sombrero j hat shaded It. Now they camo nearer to i ne, tho man always drawing backward | ind tho woman always following till at ! ength they wcro within earshot. The : voman was pleading with tho man. ''Surely you will not desert me," sho i aid, "after marrying me and all that you lavo sworn; you will not have tho heart o desert me. I abandoned everything for 'ou. I am In great danger. I"?and hero icr voico fell so that I could not catch her vords. Then ho spoke: "Fairest, now, as alvays, I adoro you. But wo must part while. You owe mo much, Isabella. I I lavo rescued you from tho grave; I havo j aught you what It is to live and lovo. ; Doubtless with your advantages and harms you will profit by tho lesson, doney I cannot give you, for I havo nono o spare, but I havo endowed you with ex>ericnco that is more valuablo by far. This s our farewell for awhile, and I am broke : icarted. Yet? " 'Neath fairer akiea Shine other eves, ind I"?and again ho spoko 60 low that I j xmld not catch his words. i As ho talked on ali my body began to ! ;remble. Tho scene was moving indeed, j jut it was not that which 6tlrrcd mo so | lecply?it was tho man's voico and bcarng that reminded me?no, it could 6carcoy be! j "Oh, you will not be so cruel," said tho ; ady, "to lcavo me, your wife, thus alono ind In such sore trouble and danger! Tako j no with you, Juan, I beseech you!" And < sho caught him by tho arm and clung to ! lim. j lie shook her from him somewhat rough- j ly, and as he did so his wide hat fell to tho j ground so that tho moonlight shone upon ! tiis face. By heaven, it was ho?Juan do I Sarcia and no other! I could not bo mis- j taken. Thcro was tho deeply carved, cruol : 'ace, tho high forehead with tho scar on It, j :ho thin, snocrincr mouth, the peaked beard ; ' md curling hair. Chnnco had given him | 1 .nto my hand, and I would kill him, or ho | 1 should kill mo. j ' I took thrco paces and Btood beforo him, j 1 irawing my sword as I came. : . "What, my dove, havo you a bully at ! hand?" lie said, stepping back astonished ! 'Your business, scnor? Aro you hero to :hompion beauty in distress?" "I am here, Juan do Garcin, to avenge a i . murdered woman. Do you remember a j , jertain river bank away in England, whero j J "I am here, Juan dc (Jurchi, to avenge a 1 murdered woman." i ' Cou chanced to meet a lady you had known j ' ind to leave her dead? Or, if you have for- | gotten, perhaps nt least you will remember , 1 this, which I carry tiiat it may kill you." ; Ami I flashed the sword that had been his | ' beforo his eyes. "Mother of God! It is the English boy | J svho"?and lie stopped. I "It is Thomas Wingflcld, who beat and | bound you, and who now purposes to fin- i ISX1 WllZUi III* UL'gUJl j wiiuui ua nu tut or* uw?. i Draw, or, Juan do Garcia, I will stab you j where you stand." Do Garcia heard this si>ccch, that today ! , seems to mo to smack of the theater, | though it was spoken in grimmest earnest, 1 and his face grew like the face of a trap- ! ped wolf. Yet I saw that lie had no mind to fight, not bccauso of cowardice, for to ! ilo him justice lie was no coward, but because of superstition. He fenml to fight with mo since, as 1 learned afterward, ho believed that lie would meet ids end at my hand, and it was for this reason chiefly ; 1 that ho strovo to kill mo when first wo 1 met. . | | "The duello has Its laws, sonor," ho I said courteously. '"It is not usual to fight ! thus unsccondcd and in the presence of a | woman. If you believe that you have any j grievance against mo?though I know not | of what you ravo or the name by which 1 you cull mc?I will meet you where and i when you will." And all the while ho I looked over his shoulder seeking some way ' of escape. ! "You will meet me now," I answered. j "Draw or I strike!" Then lio drew, and we fell to it despcr- ' ately enough till the sparks flew indeed, < and the rattle of steel upon steel rang ] down the quiet street. At first he had j somewhat the better of mc, for my luito , made me wild in my play, but soon I settled to the work and grew cooler. Slowly I pressed him back, and ever my play grew closer and better and Ids becamo 1 wilder. Now I had touched him twice, onco 1 in tho face, and I held him with his back 1 ngainst the wall of the way that led down i to the water gate, and it had come to this? ( that lie scarcely strove to thrust at mo at ( all, but stood on his defense waiting till I should tire. Then, when victory wns in my band, disaster overtook me, for tho woman, who had been watching bewilder- 1 Hi, saw thut her faithloss lover wus in nanjer of death and straightway seized 1110 from behind, at the same time sending up shriek after shriek for help. I shook her from mo quickly enough, jut not before De Garcia, seeing ills advantage, had dealt me a coward's thrust ;hat took me in the right shoulder and lalf crippled me, so that in my turn I nust stand on my defense if I would keep ny life in me. Meanwhile the shrieks had jeen heard, and of a sudden the watch :amc running round the corner whistling 'or help. De Garcia saw them, and disenjaging suddenly turned and ran for tho yater gate, the lady also vanishing, width;r I do not know. Now the watch was on mo, and their eader camo at me to seize me, holding a antcrn in his hand. I struck it with tho lundlo of the sword, so that it fell upon ihc roadway, where it blazed up like a xmflre. Then I turned also and fled, for [ did not wish to be dragged before the ftagistrates of the eitv as a brawler, and n my desire to cscav I forgot that Do 3arcla was escaping ;?:so. Away I went, ind three of the watch after me, but they vcro stout and scant of breath, and by ;hc time that 1 had run three furlongs I listanccd them. I halted to get my breath ind remembered that 1 had lost Do Garcia ind did not know when I should Hud him igain. tio 1 went homeward, cursing my ortune and the woman who had clasped no from behind just as I was about to >end the death thrust home, and also my ack of skill which had delayed that thrust ;o long. By now I was at homo and bethought nc that 1 should do well to go to Fonscca, ny master, and ask his help. On tho mor'owl went to my master's chamber, whero to lay ubed, having been seized by a sudlen weakness that was the l>eglnning of tho llness which ended in death. As I mixed i draft for him ho noticed that my shouller was hurt and nsked mo what had hapjcned. This gavo mo my opportunity, vhlch I was not slow to take. ''Have you patience to listen to a story," [ said, "for I would seek your help?" "Ah," he answered, "it is tho old case; ho physician cannot heal himself. Speak >n, nephew." Then I sat down by tho bed and told lim all, keeping nothing back. "You arc strangely foolish, nephew," le said at length. "For tho most part, outh fails through rashness, but you err >y ovcrcnution. By overcaution in your ence you lost your chanco lost night, and o by overcaution in hiding this talo from ao you have lost a far greater opportunl y. What, have you not seen mo give ounsel in many such matters, and have ou ever known mo to betray the confl,enco even of the veriest stranger ? Why, hen, did you fear for yours?" ''I do not know," I answered, "but I hought that flrst I would search for myelf." "Prldo gocth before a fall, nephew, fow listen. Had I known this history a nonth ago, by now De Garcia had perlshd miserably, and not by your hands, but ly that of the law. I have been acquaintd with the man from his childhood and iriow enougli to hang him twico over did choose to speak. More, I knew your nother, boy, and now 1 sco that it was ho likeness in your face to hers that taunted me, for from the flrst it was fuiilliar. It was I also who bribed the keoprs of tho holy office to let your father oosc, though, as it chanced, I never saw lim, and arranged his flight. Since then ! have had Dc Garcia through my hands omo four or five times, now under this lame nnd now under that. Once even ho ;amc to mo as a client, but tho villainy hat ho would have worked was too black or mo to touch. This man is tho wickcdist whom I have known in Seville, and hat is saying much; also ho is tho clever?t nnd tho most revengeful Ho lives by rice for vice, and thero arc many deaths lpon his hands. But ho lias never prosicrcd in ids cvildoing, and toduy he is iut an adventurer without a name, who ives by blackmail and by ruining women hat ho may rob them at his leisure. Give no those books from the strong box yonler, and I will tell youtf this Dc Garcia." I did as ho bade me, bringing the heavy larchmcnt volumes, each bound in vellum ind written in cipher. "These arc my records," ho suid, 'though none can road them except my>elf. Now for tho index. Ah, hero it lsi Jive me volume 3 and open itut page 201." I obeyed, laying the liook on tho bed before him, and he began to read the crabbed narks as easily as though they were good flock letter. "Do Garcia?Juan. Height, nppearince, family, false numos, and so on. This s it?history. Now listen." xncn camo sonic iwo pages ui. ciusc-i/ ivrittcn matter, expressed in secret signs ;hat Fonseca translated as ho read. It was irlcf enough, but such a record as it confined I have never heard before nor since. Here, set out against thisono man's name, was well nigh every wickedness of which i human being could be capable, carried ihrough by him to gratify his appetites ind revengeful hate and to provide himself with gold. In that block list were two murders? >no of a rival by the knife and one of a mistress by poison. And there were other jhings even worse, too shameful indeed to be written. "Doubtless there is moro that has not 301110 beneath my notice," 6uid Fonseca ;oolly, "but these things I know for truth, ind one of the murders could be proved igainst him were lie captured. Stay, givo mo ink. I must add to the record." And he wroto in his cipher: "In May, 1517, tho said Do Garcia sailed to England Dn n trading voyage, and there in the parish of Ditchinghnm, in the county of Norfolk, ho murdered Luisn Wingfleld, spoken of above us Luisu de Garcia, Ills cousin, to whom he was once betrothed. In September of tho same year or previously, under cover of a fulse marriage, lie decoyed ind deserted ono Donna Isabella of tho noble family of Siguenza, a nun in a religious house in this city." "What," I exclaimed, "is tho girl who camo to seek your help two nights sinco tho same that De Garcia deserted?" "The very same, nephew. It was sho whom you heard pleading with him lust night. Had I known two days ago what [ know today, by now this villain had been safe in prison. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I am ill, but I will rise and see to it. Leave it to me, nephew. Go, nurse yourself and leave it to 111c. If anything may be done, I can do it. Stay, bid i messenger be ready. This evening I shall know whatever there is to be known." That night Fonseca sent forme again. "I have made inquiries," ho said. "I havo even warned the officers of justlco for the first time for many years, and they ire hunting De Garcia as bloodhounds bunt a slave. But nothing can be heard af him. IIo has vanished and left no trace. Tonight I writo to Cudiz, for ho may havo fled there down the river. Ono thing I have discovered, however. Tho Senoru Isabella was caught by the watch, ind being recognized as having escaped from a convent she was handed over to tho exccutories of the holy office, that her case may be investigated, or, in other words, should her fault be proved, to leath." "Can she be rescued?" "Impossible. Had she followed my 1 ? LAJUIIDCI NIL* ? UU1U ilOUl Il(i)U ULXIA ctkrvv,.*. ''Can she be communicated with?" "No. Twenty years ago it might havo been managed. Now the ofllco is stricter unci purer. Gold has 110 power there. Wo shall never see or hear of her again unless Indeed It is at the hour of her death, when, should she choose to speak with me, tho Indulgence may possibly be grunted to her, thougli I doubt it. But it is not likely that she will wish to do so. Should sho succeed in hiding her disgrace, sho may escape, but it is not probable. Do not look so sad, nephew; religion must havo its sacrifices. Perchance it is better for her to die thus than to llvo for many years dead in life. She can die but once. May her blood lie heavy 011 De tinrcia's head!" "Amen!" I answered. TO linrOXTINUKIi XKXT WKKK. Compelling Obedience. It is 110 infringement of dignity to explain to the child tho why of a difference n judgment, and when wo cannot clearly define a better reason or motive than ictuates the child as our reason for exjrcising the governing power wo should hesitate lest 011 calm and careful examination of our own motive we find ourselves unjust and tyrannical. If wo forco submission 011 unworthy difference, wo are endangering the will d? tho child to render obedience only to that which is high and holy. The fearlessness to do what is right, simply because it is right, with 110 niotivo of expediency as the determining inducement, can bo developed only when the individual judgment has been carefully nurtured from infancy and tho will strengthened by being called to support tho judgment. ?Housekeeper. ittisccllanrous ^catling. KL1)KR .JONES. There never was a hotter man I Than Elder Simon Jones. , lie reeked with goodness even to The marrow of his bones; | And he'd have been^ieautitied Long years ago, I know, lint for fiis fatal tendency To say: "I told you so." No matter what might come to pass, No shadow of surprise Was ever seen by anyone In Elder Jones' eyes. Ile'd simply listen to the tale < )f gladness or of woe, And when it all was finished he'd Remark : "I told you so." A more exasperating man. l in: iiuij^iiimht) an a^iiTuiit Tliey never knew, however good He was in word and deed ; For when the most unlooked-for things Had set them in aglow, ! The stolid Jones would only nod And say: I told you so." Well, finally the elder died, As even good men must, His mortal frame was laid away I To mingle with the dust. But when his soul to judgment came, Its course was turned below, And all the angels shook their heads, ! And sighed: "I told you so." HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN. | ItcHiilt of a Meeting at Sanbar Ferry in the Days of the Code. ! News and Courier. In a recent lecture on "Anecdotes and | Reminiscences of Early Edgefield," Mr. James T. Bacon told the following ; pathetic story of a famous duel, so j illustrative of old time Southern chivi airy,and the consequent death blow to I a woman's heart. The story is repro: duced in Mr. Bacon's own simple and ! eloquent word : . Iu the year 182S there was in the j South Carolina college, a beautiful, brave, noble, gentle youth from Edge: field, of barely 18 years. His name I was Hampden Wigfali. The Wigfall family hud then lived in Edgefield only j four years. They were rich Huguenot I people of the Parish of St. Thomas and St. Dennis, in Charleston district, where they built an Episcopal church of brick which is still standing and around j which they are buried. In 1820 old Du| rand Wigfall bought a summer house in ! Edgefield, where he died in 1825. His widow, a gentle, shrinkingand devotedly pious woman, was left with three sons and one daughter, Hampden being j eldest. This lady was the paternal grandmother of my sister. At college a misunderstanding arose i between Hampden Wigfall and his ini timate friend, Young Cogsdale, of j Charleston, another young man, only ' 19 years of age. The misunderstnnd! ing turned out to be absolutely trivial, 1 but the lie had been passed and in those days of extremely strained chivalry and honor, no reconciliation could be ufTected. The Code Duello then | reigned in its most absolute and pitij less power. The man who was challenged to fight a duel and even wavered one second in aceeptiug, it was forever socially damned, branded, ostracized forever und ever. Young Wigfall challenged young Cogsdale to . meet him in mortul combat. The boy ; of 18 challenged the boy of 19, whom I he loved and who loved him. j They met with all the formalities? j the seconds, the doctors, and the inev| itable Negro attendant?at San Bar I Ferry, near Augusta, before that and | since the most noted dueling ground ! in America. Mrs. Wigfall, the widow[ ed mother, and my old grandmother, I who bad also been a widow for two I years, went to Augusta in Mrs. Wig| fall's carriage to be near the scene and 1 await the result. The mother was j more dead than alive and bordered on ' actual lunacy. I (JTI.e duel was to take place at suunf ? miiiimoi' /liiv \ t A'clnck uu?u U1 a ouiumvi V.t J . w v w.vv.. i in the afternoon, having sent their carriage on before to prevent suspicion, mv grandmother and Mrs. Wigfall crept out of General Glascock's house in Augusta, traveled down the South Carolina shore of the river on foot, j and hid themselves in a thick wood not 200 yards from the scene of the duel. They could hear the sounds, but could see nothing. The carriage had been driven by my grandmother's old coachmau, "Uncle Watt," and by bis side, on the lofty old fashioned j dickey seat, sat Matilda, the Negro waiting maid. The carriage could not I enter the wood, so it waited on the outskirts, 100 yards off. llampden Wigfall fell at the first fire, killed instantly. The mother rushed frantically to the scene. The I seconds and doctors were terribly sur! prised. Such a thing was unheard of i as a woman near a duel. And when the mother threw herself upon the body of her child she threw herj self also upon the body of his | unhappy slayer, for young Cogsdale, breaking away from his seconds, had rushed to the body, thrown him; self prostrate upon the earth by it, wound his arms around it and was i sobbing out like a little child, and in tones of unutterable anguisb, "Oh, Hammie, Hammie, Haramie!" as if* trying to awake the dead boy. My grandmother has often told me that the cry of the slayer was 1,000 times more heartrending than even the cry of the mother. And then followed a scene of Christian fortitude und Christian spirit perhaps unexampled in all history. The hitherto wild j mother calmly unwound the arms of young Cogsdnle, and lifting him up, I kissed him tenderly on the forehead and suid, with commingled pity and fervor : "God be with you, my child ; God be with you ! You will need him more than I will, for I will soon be with him ; I will soonjbe with my God aud with my child." And as the seconds ! led the weeping boy away she cried i out to him, wringing her hands, "God be with .you, my child. In Heaven Hammie and I will pray for you." : It was not quite nightfall and the twilight lingered upon the saddest picture that was ever seen on sea or shore. ' In the meantime the wretched mother had overheard the words, "We , must wait for the coroner." Creeping up to my grandmother she whispered in tones of terrible agony, "No coroner must touch the body of my child," and then, with what was seen afterwards to be a woman's and a mother's cunning, she went 20 paces away, j whither the seconds, the doctor, GenI oral Glascock and the Negroes had all ; withdrawn to leave her somewhat alone with her dead, and begged them all to retire for one hour to the ferry, a half-mile away, that she might pray j beside the body of her child. Knowi ing her to be a woman of deepest aud purest piety, they quickly departed, every one of them to the ferry. As soon as they were fairly out of j sight, although a frail and slender wo1 man, she lifted the body of her dead 1 boy in her arms and bore it without shaking, staggering or resting a moj ment to the carriage at the skirt ofthe i wood. The carriage was an immense i old fashioned, round bodied conch. My grandmother and Matilda followed j her closely, pressing up in fact to her | very shoulders to catch her if she i should fall. But she did not waver a j moment, and as the carriage came in view, she ran vigorously towards it. ; This was a mother bearing her dead I child away from what she considered the profaning touch ofthe coroner, i Delivering the dead body into the ; arms of Matilda and the coachman she entered the carriage and seated herself in a corner of the back seat; my grandmother followed her and took the oblique front corner. Then Uncle Watt and Matilda lifted in the dead body. The mother received the head ! upon her bosom, while the legs rested : upon my grandmother's lap, and through the 15 miles home in the I warm black summer night, thus they traveled. Home was reached at midnight, and the bereaved mother laid I herself upon her bed with her dead , hoy 011 her bosom. On the morrow the coroner did comply with the legal formalities, but the mother never knew it. She buried her boy without uttering a cry, and then she went to her bed only to leave it, as she had said on the fatal field, to j go home to her God and her boy. i Young Cogsdale, 19 years of age, left i college and left the State. In his 30th year, unmarried, with snow-white hair, he died in Newark, N. J., never, it is said, having smiled since the hour of the duel. KOKEA. j Korea is a peninsula on the north ; side of China, and has lately been brought into especial notice by the war between China and Japan. It is ctiila a i' Af leoniii'l liuuut (IM nn inc tjiaic kji miocuiii i) and, like China, is densely populated, j there being about 12,000,000 inhabitants. | It is ruled by a king who pays tribute to the emperor of China, and unI der him are magistrates in the different towns, who, as there is no jury, have absolute authority over the men I under them. The decide the penalty for offenses, and are often influenced j by prejudice or personal dislike. The people are of Mongolian origin, I and are like the Chinese except not so I far advanced in civilization. The Japanese disclaim any relationship i with them, and look down upon them ! as barbarians. Their cities are merely numbers of I huts, set closely together, and facing a narrow, dirty street. The principal ! buildings in a city are the governor's palace and the temple of the presiding ; god. This temple is made after tHe \ Chinese pattern of architecture, and I incense is burned in it every day to the I images it contains. The Korean does not allow his religion to interfere with ; his busiuess, and if he has an opportunity of stealing his neighbor's fruit or other property he does it unscrupulously. The farmers, to protect their fields from thieves and hungry animals, erect a tower tall enough to overlook the land of many neighboring planters, and they take turns in guarding. This is especially necessary on the fruit farms, as fruit is a staple product of Korea. A great many kinds are produced : Apples, pears and grapes in the south, and persimmons flourish everywhere. IViUVkrnnt L-irwlc nf lllltu ni'P foil II fl among which are walnuts and chestnuts. Beans and rice are raised, and the former is not only eaten by the people but fed to the ponies. The diet of the people is very meagre, consisting of a little rice and tea, with a few persimmons. I The dress is like that of the Chinese, I loose pants and coats, but they wear | very large and peculiar hats. They j are made of wicker or bamboo and | look like umbrellas, except that they : are decorated with flaps and ear pieces. Beside their cotton cloths they have overcoats made of paper. By a process known only to them they make the paper so tough it will wear for many months, and by oiling it make it impervious to rain. Their cotton clothes ure washed nearly every day by the | women, and, as they have no soap, besides being washed several times, they ! have to be beaten with mallets to re! move the dirt. The sound is continually heard in all the towns. Except for necessary shopping the I women never go out in the day, but | after dark a certain time is appointed i for them to take their exercise, and l then no man is allowed to appear on ; the street. They wear .a dress of green, with a red piece for the head, and they conceal their faces with two red strips hanging on either side of the ; head piece. An official travels in a litter borue ; by atte: lants, whose number is de: pendent on his rank. There are often j more than 300, and some are sent before to announce his approach. The Korean troops, with the Chinese, are fighting against the Japanese, but up to the present time the Jnpan: ese have been victorious. Korea has not been generally known I as a cotton producing eountry, but it is I stated in si recent official report that j an area of 873,000 acres, is devoted to ; the cultivation of cotton in the Korean peninsula. The average annual ! yield is 1,200,000,000 pounds of seed i cotton. Most of this is made up into j piece goods, the annual exports being j only 2,500,000 pounds, maiuly to China and Japan. V. T. CARE OF AGED PEOPLE. I Many of us have the care of aged ; people, and whether they be parents or ! friends only, they need a great deal of care, and special care, too. The chief points to be condsidered for their com, fort are moderate digestible food, suflii cient warmth, and an even, quiet life, | free from trouble. | The chief of the three is food. While ; all fixed dieting is bud where it can ; possibly be avoided, a few hints can be j given that may prove of value." The 1 older a person is after 50 the less food he requires. Very little animal food ; is required, and though in many re; spects false teeth are a great boon to ; the aged, they may lead to too great a j consumption of animal food. The food j of the nursery is best in old age. Bread ; and milk is u capital diet. Milk agrees with nearly all. Hot milk with a little prepared food i form an admirable drink at night, and can be kept warm in a hot water jug kept in a cosey. Fruit is wholesome | if ripe or well cooked ; fat is also good as is cream or fresh butter. Warm food i is very suitable, and all meals should be regualar and all excesses avoided. As to clothing, it should be both warfti and light. Fur is an admirable : material, and the underclothing should | be of wool. A sealskin waistcoat is useful, and the feet and hands should be well and warmly clad. An eider down quilt on the bed is a good covering, for no aged person should be sufi fered to get cold in bed. Two o'clock a. m. is the hour when most deaths take place; theu the temperature of the body is lowest, and its | powers feeblest. The warmth of the ic nf iri-onl imnnrtnnce in old ace. A warm bath should be taken every day, with plenty of pure soap to keep I the skin supple and soft. It is better for old people, who have the opportunity to winter in a warm climate, but if they cannot, they should shut themI selves up in a well-warmed house at j this season of the year. All habits of | the people should be respected and not ' altered. Whatsoever causes exhaustion should j be forbidden. Early rising is therefore bad. i Sknator Wilson's Covr.ujk.?Af{ ter Henry Wilson's first election to the | United States senate, he gave his j friends a dinner. The table was set j with not one wineglass upon it. : "Where are the wine glasses ?" ask: ed several of the guests merrily. "Gentlemen," said Mr. Wilson, "you : know inv friendship for you and my I obligations to you. Great as they are, I they are not great enough to make me forget 'the rock whence I was hewn and the pit whence I was dug.' Some I of you know how the curse of intemperance overshadowed my youth. That I might escape, I fled from my early surroundings. For what I am, I am indebted under (tod, to my adherence to | it. Call for what you want to eat, and if this hotel can provide it, it shall he forthcoming; but wines and liquors cannot come to this table with my consent, because I will not spread in the path of another the snare from which I escaped." Three rousing cheers showed the brave senator that men admire the man who has the courage of his eonI victions. GIRLS WHO WOULD HE HOYS. The few girls who wish they were boys are about 14 years old. From babyhood they have enjoyed the free| dom of boys in their play, and still love their freedom. They have climbed high trees, clambered over great stone walls, vaulted fences, played various kinds of ball, skated, rolled over with the dog 011 the grass, played ; games in the summer evenings, and tumbled into bed as tired and thoughtless as a boy. Hut they have reached the mature age of 14 years, and now begins what they term their slavery. Their mothers insist on lengthening their dresses a little, and have new ideas about arranging their hair, both of which arc hindrances to freedom of movement. Theyjdiscover that there is a precious ! thing that goes by the name of complexion, of which they had scarcely heard before, and^hey find it a perfect despot. Elder sisters object to the i vaulting of fences and the climbing of i tall trees, as no longer proper, and ! maiden aunts are shocked at the runj ning of races on the sidewalk. Gradually the truth forces itself upon the minds of these girls that they i cannot have the liberty that boys continue to enjoy all their lives. They still believe that they ought to enjoy it, and will enjoy it in the future, but at pres; ent they are obliged to conform to the usages of their country, and they do not like it. What would they have thought if j they had lived half a century ago, when almost every innocent exercise of girls was looked upon with disapj proval, and girls were in reality ; "slaves" to an erroneous idea of decorum? Many of them, as a contempo| rury remarked the other day, were I "carefully bred as if for residence in a : consumptives' home." A girl who in summer swims, plays tennis, rides, rows, sails, and in win: terdoes a full share of household labor, ' tnl'Ao 1?A?< iloilv nniilAAf wallr fnr ' mm umvs uvi uuhj uu%uvv? ? ??.? exercise, need not sutler for want of freedom. Nevertheless, there will always be girls who wish they were hoys and they will generally be about 14 years old. Appalling Depths ok Space.?In a recent lecture, Sir Robert Ball said that a telegraphic message would go seven times around the earth in a second, and if a telegraphic message ! could be sent to the moon, it would i reach its destination iu a little more i than a second. It would take some' thing like eight minutes to arrive at the sun ; but how long, think you, would it take to get to Alpha Centauri, traveling thither 180,000 miles a second ? Secouds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months would not be long enough ; it would take no less than three years, traveling all the time at that tremendous pace, before it would reach its destination. If that is the case with respect to the nearest of the stars, what must be said of those which are farther off? There are : stars so remote that if the news of the j victory of Wellington at Waterloo I had been (lashed to them in 1815 on I tbat celestial telegraph system, it ' would not have reached them yet, even . if t he message had sped at the speed inI dicated and had been traveling all i the time. There are stars so remote that if, when William the Conqueror landed in England in 1066, the news of his conquest had been dispatched to them, and if the signals flew over the wire at a pace that would carry them seven times around the earth at a single second of time, that news would not have reached them yet. Nay, more, if the glad tidings of that first Christmas in Bethlehem, 19 centuries ago, had thus been disseminated j through the universe, there are yet j stars of which the astronomers could tell us, plunged into space in depths so 1 appalling that even the 1894 years i which have elapsed since that event j would not bave been long enough for the news to reach them, though it traveled 180,000 miles in every second. Origin of Nursery Rhymes.? i "Three Blind Mice" is a music book of 1 1609. "A Froggie Would a-Wooing Go" was licensed in 1650. "Little Jack Horner" is older than the Seventeenth century. "Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where have j You Been ?" dates from tiie reign ol Queen Elizabeth. I "Boys and Girls Come Out to Play" dates from Charles II, as docs also "Lucy Locket Lost Her Pocket." "Old Mother Hubbard," "Goosey, Goosey Gander," and "Old Mother j Goose" apparently date back to the j Sixteenth century. "Cinderella," "Jack the Giant Killer," "Blue Beard" and "Tom Thumb" were given to the world in 1697. The author was Charles Parrault. i "The Bahes in the Woods" was founded on an actual crime committed in Norfolk, near Wayland Wood, in the Fifteenth century. An old house in the neighborhood is still pointed out, upon a mantelpiece in which is carved the entire history. Sixteen Lost?One Saved.?At a public dinner given to General Harrison, when he was a candidate for the office of president of the United States, i one of the guests rather conspicuously j "drank to his health." The general pledged his toast by drinking water. Another gentleman offered a toast and said, "General, will you favor me by , drinking a glass of wine?" The genI eral, in a very gentlemanly way, begged to be excused. He was again | urged to join in a glass of wine. This was too much. He rose from his seat and said, in the most dignified manner: "Gentlemen, I have twice refused to partake of the winecup. I hope that will be sufficient. Though you press the matter ever so much, not a drop of ! liquor shall pass my lips. I made a resolve when I started in life that I ; would avoid strong drinks. That vow I have never broken. I am one of a I class of 17 young men who graduated at college together. The other 16 members of my class now fill drunkards' graves, and all from the pernicious habit of winedrinking. I owe all my health, my happiness and prosper1 ity to that resolution. Would you | urge me to drink it now?" The effect on the company may be imagined. The Farmer's Boy.?In this day and time the farmer's boy is the boy to : depend upon for a man?a man that his country will be proud of. Take the little dudes around town who are j brought up iu luxury and ease and not shown the realities of life with an | every day experience, and they soon form the opinion that living is a mere pastime and that work is a disgrace. They learn good manners?which is a good thing; but they scorn the counI try boy who stumbles in at the door ; and forgets to pull of his hat, or laugh j in his face at his ignorance. But let 15 years pass and the sunburnt boy is worth a eowpen full of cigarette dudes who parted their hair in the middle, ! for he has made a useful man of himj self, while they have passed under the | revolution of pride and sunk into deg| redation.