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TWO DOLLARS A YEAR. NO. 36. tftAHX P. BEARD, Publisher. VOL. X. COUNTY, 8. C., THURSDAY, MAY ?l, 1883. &c?*^att> Hajette. , TIIB PEOPLES PATE*. PI BLKUBP AT OAMdBJlt ?? O. FRANK P. BEARD. Publisher To Correspondents, Alt communication! for thlt paper should bo ac companied l>y Uvo uaiuo of the author, not necct \wlly for publication, bat M an evldcnco of good faith on *bo rort of tto writer. Write only ?u on* kiaoof llie paper. Be particularly careful In giving name# and <Ute? to bar* tb? Wttors plain aud dl* tlaet. The Gazette Job Printing Office It BiTTta prepared than any other oflce 1b lews, to execute In tte most attractive styles crrer) dcecrlp' tloa of Job Printing. Rich u Pamphlet*, T.??<iH Dill He-ad-v Letter and Soto Head*, Law B)Vi, Pcetera, Dodder*, Circulars, nand D11U. Wi ldio?. >1?'.?ngaj>dJUMn?*?Ci^lJ, Du^ueaCuvU, Lubela Work dene lu Bronze, Bed, Dlue ana DUc* The public must rvvuwiubcr tUat (fee Ivot It alw%/i tta cb<Mps.%t. We do wort at Charteeton Prices, and fuanu,w* en tiro aatlafactloa to our patrens. ^ We koor constantly oo hand the Urgoat gtoei or | Paper* and Carda la towu. THE VETERAN STOIC. . Bichaa 1 bold in Ugbi eiU?m, And lore I laugh to eoorn; . And laet of fame waa bat a dream That Vanished wltb the mors. And If I pray, the only prayer That moves my lips for me la " Leave the heart that now I be\r, And give m? liberty." Ye*, aa my swift days near their goal, 'Tie all that I implore; In life and death, a ohainleee soul With conrage to endare. - / ? Emily Bronte THE BAR LIGHTHOUSE. Government had for several years been sadly neg'e ting a jobof mending in the case of the Bar lighthouse bridge. Here and there boards h:id begun to spring suspiciously beneath unwary footsteps; then the wind hal begun to tear them olT, and the raiu to rot and mold^r them down. What Was every man's business was nobody's, and no individual was -".disposed to interfere with the province or that ab stract millionaire, the United fc>tatea government. To be sure, the koeper of the Bar light, Jackson Heed, who wai naturally more solicitous concerning the hold.ug out of the structure than any < n ? elao, had wildly and fruitlessly patched some of the worst places, oif and on, after a hard "northeaster," when l.e awoke more keenly to the exljren- ies of the caso and the homeless di atoriness of his task-master. But it had amounted to veiy little. Long neglect had made somethlr g more than mere patching necessary. Now the quarter-iute bridge leading to the Bar lighthouse, )f not in an abso lutely unsafe condition, was not calcu lated to Inspire any degree of confi dence In the unaccustomed crosser at least. It was not quite so bad at low tide, or on a mild still day. There was not much to fear th"*n beyond a littlj tall and a ducking; that is, if one cleared' one of those ragged apertures Successfully. But on a dark night, with the winds howling over it, and the ocean thundering beneath it, it was the sort of a bridge that only a diseq&bodled spirit could be supposed to cross with any degree of nohcnalance. The lighthousu itself was only an ordinary dwulling-hbuse, strongly built, With a tower for the light. It stood oh a massive pile of rocks, with Jittld tufts of coarse veg tation in the clefts. Jackson Heed, who had an un fortunate love and longing for a gar den spot, had actually wheeled enough earth over from the mainland for a little patch a few yards square, and when he was not engaged in a fruitless struggle with the broken bridge he was engaged in a fru tie-is strugglo with his garden. A pottering old man was J a kson Heed, lacking in nervous force and quickness of intellect; but he had nover let the light go out, and the only thing that is absolutely re quired of a lighthouse keeper i3 to kfifp the light burning for the sailors wh > steered 1 y it. The wondt r was that his wife Sarah should have been his wife. She was a person not of a d if .-rent mold merely, btit of a different kind; not of a differ ent species, but a different genus. Nervous and alert, what her husba.id accept' d Inpatu nt silence sherece.ved with shrill remonstrance and question ing. II cr husband patched the bridge, crawling over its 16ng reach on his o.d knees; she railed, as sne watched him, at the neglect of government. He un complainingly brushed the sand from his little puny, struf g lng plants, and she set her thin face against the wind that oast it there. In both, the re igious element or cart of mind was strongly predominant, but J a^kson Heed simply looked out on nature and into his soul, and took 'in as plain incontrovertible fu^ts the broken bridge, the touting sea lua lit tle wind-swept, sand-stnwu garden patch, and God in heaven. Neither proved the other or.nuliifled the other; they were simply there. But Sarah Herd, looking out oil the frail, unsafe bridge which oonnected theiu with the mainland, and th* mighty, sendees se& whioh had swalloWed up her father and a broth r whom she had 'Idolized, and the poor little tender green things trying to live under her window, had seen in them so many dumb animals of either God,'a love and mercy or His existence. She was a rheumatic old woman now, almost helpless, in fact, unable tostep without the help of her husband. . And she sat, day In and day out, at one of the sea-windows of her sltt.ng-room, knitting. ? The minister at Bye, a zealous young man, with an innocent confidence in bis power i of holy argument, had visited her repeatedly, with the view of improving her state of mind. But ?van his tonguey confidence and In genuousness could git an but little sat isfaction from h!s interviews with the rhaumatio and unbellovlng old woman. "No, Mr. Pendleton," she used to sav, shaking a thin rheumatio hand, with an, finpresstveness whioh her hearer might have copied ad van-/ tugeouslyin the pulpit, "it ain't no use. You oan talk about seein' with the spirit, an' worshlpin' with the spirit; anybody needs a little some i thin' to catoh nold on with the flesh ; | when it's ail spirit it's too muoh for a Rmortal bein* to comprehend, an* the ?Lord knows I ain't never had anything Hut spirit. 1 ain't never had any evl ?gence, so to speak ; 1 ain't never had a ?grayer answered In mv life. Here I &?&>, an old woman.alrme an* Jack ftpfo's lived here on this rook for forty year. An' thar's been things I've Granted different, but I ain't never had 'em? things that I've cried an* groaned an' prayed to the Lord for ? big things an' little things? but I never got pne. ?f the Lord had given ma one of the little thing*, it seems to me that 1 might have got a feeling that He was ? "Forty year ago, when Jackson an' me was Jest married an' set up house* kuipin' here, thar was an awful storm one night, an' my father and my brother was out yonder in It. I staid on my kne? ? all night prayln\ The next moinln' their two darlin' bodh s rt ???* \% *<fted ashore. My brother had onlv been m irrled a few months ? the sweetest, lov Ingest little thing she was. fihe b *gan to pi ie. I prayed to hev her "vsrared. Biio died, en' left her little baby." "But you had him for your own, did you not IT interrupted Mr. Pendelton. f O to you." M Mr. Pendleton "?and the rheumatic hand went up again ? " 1 ain't never asked to hev him spared to me; ef I had it would hev bon different. I ain't got through yet, Thai's been lots of other things, big one3, that I might jest us well aS not speak of. and little ones. Look at that bridge! 1'llVvn tur' to say that you shook In your shoos when you oame over it, an' wouldn't be sorry tnis minute ef you were safe back. Whenever Jackson goes over it my heart is still an' cold till he comes back, for fear he's fell through. I've prayed to the Lord about that. Then ? you may think this a little thing ? but thar is Jackson's garden. He set out a rose bush in it fliteen years ago Well, it ain't died. Thar ain't ever be?n a rose on it, though. An' it seems to me sometimes that If thar should be Jest one ro3e on that bush that I should believe that the Lord had boen thar. You wouldn't think lrd been silly enough to pray ab ut that. 1 hev. It's fifteen year, an' thar ain't never been a rose thar. No, Mr. Pendleton, it ain't no use. You mean well, but it lays with God, ef He's anywhar. to show Him self to mo in a way I can get hold on." So the pretty, rosy-faced young min ister would go away, plcKing his way cautiously over the unstable bridge, alter a somewhat nonplussed prayer, which Mrs. R eJ, incapacitated from kneeling by her rheumatic knees, had sat and listened to grim y. The Bar lighthouse was three mllep from Rye. A sandy, desolate road almost ns billowy as the sea stretched between. The only house in the whole dlitance was a little brown one Ju*t at the other side of the bridge. The Weavers lived I hire, a mother and daughter. Tney sup ported tliemselvee by sewing for a shop in Rye. Jackson Reed's nephew, William liarstow, had been engaged to marry the daughter ? Abby ner name was ; but a month ago he had brought a wife home fr>m the city. He had rented a pretty little tenement over in Rye, and gonet) housekeeping. Abby Weaver had tied up a few little notes and keepsakes in a neat parcel, and put them away out of sight. Then she went on with her work. She wa* a plain, trust worthy-docking girlf with no show about her, as dlfifircnt as possible from theonehjr recreant lover had mar ried. bhe was pretty, with an en trancing little air of style about every thing Bhe wore. Abby had seen her '>7 a few times in a jaunty velvet E;ct and kilted petticoat, with the round face with its fringe of fluffy blonde hair smiling up at her hu3band out of a bewitching little poke. Then she lia 1 gone aid lookei at h r ;elf In her poor glass, taking In the old black alpaca, the plain common face with the dull hair combed back from her forehead. " No wonder," Bald she. "an" I'm glad it's so, for I don't think the Lord can- blame him." Sarah Reed lial found a double trial in the breaking off of the engag m >nt. In the first piaoc, sh s had liked Abby. In the second place, ti is new matri monial arrangement had taken the darling of her heart from under her i immodiate supervision. If he had married Abby Weaver, he would have lived either in the lighthouse, as he had done all his life, or in her mother's cottage. But nothing could suit his ?retty city lady but to live in Rye. 'he bare idea of the lighthouse ter rified her. Sarah Reed's frame o{. mind had not improved since the marriage. One afternoon, a few weeks after the young couple had set up house keeping, an unexpected deficiency in some household stores sent Jackson Reed Bffe, where the nearest markets *ere. It was the middle of tho afternoon when he went, and there was a storm co ning. " Don't worry, Sarah," I?is last words were, "nn'I'll be baok by five to light the -Uaap. It'll pretty near dark Enough for it then, I reckon, ef it keeps on this way, ef it is June. n She sat at her window with her knitting after he had goneilnd watoheJ tho storm roll up. She had taken a fancy lately to a landward window, the one with the poor little garden patoh under it, and the rose bush which never blossomed. The bush really looked wonderfully thrifty, considering its many drawbacks to growth. But it was in a sheltered comer,anfl had all the warmth and mildness that oould be had in the bleak place. It was three feet high or so, a hardy little Scotch rose. There certainly seemed no reason inpature why it shouli not blossom, but blossom it never had. Mrs. Reed never looked at it now for buds. See never even glancel at it to-day; she only looked out uneasily at the darkening sky, and knit on her stocking. Mrs. Reed had been rather good looking In her youth, and was even rather good-looking now. She had bright, alert blue eyes, and pretty, soft gray hair. But there was an air of keen unrest about her whloh oould Jar on toatves like a strident saw. In re poee she would have been a sweet old woman. Now, she looked and was, as people say, hard to get along with. At 6 o'clock the storm wa? fairly thorn, and the old lighthouse keeper had n6t come home. A heavy tempest twilight was settling down, and It was almost time the lamp wis lit 8ix o'clock came, and it was darker yet and ?tl>l she sat there alone, her knitting dropped in her lap. Seven o'oiock, and her old husband had not oome. It was quite dark now, and a t -rrlble night, hot and pitchy, (Aid full of mighty electric winds and fires and thtihdtrs. A conglomerate roar oame from the ocean as from a den of wild beastt. Bud lenly an awful thought struck the wretch i-d old woman at the lighthouse window, and swift on Its track rushed another st:il more awful The first was her husband had had a "turn" somewhere on that lonely road from Kye. "Turns," as she called them, Jackson Reed had had once or twice before, but they had never Interfered with his duty. He had fallen down insensible and lain so for two or throe hours. This wai what hart happened to hlin now. And the seoond thought was her dar ling. William Barstow was out on that terrible sea, and there was no light to guide him to port. Strange that she had not thought before. Yes, it was Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? Yes, the very day he was going down to Lock port with Johnny 8<>wer. He was out on that sea somewhere in a boat, which could not live in it a minute. Yes, it was to day he w?s going. He and his pretty little wife were talking it ovsr Sunday night. She was lamenting, half in sport and half in earnest, over the lonesome day she woula liavo, and he promised to bring her home a new bonnet tj consol e her. Yes. it was Tuesday, and Jackson Hood had told Abby Weaver about it yesterday ? that was Monday. He had forgotten that she "fras no longer so interested in Willie Barstow 's movements. And when In told hi t wife what he had done she scolded him for his thought lessness. Yes, ;t was Tuesday, and he was out on that sea, and there was no light lit. Nothing to keep him off these terrible rocks that the light ha 1 been set there to show. All tho strong, baffled, but not suppressed nature of the woman asserted itself with terrible force. "Oh, my darling I my darling 1 my darling 1" she shrieked, In a voice whioh was in itself both a prayer and a curse. "You out thar, an' all the love in your mother's heart can't light ye home I Oh, the black water rolTln' over that beautiful face, an' those laughln' blue eyes that looked at me when you wa* a baby, an' those black curls I ve brushed, an' those lips I've kissed ? puttin' out t. at lovln' soul I I Oh, Lord I Lord ! Lord ! She sat there shrieking on in a strained, weak voice, half in prayer, half In expostulation. The wind rose higher and higher, and the sen thun dered louder and longer. A new ter ror seized her. If h r husband should rcover from the bad turn which she suspected ho h:id hud, and attempt to cro3s that bridge now, he would be killed too. God know what now rents might be in It When her sitting-room clock clanged out nine, above the roar of the storm, she went into a perfect fury of despair. Down she sank on those old rheumatic knees that had not bent at her bidding for the last five years, and prayed as she never had before. In the midst of her agony a great calm fell suddenly over her. " I will go an' light the lamp my self," she said, in an awtd voice, " an' He will go with me." Slowly Sarah Reed arosii on feet that had not bOrne her weight for five years. Every movement was excruciating torture, but she paid no ht e I to it ; sne eeemed to feel it and yet be outside of it. She re-vllzed, as it were, the s. paratenees of her soul and her spiritual agony from all bodily pain. She walked a ross the floor, went out into the entry, and groped her way up the n irrow stairs leadng to the tower. Sho dragged herself up the t-toep stairs with terrible determina tion. She slid apart tho slide at the top, and a bla/.eof light almost blinded her. The lamp was lit. Sarah Re6d might have floated down those stairs, upborna on ang la' wings for all sh j kn?w. Somehow, she was bao'.c in her sitting-room, on her knees. Her husband found her there, a half hour later, when he staggered, pale as death and drenched t> tho Bkln, Into the room. "Good Lord, Sarah, who lit the lamp?" his first words were. "The angel of tho Lord," she an swered, solemnly, raising her gray heal. "1 hod a turn over thar on the road, 'bout a mile out of Rye. I've jestoome to an* got homo. Seemed to me I should die when I thought of William. The bridge is pretty woll broko up, but I hung on to the side. And, Lord t when Isaw that light burnln' I could ha' come over a cobweb. Who came to light .t, Sarah?" The angel of the Lord," she said, again. " Don't you ever say it ain't so, Jackson; don t you ever dare to try to make me stop thinking it's so. I ve been ask in' the Lord all these years for something to show me that He was anywhar, an' He has give it to me. I crawled up them stairs ? ?" " You went up them stairs, Sarah?" "Yes; I went up to light the lamp, an' it was lit. The Lord hed been thar. It's true about Him." The pale old inan went to his kneel ing wlie and raised her tenderly. " Don't you bellevo His angel lit It ?" she asked, looking at him with anxious intensity. "Yes, Sarah, I do," replied Jackson lteod. The thought was steadily recur ring to his half-dazed brain, " Abby Weaver, Abby Weaver lit the l^mp; but Sarah, Sarah need not know." ?' The next morning Sarah Heed, look ing out of her window, saw a little* pure white rose on the bosh bensnth it "Yes, I meant to have told you it had budded," said her husband, when she exclaimed. " I found it thar yes terday. Thar's another one too/' It wan a lovely clear tnornlng. Abby Weaver, looking out of her 'win* dow, saw William Barstow pass by on his way to the lighthouse to tall the old folks of his safety. ? Harper'* Bazar . , . (tatting Kyen. A recent i>oom managed to flnd Its w?y into print t'trough the fAVor o f the publishing department because the poet hAppened to bo an Advertising patron of the paper. In one of the stsnza* the author tints Alluded to the object of his heart'* affection : "I l<rve to watoh thn frolic Of th? dimple* on herohook." The editor liad )i!h rovenge when, in continence of a mistake of the printer, the linen as published rea l : " I lore to wfttoh fho frolio '' ' Of the pimplefc on her cheek." There is a kind providence that al ways prevents the business department of a newnpapor from getting the bulgA on tho editorial top-lights.? ? Jfrooklyn Kaffir. ______ Hmoke will soon be at a premium. From 2,800,000 cubic foot of smoke, Sven out by say 1,000 cords of wood, is said 12,000 pounds of acetate of lime, 200 gallons of aleohel and twen ! ty-flve pounds of tar may be obtained. FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. , Spring and f?U are the seasons usu allj set apart for starting* orchards, and each has its advocates. At the South an intermediate season is selected; midwinter being a favorable time with horticulturists at the extreme South. ring in most sections is be-^ lieved to be the best time for planting out the stone fruit*. In climate) where the winters are long and severe, or where alternate freer' ng anil thaw ing is of frequent occurrence, the transplanting of fruit trees ought un questionably to be accomplished during the early spring. In many localities fall planting is not only permis*able but preferable, for at that season there is more leisure time, and then, too, it is the fitting season for taking up seedlings and rooU-d layers for stocks. There Is nothing more important in starting an orchard then the selection of a favorablo sitiS. It ought to have a me.iium position as regards exposure and influence of the season. Where winters are uniform in temperature and co'.d spring frosts do not prevail, the main object is to guard against high winds from the east and north, which injure the blossoms and blow ofT the fruit betoro it is mature. This is best done by n belt of woods or a hill, or a border of rapid-growing trees planted simultaneously with tne set ting out of the orchard. When late spring frosts prevail a high location with a northern exposure is best, for a cold local.ty keeps the fruit buds back until the irosts are past. Where the winters are variable, as in Bome por tions of the West, select elevated, dry firm soil, rich enough to pro iuce a solid, well-matured growth. The character of the soil must also be considered. Peaty, or mucky and damp, cold and spongy soils are unfit for fruit orchards of any kind. As a rule apples and pears thrive best on dry, deep,, substantial soli, between a eandy and a clayey loam in whieh oc curs a considerable proportion of lime. The most enduring peach orchards, it is believed, are thjse grown on dry, sandy loams. Generally speaking the plum delights in a rather stiff, clayey loam, though some sorts succeed well on light soil?. The cfierry thrives on a light, dry, warm soi1. In orohards where apples, pears, peaches, plums, etc., are planted promiscuously, a sandy loam with a sandy clay subsoil is the best. Under all circumstances the soil for an orchard should contain lime, potash an. I a fair propqrtion of vegetable mol I. It is essential that the soil be deep i and in good tilth. The selection of' varieties should be infiuenced by the wa its and circumstances of the grower. Large orchards, for pro: t, ought to be made up of well-tested varieties that have been proven In siro lar localities and soils. Whatever the variety, low, stocky trees are to be preferred to tall, slender sorts. The usual arrangement of orchard trees Ts in the square form, in rows the same distance apart and an equal dis tance between each tree. A common mistake is that of setting the trees too near together. In apple orchards thirty feet from tree t > tree, in aU directions, is a safe rule. Standard peara require about twenty-five feet. Feach trees are preferable at one year old frv-m the bud and s'lould be Bet say fifteen feet apart. Standard cherries are generally set about the same distance advised for peaches, and may be transplanted at one year old frohi the bud, and should not be over two years. Plum trees are usually flan ted about fifteen ft et apart; trees wo years o'.d from the graft are re commended for orchard standards. Quinces requTd about twelve feet spa :e and ought to be at least two years old from the layer or bud. All trees ought to be transplanted as soon as possible after having been lifted from the nursery. All broken and mutilated roots should be removed with a sharp knife, and enough of the previous season's growth of branches cut back to preserve a proper balance between the stem and the roots of the trees. The ground having been previously prepared by plowing and placing in good tilth, holes may be dug wide and deep enough to admit the roots care fully spread out in natural position. The tree must not bo set deeper than it originally stood. Fine earth should be filled in about the roots and trodden down with the feet, more earth filled in, more firming down of earth, and so on until the excavation Is filled. When the around inclines to be dry, it Is an excellent plan to dip the roots in thin mud and use water for settling down the earth. If the trees are in exposed positions secure them by a stake or two. Mulching Is very generally ap f?roved of for newly set trees; it keeps he ground moist and warm and pre vents the growth of weeds. ? Neto York World. rtm ukI Uunl?H N*t?* A writer In the Fruit Rooorder makos the statement that last year one of hi* neighbors planted some cab bage plants among his corn where his corn missed, and the butterflies did not And' them. Ho has therefore, come to the ooncltislon that if the cabl>age patch were in the middle of the cornfield the butterflies would not find them, as they fly low and like plain sailing. Wherever wood ashes can be had an exoellent fertilizer may t>e made by any farmer. Let him nurohase pure ground bone. Mix with its weight of ashes and saturate with water. ' The alkali In the aibes will take hold of the grease in th* bones, and the mix* ture will be a valuable one for any grain crop. When well dried with fine ground gypsum it can he drilled In With the seed. Farmora should experiment with all kinds of fertilizers within their reach Quite often ort some farms will bo found muok, that can be profitably drawn to land adjoining or on the near neighborhood. The quality of muck varies so widely that lack of success with it in any plaoe is no evi dence that other muok will fall else where. The best muck contains lime and phospliorlo add. The Drotxr'g Journal says that with all the dangers from disease, hog ralsing, though It requires mere labor, ? < mm ? i 'ti ?i i ij! i >??in ? am *? ? > i *?>? is redly the most profitable business which farmers cm engage lA "where pom is a sure crop, it is surprising, also, how many farmers there are who stem to wholly ignore the fact that any other food than dry oorn is suit able for swine when it Is within 4helr power to keep such sto?k half or two* thirds of the year on food not' nearly so expensive. In dipping sheep for scab it is abso lutely necessary to break np scabby crusts with sumething rough; a corn cob is the best thing, so as to cause the dip to Teach the burrows of the sea) mites in the dermis or nnder skin, which is below the epidermis, and in which ,the insect lives and de podts its eggs. MoreoVer, it is ts*loss to use a dip of a lower temperature than 102 degrees, and thpt is quite painful during a two or three minutes' exposure. But it must be done to de* struy tho scab insects and their eggs. Waldo F. Brown recommends to the readers of the Rural New Yorker that they should simply pulverize the sur face of land intended for oats instead of breaking it up with a plow. Its advantages aro a better seed bed, a heavier crop and more land seeded in the same time. All that is needed is to get three incbei of the surface fine and mello w, and this may be done with a Disk or Acme harrow, or if you haye neither of these, use either the double or single corn cultivator. If the land Is level sow tho oats flr<t, but if very uneven sow after cultivating. If cultivators are used to stir with use a good heavy harrow to cross harrow. In either case tinlsh up with a plank drag. | H??aeh*M Hint*. TCerostme will burn clearer If the burners aro boiled for flveihlnutes two or three timc3 a year in wood ashe? and water. If the wall about the stove has been smoked by the stove, cover the black patches with gum shellac and they will not strike through either paint or calcimine. One way to clean the inside of pots and pans is to fill them with water in which a few ounces of washing soda is dissolved, and set> them on tne fire. Let the water tx>il until the Inside of the pot lookq clean. > Do not tli row away woolen stock ings, o>en if the feet are entirely worn out, or are so thin as to warrant no more wearing ; the legs make the best kind of stockings for a child two years old. Cut a pattern from a little " bough ten " pair, and make with small, soft seams. If the carpet in your sitting-room is becoming thin, and you think it will last but a uhort time longar, buy the new carpet now, if possible, and let the ol l one rest through the sujntner. Have it thoroughly cleaned, aired and sunned, and then fay it away. A car pet treated in this Way will bear the wear of several winters, whereas, if kept down the whole year, it will not last more than one. A Sunday Street Soene in New York. A tall, stout man, with beetling brows, keen black eyes, and mutton chop whiskers white to snow, walked into the open space in front of the Roosevelt street ferry-house at 2 o'clock of a Sunday afternoon. He was in fashionable dross, with a shining new silk hat and kid glove.*. Following him were roughly dressed men bearing a bench, a hu?e bread b.isket, and an immense red can with a brass cover, which glitterod in the sun. A crowd of men gathered quickly about the group. Many were dirty and nearly all were ragged. ' " Now forin Into line 1" thC stout man shouted ?vitti heavy voice, and awkwardly the m&U shuffled into an irregular body extending for some dis tance along the street. ** Why don't you mind me ?" the man shouted. " Don't you know what a line la ? Pace together in a line whilet I give you somethiug to eat. " The line waj formed and a basket ful of cups and saucers wan produced and set out upon the bench. Then two men were selected to All the eupa with hot coffee from the can And aerve it along the line. The atoi^t man lllled hla arms with bredd^ and, advancing, .offered ft half loaf to each man. All took a piece, and many gnawed It eager* ly as if they were hungry. Policemen kept the increaVng crowd in order. A throng of spectators gathered. A group of richly dressed young women preyed through the liue. and: gazed with ourloua eyCs on the mail' who stood with ojffee and bread in their hands. The atout men regarded them ailently for a moment and shrugged hjs shoulders. f ; "Give those ladies some bread and coffee," he said. I The young women turned ;soarlet and walked rapidly away. When the can was empty and the last piece of bread had disappeared thp stout man said : ' ? ' j* '?Now, that is alii Next Sunday, at 2 o'clock, we shall have hot ooqee and a double supply of first-class, sand* wiehes. There will be aOme talking afterward. Physloal bread ana* the bread of life all at Once." ? - The speaker was pt. ,T. W. Kenniou of Christ's Cleft mission, Brooklyn. 44 This is the opening day of our eighth year," he skid to a' repoiter. * We j now have nine stations In New York and 8ychar mission in Brooklyn. We have dufcditt' (fovicM similar to thase on pleasant Sundays during the summer at Catherine ferry ftnd at Five Points, and 1 preach every even ing in the week. 1 aim to reach men's hearts by oomblttlng eleemosynary, temporal, sanitary artd cleansing efforts With the preaching, of the gospel in the highways and hedges. 1 found . situa tions last year for 817 of these idlers and tramps. An Organ and ii oholr will assist us at our meetings during the summer," > Lord DUfferln thinks he oan keep the peaoe in Egypt with 6,147 soldiers and 5,650 gendarmes, Officered with a sprinkling of Europeans, at a cost of. $2,500,000; porvlded it Is olearly un derstood England will interfere upon a row arising with her fleet and baiter down a city or two, Job never slopped over, font he boiled over once, FOB THE FAIR SEX Pr???wU? *r .Marri?c?. You will find no end of curious things written about the marriage pro posals, says a writer, if you search for that purpoe >. for instance, that ec centric classical character, who goes into the kitchen of a neighbor some morning and, find ng the object of hU regard at the wa-ihuib, propose) blunt ly then and there. Ins e.ui of empty ing its contents upon him f-hu as bluntly accepts his proposal. There is the bashful suppliant who turns down some lv-af about a passage ? usually a i sacred one ? which tells his Btory for him, and the answer iB returned in a similar fashion. There in the proposal at a ball or dinner by a Klip of paper sent at rois tho room or table, and there is the one in which tho reply is asked in the form of some specified and understood signal. In some book tha'. 1 have read, an English gentleman who had several eligible daughters won dered, after waiting soino years for some such event, why noon \ not even the prettiest, got a proposal. When he investigated the matter thoroughly lie found that the failure arose from an architectural blunder. The rooms of his hou^e were so connected togother by a series of open doors a id spacious mirrors that the question could not be put without exposing it to almost as much specularity as it would obtain on a public thoroughfare. It li quite common for very young ladies to say that their Urst Berio'us in terest in any younp gentleman is aroused by his previous interest in them? confessing, in other words, that they have no original feeling in the matter. They would not, probably, like to say, what amounts to about the same thing, that one gentleman is as likeable or as agreeable to them as an other, though tniy must constantly act as if it were so, until some particular gentleman breaks the spell and gives them permission, to say otherwise. But what if the right one should never break the spell, as often happens ? Or what, if neither the right one nor the wrong one doea, and no opportunity ever comes V As the system is now arranged this is not at all a rare cir cumstance, nor is the lady less worthy, necessarily, than her differently favored sisters. She may even be more worthy, but may have lived more quietly, or may be deficient simply in that peculiar art of fascination, which even silence cannot prevent from being powerful. One of the worst. featureo of this un mitigated silence which is imposed upon one sex alone is tho insincerity and hypocrisy which it not only incul cates, hut places a premium upon. Nothing irritates a woman so much as to have any ground given for a BUg Eestion that sne has gone a step out of er Way to secure a gentleman's inter est or attention. She would rather be won by a peasant than move the least bit aggressively to win a prince. Her natural feelings are smothered and suppressed, and she accepts the artifice which she must put on as if it were both reasonable and natural. FuUn Note*. Short mantles are revived. ' Plaids are again much worn. Laces come in all the new colors and shade*. The preferred gloves are in cool shades of gray and tan, chamois and buff. Yokes of children's dresses are square or round, high or deep, accord ing to fancy. Corn blue is a favorite color for new cashmeres, veilings, sateens, cambrics, eallcoea and silks. Silk skirts are ariaiged in wide plaits with a stripe of vilvet up each plait. These are very handsome in aoru silk with a wide stripe of mahog any or red-brown velvet, and a cash- 1 mere redlngote of the darker color. Grecian folds trim tho fronts of dress waists. They aro set in a cluster in the shoulder seams and are crossed on the bust. The closed waist inside the folds may be turned back and filled With tulle for dressy afternoon house toilets. It is quite the fashion for New York ladies who have a fancy for doing their own dressmaking to go to a fashionable dressmaker, or, better still, to an "artist" wno undertakes the construction of " tailor-inade" dresses, and have what is termed a "permanent pattern " ? i. e., a bodice of thick linen out to the exact measure ment of the form and fitted perfectly. This bodice is then all taken apart, ready to serve as a pattern for all future corsages. The Farmer's /?gs ?" field. A few days ago, at his residence on the Benton road, some eighteen miles from this city, Mr? JohnPeck passed from mundane trials and tribulations. Mr. Peck was seventy-eight years old, and wan well-known as a gentle, frugal I old ftrlntr "Who enjoyed the unqualified respect and esteem of the neighborhood la which he had passed so many yeur * of usefulness. He was the father of seven sons and daughters, all of whotn haV? grown to the estate of mfch and womanhood. Just before his death he call his youngest son to h's bedside, and, after some remarks of an advisory nature, stated that he had saved $1,000 in gold for each of his children, He attempted to tell the boy where he had concealed it, but before he was able to conclude his story the grim messen ger appeared and the spirit of the old genttamanpaaaed lojtaretrard. A search for the bidden treasure discovered two Jnrt with the n*eke knocked off, In which Mr. Peck had been accustomed to drop hte savings. One was concoalod In the smoke-house and the other in the stable. Together they were found to oootain some $8,600 in gold. Those Wfeo are acquainted with Mr. Peck are Attn In the conviction that the rest of the money he spoko of is hidden s<mu^ where about the premises, hut a very rigid search has failed to find it up to tnls writing. ? Paduoah (A>) New* The estimated expenses of the Uni ted States government, for 1884 are plaoed at $840,280,162 The amount of lmpVrt duties is estimated at $285,000, 000, and el Internal revenue $145,000, m. Deserled Oil Towup. Barbette, the Hawkey* humorist, thus graphically describe? a deserted Pennsylvania oil town: Hut if there is a picture of de3olation, it is an oil town that has been left; that has gono off by itself and died. The dis mantled derricks stand about like so many tombstones. The deflated houses, with tlv-ir shattered windows, look as though the crowd, flying away to new oil tields, hn-J cruelly put out the eyes of the old town lest it should follow. The doors hang in crippled fushun on paralyr.d hinges; ihey have forgotten, their old hospitality of the" 'flush times;" thero is neither welcome nor rejection in their half open attitude, but they lojk as though they stood ajar to save the gheBts the trouble of hunting for tho keyhole. The dismal creak of the walking-beam is succeeded by a quiet infinitely more disma*. Tho merry scng of the rigger has ceased, and the voice of tne nomadic sluggler mingles no longer with the deflant shout of the rustler. The gin-mill has passed away anil no longer runs even on a single shift. Tho chimneys topj le over and wear the dishearten* d i>/ok of a hat out of sea son. Even the tramps shun tho town, and there is the gener.il look of a linen duster in December about the settle ment. Usually one or two of tho poorest houses aro inhabited by de jected families, who so.'m to wonder what they aro staying there for. 1 have often wondered why tho few people who remain in tho deserted oil town did not move in tho best houses, but they never do. They are usually people who are too dolefully poor to follow tho crowd to the new oil fields, and when they stay behind they re main in their own houses. They take the fences and tho shutters and porches and floors from the property of their absent wealthier ne ghbors for fire wood, but it never seems to occur to them to movo into tho mansions and barn up their own hovels. I don't know what they do for a living. I often wonder that they don't start a saloon. That flourishes where any other business fails. And it requires so little furniture; just a picture of George Washington and a half bushel of sawdust. A Colored Man's Paradise. Captain Dow, of tho wrecked Eng lish steamship Athos tells an interesting story. The Athos sailed from New Y ork for Kingston, Jamaica. Her cargo was worth f-OJ.OO^, and was of a miscel laneous character. Sho had reached the Bahama banks in safety, but ran ashore off the Great Inagua island, one of the Bahamas, She was blown high on the beach, and the crew es caped with difficulty to the Jand. Here they found a veritable negro paradise. The island Is lit* rally overrun with negroe-". They are the lords of the land, Bkilled in trade and not unac quainted with rude arts. Only a few white people live on the island, and they are but the agents of English merchants. The exports from this cu rious island aggregate four vessel loads of salt a yea", and the imports consist of tho four cargoes of merchandise brought in exchango for the salt. The ship's cargo of silks, fine linen, broad ( ljths, brandy, champagne* and provi sions had been thrown ovorb tard when the vessel ran ashore, and washed along the beach for tniles. It was gathered up by the natives, and a grand dress carnival and high debauch were inaugurated. In a few days the island was a scene of wild dissipation. Random Shots. In one of the many actions in which our troops were engaged under Well ington during the Peninsular war, an odicer had ono of the large muscles of his neok which support the head severed by a Frenchman's bullet. The wound soon healed and tho Injured of ficer sufferedfrom It little inconvenience beyond that of having to carry his head rather drooping to the one Bide. At the I battlo of Waterloo this officer was also present and was again wounded in the neok by a bullet, which, strango to say, out through the opposlto inusclo of his neck supporting his head, and thus the second rectified the mischief done by the first bullet, and, as a mat tor of fact, the officer's hoad was set straight upon his shouldors. When writing, the above story Captain Kin caid was apparently fully aware of its improbable hature, and in justice to himself adds : ?? I would not have dared to repeat this story were not the wounded officer alivo at tho timeof my writing and ready to corroborate tho same." Captain Kincaid then pro ceeds to givo the officer's name, to gether with that of his residence, both of which I at present forget, but which are to bo found in "Itandom Shots." ? Chamber #' Jourwif, Mixed. A new brick building is bfling erected on Main stroet, and recently a doublod-eyod, banged-hairod woman with a basket of eggs on one arm and a can of butter in her hand, stopped bo fore the boss of construction and said : " Want to buy any eggs ?" " Yon will have to give her about three ten pennies more," said the boas, directing a workman. " Give me some tenpennios ?" aaked the woman, setting down her butter. ??Hay, Jim, dome around hore with your hx and hit her in tho head." "Oh, you're going to havo me hit in tho head," said tho woman, putting down her eggs. "Well, when you want me hit in the head, Just you com meno a-hittin'. I *m ? " " Hoist her up ; hoist her up. Hurry up, she'll burst in two," yelled the bos*, as a Inrge timber commenoed splitting. The boss, now the affair Is over and his nerves in a healthful state, says he knows It was tho old woman who hit him, but at the time He thought the building had oaved in, and for tho salary of a senator ho wouldn't undertake to again convince that woman he was talking to the workmen Instead of her. ? Halt Lakt Tribune. '? Worth her weight In gold " Is not the tnoet complimentary thing that can be said alnrnt a woman, aa she would have to weigh 400 pounds to bring her value up to $100,0)0. AN OLD COUNTRY CHURCH. I atop to rwl in the grass-grown y? rd, I To gather the aatamn blooms, i And lazily dream on tho velvet Wward That mantles the sunken tombs. The raspberry briars obscure the word* Affection has carved on the atone; With ripening blossoms and bees and birds Forgotten they sleep alone. And all of tho men who wore this path l Or the threshold of yonder door. To hear of a Father's k>ve or wrath. At* found on the eArth no more: And spiders lazily spin their threads Scsuro from intruding feet. While autumn its leaves o'er ths pulpit spreads And tho list'nor's sunken seat. I close my eyes and I seem to hear Some sacred old hvmn arise, Or the pastor inviting, in acoonts clear. To "mansions above tho skies;" Or I hear the boirors, with reverent tread, Their obargo to tho chancel bear, And the murmurous sigh for the honored dead Floats out on tho autumn air. ' Then tho call of the robin di*i>els my drei\mv, ' 80 rising with bated bre:ith, I mark where tho sun through the casement gleams | As life in tho mitM of do.tth. "Heoaroth for sparrow*;" I think Thee, Lor J, For a temple not mado with hands, I And a lovo tha' unto tho leist affords I A gift from Thy outstretched hands, i ?.4. T. H'ordm. HUMOROUS. A bilious iaUividu.il ? The collector. Never put ofT till to-morrow what you can wear Jo-day. liens may be a little backward on eggs; but they never fail to come to tho scratch where (lower beds are con cerned. ? Picayun". Thero is a young fellow in our neighborhood who has Ikjcu making a daily practice of attempting to sing, " Lot mo like a soldier die." lie seems to crave death, and they do say that one of th ? neighbors who has ?? musket is preparing to accomnvHlato him. ? Saturday Niyht, A medical authority states that the skin of tho human body contains 7.000.000 pores. Hero is something to poro over. It is a littlo remarkable that the skin should contain an even 7, 000,003, but perhaps the medical man missed a few when he counted them. A recount shoukl bo made. ? Norrit town Herald. To be depended en: "Speaking of Charlie," said Frank, "there is one thing abjut him I like ; when he says a thing you can always depend upon him." "l thought," ventured Thomas. " thttf f'.harlio was not niirHrnlarly no ted for truthfulness. "Thatsjusi It," replied Frank ; " wUtn ho says a thing you know he's lying and, there fore, know just what to depend upon." ? Boston Transcript. "A tire 1 beo," says Bir John Lub bock, "hums on E, and therefore vi brates its wings only 380 times In a second." A brisk little bee humming on A w.ll, on tho other hand, incr&we its vibration to 440 por second. A right lively horn jt, when hois running his wings and hi# business end at the same time, pfobably gets in his work at the rate of about a million per sec ond. ? Troy Times. A very enjoyable concert was given In a small Faster n town. Among the performers wa* a popular tenor singer, who was announced by the programme as prepared to perform, among other selections, an "Aria, 'Sound the Alarm,' by ilandol." This ho sang with strong effect, and was horrified the next day to perceive in the local paper the statement that ho had "sung, with great taste and expression, a fine song by Handel, entitled, 'Maria, Bound the Alarm.' " maid or Athens. Maid of Athens, wo must part, I hear your father ? I mast start ; Ho'b broken of his midnight reet ; Descretion on my part in best: I'd better git. Maid of Athena, ere I go, Kins me onoe, for lnok, yon know : Your father's foot ia on the stair? None but tho brave doserve the fair? The gas ain't lit. Maid of Athena, juat onee more ? Littlo ships must hug the shore ; Hark ! the dog has broke his ohain, Zounds ! I'm in hard luok again? Great Boot I I'm bit ? . ? . "? A Fromature Decision. Tho suporior court was in seesion i in ono of tho lowor oountios of the circuit, and tho solicitor, with the counsel for tho defense, wore engaged in tho soloctlon of a Jury for the trial of a man chargod with murder. As usual in such cases some difficulty wa? experloncod, and tho court was gett ing tirodof tho tedious proceedings. "Call tho next Juror, Mr. Clerk," said the solicitor, for tho hundredth time. Tho olerk callod, and an old man, -? with an honest face and a suit of blue jean clothes, roso in his place, and the solicitor asked tho following customary questions: " Have you, from having seen the crime committed, or having heard any of tho evldemo delivered under oath, formed or expressed an opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the prisoner at the bar ?" " No, sir." " Is thero any bias or prejudice reek ing on your mind for or against the prisoner at tho bar ?" " None, sir," "Is your mind perfectly impartial I between the Htato and tho accusod ?" " It is." " Are you opposed to capital punlsln mont?" " I'm not." All tho questions had been answered, and the court was congratulating ' itself on having another juror, and the solicitor, in solemn toues, said: I "Juror, look upon the prisoner; prisoner, look upoA the juror. | Tho old man adjusted his spec | tacles, and peeringly ga/od at the ' prisoner for full half a minute, when j he turned his eyes toward the court | and earnestly said: ! "Judge, I'll be condemned If 1 j don't believe he's guilty 1" I It is useless to add that the court. [ was considerably exasperated at having lost a juror, but the moro humorously inclined had a good laugh out of the old man's premature candor. - (On.) ftoirth.