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* n ^ issued twioe-a-week?wednesday a3xt33 friday. I. m. grist & sons, Publishers. } % Jfamitir Jfleicspaper: Jlfor the promotion of the (political, facial, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. ckst*18" VOLUME 41. YORKVILLK, S. C., FRIDAY, SKVTKU BKR 6, 1805. XUMBKR4iO. k A DESERT CLAIM. By MABY E. 8TI0EUEY. [Copyright 1834, by J. B. Lippinoott Company.] L CHAPTER XIV. W His face turned impatiently toward that quarter whence presently the headlight of a locomotive would rise as a t star against the soft darkness of the summer night, Paul Brown loitered at the remote eastern end of that long platform extending out from the railway station at Cheyenne. The great Stone building looked grim and repelr. lent as a prison in the white flood of '* the eleotrio light Few were there to welcome the coming at this hour of half past 1 in the morning, while bono were oalled to speed the parting guest, sinoe the expected train was the local from Denver, which here would be at the end of its route. An empty baggage truck rumbled noisily across the wooden flooring to a position beside the ont^ er track, the fellow supplying the propelling forqe as though wholly worn out with the effort, properly adjusting himself to a seat on its gridiron surface, his legs drawn up to an angle of which the apex fairly met his chin, his hands clasped sustainingly around the knees. A couple of hotel porters leaned lazily against a oornerof the building "swapx ping lies," as they would have expressed it in the slang which served them for wit A man perhaps not overhappy in anticipation of the arrival which had robbed him of good sleepj perhaps, like Paul Brown, too mnch absorbed in his - own thoughts to encourage sociability, walked by himself in the shadows at the far end of the platform, while by the door of the women's room an ex\ press agent, his canvas covered book olasped tightly under one arm, discussed a question of local politics with a burly officer of the law, whose silver star of offloe shone in conspicuous warning to all evil doers. "Expectin oomp'ny, Brown?" the follnw nn fKo V?a crcro era trunk" &VMV n V/** V?v ""(3I5"8V ? ?.v.? oalled out, with sleepy interest, after a little. Bat the one addressed never heard % him. "She 1b coming 1 She is coming!" he was 6aying over and over in passionate recitative to the aocompaniment of his pulsing heart, keeping his joy alive. Even with his hand fast closed upon her telegram in his pocket he could yet soaroe behtove that jie was so Boqn to see her face again, fee fell that he could I almost murmur blessings now on that ' newspaper thunderbolt, erstwhile so accursed, which had won for him a promise he oould never have dared to pray for. And so when Edith Ellery stepped from the sleeper that night it was Paul Brown's face which looked at her over the porter's shoulder; it was his hands which were reached out to clasp hers ^ in voioeless welcoma "Tf 4a wati MQITTT wrvn9'* ct>A onuntwl MV MO J VU| AVIIUT J VU. ouu guw^/vv*! incredulously touching his sleevo with her finger tips. "Then it was not true? You are not"? "Decidedly not," he laughed, taking the bag from her nerveless hands with an air of proprietorship* ' 'Will you take my arm? It is scarce more than a dozen steps to the hotel, but I am obliged to take it rather slowly on account of my v ankle, which is not yet altogether recovered from its wrench the other day. I hope you don't mind?" "But I don't understand," she faltered bewilderedly. "I thought"? "You thought that you might perhaps find me hanging from a lamppost." He laughed in boyish delight. "I am sorry that you had such a fright, hnt von mrmt Tint fixnent rne to be alto - get her sorry, since it has brought you here " "Then it was not true what the paper said?" "It was, and it wasn't. Artalissa did give me away to the best of her ability. She evidently did see me from the window that night, and she embroid^ ered the tale with envy, hatred, malice and all unoharitableness. She was loaded down with circumstantial evidence. She had heard the jingling of ray spurs as I passed the house, the subdued trampling of horses and the opening of the corral gate a moment later. I was even twisting my quirt in my hands when I returned, fully throe hours later ?time enough, you will see, to have s run the stock off to a confederate, as she cleverly suggested. There was almost nothing to do but to arrest me after that, though to Tregent it was all a joke, while your brother understood it perfectly. I encouraged the fun, partly to see how far the girl would go with v her soheme of vengeance, partly beBf cause I was going back to town and F| planned to ride down with Tregent anyway, and. somewhat with tho idea that were anybody on the place in communication with tho thief?one never knows what systems of underground telegraphy they have, these fellows? it might put him somewhat off his > guard. It was all a great bluff so far as we were oonoerned, nothing more. But the fellow who drove us in from the ranch improved the opportunity by getting himself boiling drunk that ToVion Ko want, f^llincr tho Rfnrv ?16UI,? ^ ? ? ^ around the saloons, with all Borts of boozy embellishments, while that little ? carrion crow of a reporter got hold of him, and?well, the joke had rather lost its point when the papers came in from Denver this afternoon. But I have seen the reporter since," laughing grimly, "and he will have the fullest passible retraction in tomorrow's paper. But you?were you very muoh frightened?" \ daringly pressing the small hand more closely to his side. "It was unspeakably horrible," she said, with a shudder. "To think that you would not prove your innocence by telling that I was with you that night!" "As if I could possibly have done such a thing! I would have died first," he protested warmly. "I kn9W you would, " sighing wearily, "and so I came." "And you would have stood up and given such testimony for me; have owned before judge and jury, reporters and the whole gossiping world that you had met your brother's hired man alone at dead of night; that you remained with him of your own accord for half an hour or more? Indeed Artalissa sworo the time was fully three hours, but that was one of her amiable exaggerations, I am 6ure. It could not have been sc long." ' 'Whatever might have been the time, I should have sworn that I was with you every minute," she returned simply. "What else could I havo done?" "Oh, you heroine!" he exclaimed, such passionate tenderness in his voice that the girl half withdrew her hand, trembling with shy apprehension. ' 'And to think what such an admission might have cost you!" They had reached the hotel, and he ied the way up stairs to the dimly lighted parlor, while the sleepy porter followed obsequiously. "The lady will go to her room presently. We will ring when we want you," ho said to the fellow, standing in the door until the intruder was 6afely committed to the stairs. "I ought to have let you go at once," he added then, turning to look at the girl's pale face with compunotious tenderness, "but I wanted to thank you, and for that other time?for that ride to Cameron's?brave little TT j. ^ 1 ? iL.l woman i xou must let me speitK. ut mao. It meant so much to me." "Ah, it was sc little to do. You had saved my life." "And if I had, though that is putting it rather Btrongly perhaps, you took a thousand times as much pains to save mine. And now again"? "Again I am confronted with a record of wasted effort You did not need me now any more than you did the doctor whom I brought you that other time,' she declared, with a certain bitterness. "The question now is, At what time does the next train leave for Denver?" "You do not mean the very next train?" he faltered appealiugly. "Most certainly I do?the very next. Why not? You must see that the sooner I am away now tiie better." "There is a train that loaves at 8:50, "he reluctantly admitted. "But you are so tired." "But I shall go by that train just the same," with a decisiveness which left npthing to be said. "That will be in about Two hours." "A little less than two hours." His nror wifh frail !r riicftn. pointment as he looked at his watch. She noted now for the first time, her eyes shyly approving, that he was dressed in light summer clothes fashioned after the 6tyle of other men's business wear. Ho had been a fine looking fellow in the old corduroys which had grown so familiar, but now he looked every inch the gentleman her heart had held him to be. "If you are going sosoon, "he added wistfully, "I must not detain you longer. You will want to go to your room and rest. And I ordered a little lunch sent up for you, thinking you might need it " "It was kind of you, but I am not nungry. i suppea iuu oi uurrurs, smiling up at him with something of her old brightness, from an easy chair into which she had dropped restfully. "And I am so comfortable here. It is hardly worth while to lie down?if you do not mind stopping a little longer." "Well, na I do not mind certainly," smiling broadly at the idea. Was she not conscious of tho exquisite absurdity of such words to him? "There are 60 many things I want to have explained to me. About Artalissa, for instance. I cannot understand how she came to turn against you so." "Oh, that," smiling embarrassedly. "As Kipling says, 'That is another story.' We had a few words. I was in a bad temper the morning you went away, giving me no opportunity for a word of thanks or farewell. It was rather unkind of you, don't you think?" "Oh, if you say so, perhaps." Her eyes dropped upon the handkerchief which she was industriously drawing through one gloved hand after the other. "But I am waiting now to discuss Artalissa's conduct, not mine." "Well, I was in an ugly frame of mind, as I said, and it became fairly maddening, the sense of obligation toward tho girl, with tho obvious misunderstanding on her part, tho expectation that?oh, a man feels liko a fool telling such tilings!" breaking off miserably, a deep flush staining his sunburned face. "Don't ask me to go into details. It is enough to say that I felt I ought to exvil'iin mwunlf QAtttnti'liof T m,1/k (1 bungling job of it, and she hates like an Indian." "But she has wiped off the score of all obligation by this," her eyos flashing indignantly, her cheeks aflame. "Surely you owe her nothing now?" "I don't know. It grinds a little yet," his glance moodily following the pattern of the cari>et. "And the horses?have you any olew to them?" "Jim Kittery was arrested with my Black Prinoo at Laramie this morning. He had ventured into the town for whisky, like the fool he is. Ho had sold the filly at a place over in my country, and I have already sent a man to fetch her back, so in all probability she will be yours yet." His smile seemed rather 6trained. "You know perhaps that your brother planned to give her to yon, a wedding present?" "He spoke of it," her eyos falling embarrassedly. "But now"? "Well?" as she paused. "Oh, nothing, only my engagement, so far as it was an engagement, is broken." "Broken I'' fixe in his eyes as he sprang impulsively toward her, but after a step he seemed to bethink himself and moved on to the window, parting the lace curtain to stare down into the street. "What ought one to say on such an occasion?" he asked presently in an odd, muffled voice. "Congratulations seem hardly in order." "I don't know tnat tflere is oall tor any remark at all," Bhe replied rather tartly, and after a moment, as though she would change the subject, she asked, "And when do you go back toK6?" "Never. I am going to leave the ocuntry." He came moodily back from the window and resumed the place near her chair. "I am sick of cattle, siok of the life, sick of the whole business. It is like dropping buckets into empty wells and growing old with drawing nothing up. And I want a change. I must have it. I have been offered the management of an outfit in New Mexico, and I am going there as soon as I can get awav." "To New Mexico!" Edith gasped. It was as if he had said he would go to the other end of the world. "Ah, why will you? Why will you not go back to your father if you are tired of this life? I have thought of it so much, so wished you would go," flashing an appealing glance full in his eyes. "Have you, dear little girl?" his heart speaking in the glance he gave uaiiA iu JICJ.. "My friend, Mrs. Hallet, with whom I have been staying in Denver,''she went on hurriedly, her color rising, "was talking the other day about her brother who died. He was killed, but it seems that his poor old father will never admit that he is dead; that he will not some day come back to them. He has his room always ready for him. Every day he prays for him. I could not but think of you as I heard it, and with tears in my heart for tho poor old fathor who somewhere must be mourning in just that way for you. Ah, can you not 6ee that your hard, unyielding obstinacy is cruel to him; that you have punished him more than he deserved in all these years? Can you not guess how his heart must bo eaten out with sorrow, waiting for the opportunity to atone? waiting, like that poor father of tho Paul who died, for the son who will not return to him?" He had buried his face in his hands as she went on, and when he looked up his eyes were flashing with unshed tears. "You do not know, oh, you cannot guess what you have been telling me!" he cried brokenly. "It is my father you are telling me about?my father! I could not have believed it; that ho cared for me liko that! But it is true. Barbara says so. Dear little Bab!" the last in eager questioning, as though he could not even now believe what lie had heard. "You are her brother?you!" her face paling. "You?Paul Brown?" "My name is Paul Brown ITu::tington, at your service," he explained, with boyish delight in her amazement. "And you have been living under a falso name all these years?" "Not exactly. Brown was my middle nama It was my mother's, and I flinnffKt. T a ricrlit tn it. T cimnlv vuvugim * "v.v. .? --ft - v. - c.j dropped the other after tho railroad accident when I was supposod to have been killed on my way west. I had intended to take that train, and my berth was engaged, which was how they carno to have iny name in tho list of passeu gers in the sleeper. But I happened to miss it by a hair on account of running against one of my fraternity men and stopping too long talking with him, and the next day when tho accident was reported I don't know whether I was glad or sorry that soino ouo had blundered so far as I was concerned. At all events, it appeared that to all intents and purposes I was dead, and I decided to remain so." "And you have lived near your sister all these years and never let her know? How could you buso hard?" "I was dead. Why should I risk embarrassing my friends by rising from thogravewhen I had not the smallest reason to suppose that I was wanted? I kept run of my sister in a way through the society items in tho Denver papers, from which it appeared that eho had not tho smallest need of me. She was in tho swiin, floating on tho top wave, while I had all I could do barely to keep my head above water. Had she been in want of any help which I could hnvo given, had there even l>ecn any timo in all the long years when I could have gone to her without my attitude 4m lie had burled hi* face in hi# hand# as she wait on. seeming a tacit appeal for help, it might havo been diffcreut, but in iuy shabby old corduroys and cowboy hat, with the record of failure written upon mo so that he who ran might read, was I the guest to appear properly at the door of that grand house on Capitol hill?" "But you will go to her now?" "If you tell mo to." "And you will go back with me tonight?" "May I? You know what it would be to me to go with you if you permitted it, even if nothing were beyond. Yet when I think of seeing Barbara so soon ?dear little Bab I She always had such hopes for mo, poor little girl! Sho believed that I would do great things. My record will be a sorry surprise for her." "How can you say such things? How can you think of anything but tho glad surprise it will bo to her to see you again? Can you not guess how she loves you, her only brother, for whom her only boy is named? And do you think lovo will stop to weigh and measure what you have done or left undone? She will be proud of you that you have done so well and only love you the better for the failures." "Will she?" he whispered huskily. Sho had taken off her gloves, and one bare hand lay tempting him on the velvet covered arm of her ohair. He reached over hesitatingly, covering its rose leaf daintiness with a tremulous pressure. "Ah, how you always comfort me, charm me, make me glad in spite of myself! Yon make me forget : everything but the joy I have in yon. Yon make me forget what I am and what you are. Did yon guess that night when wo were sitting by the burnt out bonfire? It was at just about this time, by the way. Did you dream how hard it was for mo to hold myself ' back from snatching you to my heart and telling you that I could never let you go? You looked so sweet, so lovely, 1 with the moonlight shining on your face. I wonder now that I had strength 1 to be silent It was only the knowledge of 1 tho uselessness of it, tho pain it might ' bo to you, that sealed my lips. Even if ] I had not known that you belonged to another I think I could not have spoken. I had sworn I would never speak. But now if I go homo to my father I shall at least have the name of a good old : family to offer the woman I lovo. I may | not have much more, for, as I told you i that night, I cannot go back begging." i A touch of the old stubborn pride was in the slight upward movement of his handsome head. "But youspokoof tak- i ing up a desert claim, you know." He s tried to turn it off with a joking laugh, 1 but halted, with something like a sob, as he bent his head to cover the small < hand with passionate kisses. "Oh, dar- 1 ling, darling, what would you do if I were to offer you one?" I "I think,"she said, pausing judi- ' oially, a mischievous smile curving her j lips, although the brightness of glad i tears shono in her tender eyes, "all | things considered, I think I should oc- ] cept it, dear." i THE END. I WOMEN'S RIGHTS IN BURMAH. According to H. Fielding, a writer ' in Blackwood's Magazine, the paradise of women is in Bnrmali. There, says 1 Mr. Fielding, woman and man are on . the same footing. There is not a single law which does not bear equally on man and woman. Men have never ' tried to say what is fitting and what is not fitting for them. *'No artificial ideals from long past ages have been 1 held up to them us eternal copies. It has been left to their own good sense 1 and to the eternal fitness of things to determine what is womanly and what . !. . >i AT? ti..t I IS IJUl. iUr. Pluming >uy111 <lt in/ , women possess in greater strength all the nameless attractions of a woman. The members of either sex are left to ' choose their own occupations, and the men sew and embroider# as well as the women. He further says: The retail trade of the country is in : the hands of the women, and they nearly all trade on their own account. ' Just as the. men farm their own laud, the women own their own businesses. They are not saleswomen for others ; but traders on their own account, and, with the exception of the silk and cloth branches of the trade, it does not interfere with home life. The bazaar lasts but three hours, and the woman has ample lime for her home duties 1 when her daily visit to the bazaar is over. She is never kept away all day ' in shops and factories. Her home life is always the centre of her life. She could not neglect it for any other. It broadens her views. It would seem to her a losing of the greater in ' the less. But the effect of this 1 custom of nearly every woman hav- : ing a little business of her own has a great influence on her life. It ! teaches her things she could not learu in the narrow circle of home duties. It gives her that tolerance and understanding which so forcibly strike every v.~.. Tf toonlme ! UUV MilV IYllu??r, u?, xv iv..v,.v? iv know her own strength and weakness, and how to make the best of each. 1 I fihiT They say : That?he amateur pes- i si mist usually starts with his wife's i cooking; that a cent makes more i noise iu it contribution box than a $5 < note; that you cannot tell the price i of a straw hat by the loudness of its baud; that the man whose own childhood is entirely forgotten is apt to i make n hard father; that some women < are so kind that they marry men j merely because they sympathize with I them; that wise men have said many foolish things, and foolish men have uttered many wise sayings; that many i people have finer garments to clothe '< their bodies than they have words to clothe their thoughts; that at some ' parties you spend half the evening in I coaxing people to sing, anil the other half in wishing you hadn't; that no i matter whether a man's life results 1 in absolute failure or complete success, 1 plenty of people who predicted it can 1 always be found. < ittiwllancoits ilcailing. HIS DEATIUYAHIIAST. A prominent New Jersey lawyer tells the Cincinnati Enquirer a story that possesses more than local interest. It is a true narrative of how one man constituted himself a Lexow committee of one, and in a simple hut nevertheless ingenious manner practically eradicated an evil in one New York court wnicn nun grown to proportions mm seemed alarming. It was the court of Judge J. T. Irving. It was the rule that every time the judges signed a paper they should receive a fee of one dollar. It meant that it cost one dollar to have the judge write his autograph. One day two prominent New York lawyers were in Judge Irving's court when he was busily engaged in signing papers. There was a long lino of lawyers filing slowly in front of his desk, and as each passed up his papers he at the same time laid down a corresponding number of dollars. The judge would glance at the papers, make a scrawl on each, and take up the next package, the pile of greenbacks growing steadily as the line of lawyers thinned out. One of the two lawyers looking on said to his companion : "I have the highest respect for the judge's integrity, hut I am satisfied he does not know half the time what he is signing." With that he strode out of the room, and presently returned with a legal form signed by the sheriff, and which set forth that on such and such a day, at a certain hour and in a certain place, Judge Irving was to be hanged by the neck until he would be dead. The lawyer then took his place in the line filing before the judge's desk. When it came his turn lie held up the paper folded between the fingers, in a nonchalant manner, and laid down his one dollar wun tne omer nana, waicning the judge narrowly out of the corner of his eyes. His honor unfolded the the paper, and hurriedly plunged his pen in the ink. There was a splutter and a icrawl, and Judge Irving had signed his own deathwarrant. Without a word the lawyer took the document and put it away carefully in his pocket. His companion, who had watched the performance with bated breath, could scarcely believe his eyes. That night the lawyer went to a social gathering, which Judge Irving was to attend, with the deathwarrant in his pocket. Late in the eveving he fcnund himself in a corner with the judge, and realized that his opportunity had come to serve bis warrant. "Judge" he began, "I was watching you signing papers today, and I couldn't for the life, of me understand how you can read them all. Do you really read tbera ?" "Why, certainly. It's a matter of habit you know. I have acquired it by years of practice. I can at a glance detect the really important sentences or words." "Don't you think that rather a dangerous practice? Mightn't you put your name to something you ought not to?" "Oh, my, no!" "You dou't think the dollar fee is an incentive to the man to do the work a little more hurriedly than he ought?" "I can't answer for other men, but I urn sure in mv own case the mouey makes no difference." ;'\Yrell," said the lawyer, producing the death warrant, and holding it in >uch 'a manner that the name of Judge Irving only was visible, "is that your signature ?" "It looks like it." "Examine it closely, and tell me if it is your handwriting." The judge put on his glasses, stared at the paper, and then declared it was his signature. The lawyer then unfolded the paper, and handed it to the judge. The latter read it, and turned crimson. "When did you get that paper ?" he gasped. "I gave it to you this morning, and you signed it. It told Lawyer Bland you would sign it, and you did." After that the signing of papers in Judge Irviug's court was as long and tedious a process as it had been rapid a.ud careless before. It was said of him that he was much slower and more painstaking than he need have been. UUEER MARRIAGE CEREMONY. Corean girls, according to Mr. H. Saundersou, after enjoying freedom until they are 8 years out, are consigned to the women's quarters, where Lhey live in seclusion till they are married, at 10 or 17 years. After marriage the woman is allowed to see uo man but her husband. The boys, on the other hand are taught that it is undignified for them to enter the women's part of the house. They never see their brides till the wedding day, all having been arranged for them, often when both bride and bridegroom were infants. The bride and bridegroom invite their most intimate friends to assist them in dressing their hair in the manner befitting their new estate. Then the bridegroom mounts iv white pony, which is led by two servants, while two others on either sidesupport the rider in his saddle. Thus he proceeds to the bride's house in which the bride and her relatives are awaiting their arrival. A goose (the C'orean symbol of fidelity), which the bridegroom brings with him is then produced. The bride (who hus to eover her face with her long sleeves), and the bridegroom then bow to each other until their heads almost touch the ground. This they do three or four times and are then man and wife. A loving cup is passed around and then the bride is taken off to the women's apartments of her husband's home, where she is looked after by her mother-in-law while the groom entertains his friends. The husband must maintain his wife properly and treat her with respect. Marriage is the great event in a Corean's life, for, he then attains man's estate. Before marriage, no matter how old he may be, he is treated as a boy, and has to maintain a deferential attitude toward the married men, even though they be only half his age.?Popular Science Monthly. GENERAL LEE'S LAST YEARS. "General Lee never left Lexington after he assumed the presidency of the college," said S. D. McCormick recently. "He had distinguished visitors from North and South, and from Europe, and they still come to visit his tomb. Hundreds of invitations came to him to attend army reunions and the like, hut he always courteously declined them. But every evening he would mount his horse and take an hour's ride. I have oAen met him at these times. He would always give the military salute. Sometimes he would rein in his horse and talk. "His demeanor was always dignified and serious; indeed, sad. I never saw him smile. One could feel the very personality of Lee pervading the atmosphere around old Washington and Lee University. Every student was on his honor. Not one of them would lie. You have some idea of what college boys are and what many of them will do. They will stop at nothing in their pranks. Yet students in that university have convicted themselves of pranks that caused their expulsion because they could not lie when brought face to face with General Lee. He was absolutely a pure man, if ever oue lived. He neither drank, chewed nor smoked, nor ever used vulgar language. He was a clean man. "Washington was his idol. He patterned his life after that illustrious patriot. In his very bearing and personality he reminded one of Washington. You know how closely he was allied to the family of Washington. The name of Washington University was changed Dy the \ lrginia legislature to that of Washington and Lee University. General Lee's wife, Mary Curtis, sleeps by his side in the tomb under tbe chapel platform of the university. "Directly opposite the crypt where Lee lies, and on the same floor, is his private office, with everything just as he left it?his chair, his pen, everything just as he had it in life. Above the crypt rises the monument, and upon it the reclining figure of the general in military trappings, executed in the finest marble by Valentine. Curtis Lee, his son, is now president of the university."?Cincinnati Times-Star. MOTHER'S OF GREAT MEN. The mother of Auber, the composer of French opera, Lad excellent taste in both tnnsic aud the fine arts. Bach's mother had a marvelous ear for music. He said she was a better judge of music than his father. The mother of Peter the Great was a woman of intrepid courage and great personal strength, both of body and * mind. Van Dyke's mother was quite an art critic, with a very correct appreciation of excellence in drawing and painting. Daniel Webster once said : ''The man who would be disrespectful to his mother would spit on her grave when she was dead." The mother of the famous Constable Bourbon learned to fence in order IU assist ill iur unuiui \ uaiuiug vi uv* son. Handel's mother was a woman of unusual strength of character. He resembled her more than he did his father. The mother of Greene, the Revolutionary general, was a woman of great personal piety, very grave and sedate. Lamartine had an exceptionally clever mother, and several times in his writings mentions her with admiration. Massillon, the great French preacher, had a singularly taleuted mother, whose influence over his life was unbounded. Thackery adored the memory of his mother. He said: ''Mother is the name of God on the lips of little children." Luther had a most exalted opinion of mothers and motherhood, and repeatedly eulogizes both in his writ RfSP The more light admitted to apartments the better for those who occupy them. Light is as necessary to sound health as, it is to vegetable life. Exclude it from plants, and the consequences are disastrous. They cannot be perfect without its vivifying influence. It is a fearful mistake to curtain and blind windows so closely, for fear of injuring the furniture by exposure to the sun's rays; such rooms positively gather elements in darkness which engender disease. Let in the light often, and fresh air, too, or suffer the penalty of aches and pains and long doctor's bills which might have been avoided. 86T Men thank themselves for success, but curse fortune for failure.