POBT :RO"5T-AJLi
Standard and Commercial.
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VOL. IV. NO. 34. . BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 27, 1876. A $2.00 per Aoiul Mi Copy 5 Cents.
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The Difference.
The flowers we loet will all return ;
Though deed end buried long ago.
Beneath the winter's ioe and snow,
They greet again the sun's bright face,
Evjh in its own appointed place,
And through the summer blocra and born.
The dead and loet will surely rise;
Though buried deep beneath the clay,
Through years and years they waste away,
Yet in a brighter, better land,
We hope to take them by the hand,
And find them glorious in our eyes.
* The flowers will oome again, we know,
For touch, and taste, and sight, and smell,
The truth of resurrection tell.
Last season brought them back again,
And other seasons will, and then
We do not grieve because they go.
We do not knew the dead will live.
Tht>v never greet oar mortal sight,
Beyond the dark we see no light,
And we have naught to check our grief,
Exoept a shadow called belief,
And such a sense as hops can give.
NO ONE TO LOVE.
Theife liad been a summer shower;
roof, window, garden, were washed to
dazzling polish, and the wonderful
liquid couleur de rose of the moment
poured over all an air of enchantment.
The slender young woman in deep
mourning whom the stalwart proprietor
of the vehicle lifted down like a feather
accepted her dreaded destination with a
smile.
" How lovely !" were the first words
that escaped her lips; and th^y were
appropriated as a fitting compliment by
a rasliiy clad man, who seized the little
gloved hand vigorously in his horny
palm, and "hoped he saw Miss Thatcher
quite well."
" Supper's bin ready this half hour,"
was the laconic and not amiable ralutation
of Mr. Seaman's spouse, who received
Louisa in the poroh.
" Au' the boys is gone fishiu', yon
see," said the host 44 When Solon's to
hum from grammar school, Ezri's sure
to jine him, on' take a day oil"
After tea, served in a narrow, whitewashed
auteroom to the stiff, funereal
parlor, where Miss Thatcher was bid
44 take off her things," the young lady
begged to be shown to her own room,
and was led up stairs to a low-windowed
bedroom, carpeted with braided rags,
and furnished with reddened pine and
calico counterpanes. The luggage had
been pushed in with a mental ejaculation:
44 What on earth can a dietrio'
Bchoolma'am want with two big trunks?"
aud the audible information: 44 I've
tilled your pitcher. Here's a candle.
The ?it-up bell '11 riDg at six."
With as slight preparation as might,
lie, the overweared girl?homesick to
her heart's core?crept into bed.
She awoke with a start. The room
was (mite dark: a cool, damp monn ain
wind rushed through the open windows
She lighted a match and glanced at her
watch. Only nine o'clock, and the
world still wide awake. A burst of
hilarious laughter aroee from the kitchen
below, where the returned fishermen
w. re scaling their fish. From the house
beyond the orchard came the tinkling of
a piano, and a thin, sharp female voice
practiced gingerly a song just then come
into vogue:
" No one to love, none to ctreee,
Traveling alone through life's wilderness."
"My serenade," thought Louise, as
she tried in vain to recompose herself to
sleep. '' Could any words express me
better ? An orphan, without brother or
sister, penniless, nearly friendless, the
one being that I loved and adored gone
from me forever. ' No one to love, none
to caress.' Could anything be truer of
me than that ?"
W " ? ? *
The village schoolchildren were enchanted
with their new teacher. She
was gentle and firm, interesting and
companionable. There was not a sunny
day all summer when some of them did
not come after school to take her with
them to Bed Cedar pond, the holiday
rendezvous of the country round.
If the afternoon proved rainy, and
this juvenile escort failed, Miss Thatcher,
wrapping herself in waterproof, and
taking a book with her, would go down
the orchard's steep bank to the old mill.
She made friends with Tim, the miller's
boy, and Bill Bowles, the miller, and
"the old deacon," the prehistoric proprietor
of the premises, who had not
jailed a day these fifty years to look in,
rain or shine, to see " if things was to
rights."
She found a love of a oorner where,
through the cracks under the great
beams, she could see the water wildly
rushing, and where she could hear, in
its grand excitement, the grind and
whirl, the boom and splash, of the mad
Hood who' e sound np on the hill yonder
assumed such a drowsy monotone.
" Yon be so fond of readin', miss,"
said Tim, the miller's boy, "mebbe
you'd take a shine to a curus book we've
?. got 'ere. There wus a time when all the
visitors to Bed Cedar pond cum down
*?!"> o IaaV of if Wnf if.'s fn-nnm mat.v
W KrtUU ? IVVU wv
like. A hand writ book, miss?a manscrip
sum folks calls it. It b'longs, you
might say, to Bowles' mill, for it wus
left with * the old deacon,'to be kept
till called fur, an' wus writ by the curusest
spesmin of a human cretur; but he
died afore my time. I'm a stranger in
these parts. I wus reared twelve miles
back."
" And no one has called for the
book ?"
" Not yit," said Tim, mysteriously?
"not yit. Folks is too sup'stitious.
There be sum who say it never will be
called fur till the old deacon' lies aside
o' the cretur who writ it. He died suddiu,
an' wus buri'd up in the deacon's
buri'l lot. An' sum say he wusn't
buri'd, but is gone a sea v'yage, ail' '11
come back ; an' sum say he's been seed
round Bowles' mill moonlight nights.
But you needn't be scared, miss. The
book is nat'ral harmless. An' if you
say so, I'll git it fur you this minit, au'
. when you're through readin' on't, I'll
^ put it back."
L
Up to the rafters he climbed nimbly
by certain footholds not very visible,
and brought down, with a flying leap
that startled Miss Thatcher to her feet
in nervous apprehension for his safety,
a dusty volume, which he gallantly
wiped upon his coat sleeve and offered.
An autobiography, not so very old,
for its closing date was 1847. Four hundred
]>ages of yellow letter paper
stitehod together by the dozen sheets,
and finally bound in a wrap of black
leather, Written in a fine, pointed
hand, difficult to read at first, but once
mastered in its idiosyncrasies, legible at
ease. And having this peculiarity : on
almost every page, mixed in the text,
were maps carefully drawn and dotted,
inclosed in neatly ruled parallelograms,
but without any figures or marginal
references to show connection with the
writing.
" I am one of two brothers," the narra
tive commenced, "in all points as unlike,
from the moment of birth, as Jacob
and Esau."
Then followed, interspersed with the
incomprehensible maps, a brief history
of an unhappy childhood, unloved as
childhood could be, an adolesoence
utterly unblessed and dissatisfied ; and
after a page of atheistical triade against
the inequality of fortune and the bitter
tyranny of fate, the personal history developed
into a descriptive diary of
travels and business connections in
South America, whither the writer had
immigrated in his twenty-sixth year.
So far, and little further, the manuscript
bore marks of having been read ;
pages were dog-eared, and there was an
oocasioaal thumb print. i3Ui ine siyje
was so dull and monotonous, and the
detail to lacking in adventure, that not
one of "the visitors at Red Cedar pond"
had been inspired with sufficient curiosity
to read the volume to its close.
Not one?exoept Miss Thatcher. Sho
read every page carefully, even with
avidity.
One Saturday morning?a beautiful
sunny morning, for rainy days oould no
longer be waited for, the interest of the
diary had become eo absorbing?Miss
Thatcher was early in her favorite place
at the old mill, when Tim, with a surprisingly
lopg face, accosted her in a
startling whisper:
"The manscrip's bin called fur."
Miss Thatcher turned quite pale. "Js
it gone)" Bhe asked, faintly.
"No, miss, not gone," said Tim, radiantly,
well satisfied with "the start"
he had given her ; "n*.t tuk away when
you was a-read'n* on't. Catch me! Says
I: 'Sir, you must bring a written or
der.' So he went up the hill to the old
deacon's?that was yesterday. He'll be
here fur certain to-day. But you've
got the mannscrip, miss, to look at once
agin, anyhow. Catch mo a-givin' on't
up till I had ter."
" Tim, yuu are a very good, kind fellow,"
said Miss Thatcher.
She took the manuscript, and it was
iliof ahn rr>rv/t a xcnrrl- nhc.
IOJLU Viiai) MV4V1V VUV *, W.v, M .. V- -mm J
wrote in fine pencil mark upcn the margin
of one of the sallow pages?a page she
turned over leaf after leaf especially to
field :
"No one to lore, none to caress."
Hardly had she written this when the
sound of a crutch was heard on the mill
bridge, and voices, and in another moment
the sunny doorway of the mill was
darkened by two figures.
There was no escape for Louisa. Sho
arose from her love of a corner, with the
manuscript in her hands.
"I am sure you have como for this,"
she said to the old deacon. Then she
glanced at his companion. She caught
the impression in her rapid glance of a
scholarly looking young man, with a pale
forehead and a dark mustache, who wore
eyeglasses.
411 believe I am the owner of the
record left here so many years ago," the
young man explained. 44 But I have no
reason to carry it away at this moment.
I shall be in the village over the Sabbath,
perhaps through the week. If
you have not finished reading it, I shall
leave the book with yon gladly."
" Oh, no," said Miss Thatcher, quickly
?too quickly she afterward thought;
but embarrassment, or perhaps fate,
urged her to decline the strangers'
politeness.
She was going, and as sho went an uncontrollable
impulse caused her to turn
back and say : 48 If you are kindred to
the man who wrote the book, 'twill make
you very sad. I hope?I hope you will
feel a little love for him."
* * * * ** ? *
At church on Sunday the claimant of
the Bowies' mill manuscript appeared in
a conspicuous pew, and Louisa Thatcher
felt, OVfen when he was not looking at
her. that his thoughts were studying
her through and through.
On Monday morning, as she trudged
along the highroad to the schoolhouse,
she met him, and he evidently expected
a recognition; but intent upon the necessity
of absolute dignity in a "district
school-na'am," she vouchsafed him
none.
"She blushed, though," the young
man reflected, consolingly. That evening
he called at Mr. Seaman's with one
of the village dignitaries, but the desire
of his eyes was "upstairs correcting
comr jsitions," and he did not gain a
gl? apse of her.
At noon the next day the mother of
flaxen-haired Nettie, pet of the baby
class, came with Nettie's luncheon, accompanied
by the indefatigable young
man, who was then formally presented
to Miss Thatcher.
From that time they met daily on the
wav to school and the way from school,
walking slowly along the highroad and
the pretty wood path that closed it, and
giving each other gradually, with all the
trustful facility of youth and irresistible
attraction, the confidential histories of
their young lifetimes. At evening ho
came to see her.
One evening the young oouple were
a>tting in Mr. Seaman's parlor by the
dim lamp, dignified by the mercenary
genius of Mrs. Seamen into " an extra,"
looking together over the mill manuscript.
"I find it so dull," said Leonard
Mansfield. " Were it not for one consideration
and one conviction, I should
never be able to finish. The consideration
is for your sake, because you like it,
Louisa; the conviction was the foundation
of my coming to claim the record.
Wheu my uncle's will was read seven
years ago, one clause struck my imagination.
"' If any of my heirs feel sufficiently
interested in me to inquire into my personal
history, they will find my diary iu
the old mill where it was written, at Red
Cedar pond. Personal application to
be made to Deacon Treat or Squire
Wells.' The heirs noted this direction
with indifference.
" My share of the legacies took me
through college?as my father, one of
the dearost and noblest of men, but
never fortunate in money making, could
not afford?and furnished me with a
small capital to commence law practice.
I had more than one compunctious
thought about my benefactor. It seemed
to me a shame to accept such benefits
from a man in whom I had not even
sufficient interest to acquaint myself
with his personal history. This year,
when I became for the first time encouragingly
established in my profession,
I determined to commence my
vacation by looking up the neglected
diary. I confess I do not find myself inspired
by its revelation. What did you
find, deavLouisa, to kindle you into the
request that has haunted mo: 'I hope you
will love him a little,' "
" I found worlds in it," said Miss
Thatcher, sighing so sorrowfully, as she
had not done since she had entered her
new world of love and loving.
" Worlds of what, my dearest ?"
asked the light hearted young lawyer.
He was clasping her hand in one of his
as he spoke, and with the other he
turned absently the leaves of the timestained
book that lay on the table. A
lif.ilA hi*, nf hnnHwritincr that he knew
struck his vision; it was the line on the
margin:
"No one to love, none to c&reee.''
Miss Thatcher saw it too. " Yes, I
know," she said, softly. " I wrote it
there. I could not help it. 'Twas the
tribute of my sympathy."
He turned to her very earnestly.
Something in the tremulous sensitiveness
of her face smotef his heart painfully.
Tears started to his eyes. He
folded his strong arm around her with
a sense of infinite tenderness.
" Let me tell you," she said, disengaging
herself from his embraces,
" what a strange thing I found, or
thought I found, in that diary. First
of all, you know, I was drawn singularly
into rapport with the writer by
my own sad loneliuess. I felt the depth
of meaning in his complaint. Yes," she
said, trembling, " I must confess, and
I do repent, even in his complaint
against Heaven. Alone in the world.
Sometimes that happens."
And here let it be explained to the
reader that by an accident in the cradle
the writer of the diary had been made
physically repellant, and his sensitive
soul exaggerated bis misfortune into a
barrier between himself and the loving
sympathies of all jpankind. As for womankind,
he knew not?for his mother
died at his birth?even its maternal tenderness.
" Leonard, dear," Miss Thatcher went
on, "you will think me, perhaps, the
most supei^jdpus being ; but 1 think
?and the icP^T has gathered some reasonable
pleas?I cannot help thinking
that this book vis framed as a mode of
bequest. I believe the writer, your
father's brother, stung with the bitter
thought that his hard earned fortune
would be spent by those who never
knew or cared for him, devised a method
by which a part at least should be
the reward of affectionate gratitude."
She explained to him then her theory of
the maps, and her instinctive construction
of one particular map which she
had studied at the very last reading in
the old mill.
Leonard Mansfield's cheek flushed as
he listened. At the close he said: "Your
reasoning is sufficiently plausible to deserve
to be tested, and so it shall be.
But first promise me one thing ; promise
me that if this mi' acle of intuition
proves true, you will be my wife to-morrow.
My darling, you shall not say
* No.'" He prevented her, indeed, in a
lover-like way from saying anything.
And silence is " yes " to love.
+ * * *
The last day of August the whole village
was thrown into a torment of excited
curiosity. The excitement began
in one of the twin houses on the " Meeting
house hill" at five o'clock in the
morning. Miss Tabitha Butts stood in
her nightdress peoping through the
blinds of a dormer window. She never
could tell, as she declared afterward,
what made her peep.
She saw the back door of " Dick Seaman's
" open, and Louisa Thatcher look
mysteriously out Then she saw Tim,
the miller'8 boy, creep stealthily arourd
the porch with a pickax and a spade,
which he gave to Miss Thatcher, who
disappeared with them into the house.
Then Tim, stealing back again as far as
the lilac bushes, and cautiously surveying
all approaches, put his hand over
his mouth and gave a low whistle. Immediately
from the horse shed by the
church a man came very quickly, and,
nodding to Tim as he passed, hastened
to the highroad. Miss Tabitha was
sure, although his cap was drawn over
his face, that this man was the ycung
stranger to the village who had bet n so
infatuated with Miss Thatcher.
Then Miss Thatcher came to the door
again and beckoned to Tim, and whispered;
and he went, around by way of
the church, down the plum orchard, to
the mill.
A pickax and a spade! Miss Tabitha
had cold shivers; she could think of
nothing but a grave. When, two hours
afterward, the coast being clear, she
sped across the garden patch to the
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"meecin nouse ttueu, uei ituiuj iwok
none of jts horrors, for there, in the
northeast corner, was a space of fresh
turned mold.
Miss Tabitha went home, put on her
sunbonnet, and was "down to the village
in no time."
The next excitement was at the somnolent
dwelling of old Squire Wells.
Mr. Mansfield had been closeted with
him an hour. And when the squire reappeared
he nearly upset his ancient
wife in the hallway in haste to get his
hat and coat, and choked till he was
scarlet, screaming into her wrong oar
that he was going to U. "on bizuiss 1"
Off he went at such a novel paoe that
f-e poor dame's feeble faculties aroused
tuemselves to concentrate upon one fatal
I remembrance: "When an old horse
that has allers walked takes to rnnnin'
away, there's no ind o* damage."
Excitement third was a sealed letter
dropped by Mr. Seaman's Ezif into the
post-office at ten o'clock, the hour of
general delivery, directed to the trustees
of the district school, which body, be- J
ing in quorum on the spot, opened at
once the resignation of Miss Thatcher in
favor of the highly recommended candidate
for the winter term, to whom they '
had kindly given her the preference. 1
Excitement fourth attacked flaxen 1
haired Nettie's mother, apleaeantfaced !
little widow, to whom Tim, who had
ridden to U. and back again at break- 1
neck speed, brought a note from the J
' minister of U., saying he would sup 1
j with her that evening, "if agreeable,"
! as he was coming to Red Cedar Pond '
"in virtue of his office," a sentence J
underlined like a pleasantry, that so upset
the good widow's brain as to spoil
the count of her one-two-three-fonr cake. "
Last of all, and the grand excitement 1
of the day, was the ringing, at four
o'clock in the afternoon, of the meet- j
ing house bell. "Who is dead ?" every .
one asked, as the first few slow strokes j
were counted; but once fairly set going, '
the old bell tripped up all caloula- '
tions: fifty, eighty, a hundred ; still on; !
quickly, jubilantly?ringing not for the dead,
but for the living ; ringing foi a '
wedding 1 !
Such as campering as there was up the 3
Mill bridge road! There was_no lack of '
witnesses to the simple, solemn servioe, 1
and of the coming down the aisle, on (
the arm of her proud young husband, of '
a delicate little bride, with mourning 1
laid aside for purest white, and day f
lilies on her bosom.
Not married in haste to repent at 1
leisure were the two loving people who j
took the evening train at U. for a '
far commercial city, preceded by their 1
good fortune in snapo 01 a buruug uua .
filled with Spanish doubloons and English J
banknotes ingeniously bequeathed by :
an eccentric misanthrope, and discovered '
in its biding place by a woman's wit, ]
kindled by a woman's sympathy.
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A Living Chain. <
i
The Sonoma Democrat is responsible <
for the following story: A special dance i
was in progress at Brunsen's ranch, i
Green Springs, in the lower end of the t
county, and after the dancing had got 1
well under way two young men, named \
Tom Adams and Joe Russian, stepped
out, intending to visit a neighboring
house for the purpose of procuring
cigars for a social smoke together. The
night was Unusually dark?absolutely *
nothing being discernible a foot distant. '
Consequently the two men proceeded J
slowly, trusting to their knowledge of j
the locality to carry them to the direc- '
tion they wished to take.
Suddenly, and without the least warn- 1
ing whatever, their feet slipped from *
under them, and the next instant they 1
felt themselves plunged downward, neck 1
deep in slum and water. They had fall- (
en into an old shaft, dropping at least 1
forty feet from the edge. Fortunately 1
both fell on their feet, and the mud in (
the bottom prevented their being bruised 1
in the fall. A new danger, however, im- 1
mediately presented itself, namely: in (
the quicksand. Both made desperato f
efforts to keep their heads above the 1
water, but in doing so nearly suffocated 1
from immersion.
Adams at last caught hold of a projec- j1
tion on the side of the shaft, and al- ; *
though possessing but one arm, sue- '
ceoded in holding on until Russian !}
climbed over him and reached the mouth
of the shaft. Russian then called for '
help, and the party at Brunsen's was 1
soon on the spot. No ropes were pro- J
curable, and something had to be done '
immediately to save Adams from death \
in the bottom of the pit. 1
Men think very rapidly in cases of im 1
mediate danger, and one of the crowd i'
around the top of the shaft proposed \(
that the most muscular form them into 1
a chain, and drop into the shaft. This !
was acted upon at once. The heaviest 1
man was held by one arm by several f
men at the mouth of the shaft, and a 1
second man sliding into the shaft, cling- <
ing to his waist. A third man did likewise,
grasping the second man's waist, '
and each successive link in the human 1
chain did likewise until the bottom was 1
reached, and Adams dragged irom ms
awful predicament. Through the mu- 1
tual assistance of Adams himself and his '
friends he managed to leach the top *
completely exhausted, as were his brave 1
rescuers.
It was indeed a narrow escape for both
young men from a horrible death, and a
ere iitable action on the part of those
who undertook in this novel and danger- j
ous manner to rescue Adams. : j
Lemons and Sugar.
Congressman Williams, of Indiana, j <
chairman of the committee on accounts,
in his first speech in the United States j
House said : 44 Let me read some of <
the items from the account for articles
furnished to the House of Represents- | j
tives: _ .
44 Four and seven-eighths gallons alco- i
hoi, and package for same, $13.19. |
44 One cask of sal soda, $26.29.
4 4 Fifty pounds tea, $87.50 ; two hun- j(
Tired and twenty pounds granulated |
sugar, $25.30. |1
44 Two hundred and nineteen pounds ;1
powdered sugar, $25.19 ; six boxes of j1
lemons, $78.
44 Si* boxes lemons, $78; two hundred i ]
and five pounds sugar, $23.58." 11
41 Six boxes lemons, $75 ; two hundred j j
and thirty-two pounds sugar, $26.58.
The next is 44 one hundred fans [Mr. , ?
Williams here imitated the action of |
? tnr, nmiM rf.nQf 1anO>ht?r1
uaiug a iauj auuu g&vnv j . ^
" Two hundred and thirty-four pounds *
granulated sugar, $26.91. i
"'Two hundred and thirty pounds (
powdered sugar, $26.45; six boxes
lemons, $72.
" Six boxes lemons, $72 : one hundred
and ninety-eight pounds granulated ;
sugar, $22.77.
" Six boxes lemons, $72 ; two hundred ;
and five pounds granulated sugar, $23.58.
" Six boxes lemons, $72.
"Three boxes lemons, $36 ; one hundred
and ninety-nine pounds granulated
sugar, $22.88."
I The total is $1,293.08. I
Disease from Soap.
Soap is so universally used at the present
day that it seems almost impossible
to do without it. It may appear surprising
to leain that soap is not an unmixed
good, and that some of the worst
diseases have originated in, or at least
been carried about by, the too frequent
use of some kinds of the article. Manufacturers
care but little what ingredients
they employ so long as the article
they bring forth has the proper amount
of perfume or the requisite capability
of producing suds with little rubbing.
En this manner a vast amount of diseased
mimal matter, taken from beasts which
have died of putrescent maladies, is employed.
Soap fat is well known in the manufacture
of the soap, and owing to its
3ondition and the imperfect way in
svhich it is refined, it sometimes contains
most deadly poisons, which, by
friction upon the skin, are introduced
into the pores, gradually soak into the
olood and develop into some local affection
for which no cause can be assigned,
ryphoid fever has been often produced
in this manner, it is ascertained positively,
but the most common form in
which this soap poison has made itself
1C11 ID 111 Uig piUUUVViVAi V*
[t has hitherto been an inexplicable fact
;hat while doctors have been urging
great cleanliness to* avoid this disease, it
is precisely whero this has been most
jhown that the disease has made most
ravages. Boards of health have been
x>nstant in their efforts to prevent diphtheria
by nrging cleanliness, with a remit
that is already known by the constant
increase of death.
It has also been fennd that a large
proportion of the soaps now used are
nade from pntrid and filthy grease obtained
from tenement houses, jails, hospitals
and public institutions, and which
10 possible process can remove of their
impurities and render fit for human use.
The medical faculty of Paris and London
lave already sounded the keynote of
varning in this matter. Alarmed at the
ncrease of disease transmitted from impure
soaps, they have impressed on the
people the neceesity of only using soaps
pf tested purity. The annual mortality
pf children, which is now so great, is
dso attributed in large part to this iniiscriminate
use of soap. The sensitive
md tender skins of the little ones more
-eadily absorb the poison and disease
;ransmitted by the soaps referred to.
Wise legislation is needed on this mater.
_____
The Sea Otter.
The sea otter is found in greatest
ibundance at the Saanach island. The
'ootL is mostly clams, muscles and sea
irehins, which they manage to secure
py striking two shells together, held in
he fore paws. When broken they suck
put the contents. Crabs, fish, and the
ender fronds of sea weeds also form
heir food. Unlike the seal they are not
polygamous. Hunters say they are very
playful, and that they have seen them
pn their backs in the water and tossing
i piece of seaweed up in the air from
paw to paw, and apparently enjoying the
jport of catching it again before it fell
nto the water. The mothers sleep in the
vater on their backs, with their young
jlasped between their fore paws. If
nirprised, she clasps the pup in her arms
uid turns her back on the danger. They
ire extremely wary, and hunters when
" i M
;hey go to baanacn lsiana avoia muiuug
i fire or scattering refuse food. Their
sufferings, encamped for weeks on a
jarren island with no fire, and the thermometer
below zero, are very great.
The sea otters will take alarm from a
ire kindled four or five miles to windivard
of them, and Prof. Elliott says
;hatthe "footstepof man mustbewashed
oy many tides before its trace ceases to
ilarm the animal and drive it from landmg
there should it approach for that
purpose." One method of capturing
;hemis by "spearing surrouuds." This
jonsists in surrounding a sea otter with
i party of men in fifteen or twenty caioes.
One canoe darts towards the anmal,
which usually dives. The canoe
jtops over the point where he sunk,
vhile the others range themselves in a
jircle half a mile wide around him.
Within fifteen minutes or half an hour
le reappears, and the nearest canoe
noves rapidly toward him, which compels
him to dive again before ho can rejover
himself. This process being repeated,
often for two or three hours, the
tea otter at last suffers so much from inirrupted
respiration that he is filled
vith gasses and canm&sink.
Fashion Notes.
Hats, as a rule, are altogether larger.
The last thing in aprons?one pocket
n the center.
Solid colors, unbleached and white
stockings for ladies.
Cream shades find favor in wash
lresses, as in everything else.
Fringes are brought out in handsome
patterns and aro more popular than
jver.
According to Paris papers the Oxford
aced shoes in French kid aro worn in)/\Ava
nnrl ATtf.
IUU1 O tuiu vuv?
Very broad leather or velvet belts,
frith silver plated and nickel buckles,
jontinue to find favor.
The coolest possible dross for deep
nonrning is either barege or black
vorsted (not silk) grenadine, trimmed
frith crape.
It is better taste to wear perfectly
slain black silk for the first month after
eaving off crape, when lace will be appropriate.
The bright, gay parasols and sunshades
seen in Paris are no longer couIned
to red ones, but pink, green and
pellow figure conspicuously.
Shoei with the so-called Wurtemburg
aoels, cut in one piece with the sole,
ind wider and higher under the foot,
ire much worn just now in Paris.
The watch protecting pocket is another
lovelty, designed to protect the watch
from pickpockets. It is made of kid,
,ined with wash leather, and bound with
netal like a portemonnaie.
The newest dust cloaks are of silk and
ilpaca in the form of Ulsters. They
ire showerproof. Some have jelly-bag
hoods. Others are of the round form or
have capes forming sleeves.
True Love uut or rasnion.
The country never possessed so many
beautiful marriageable young women as
it docs at the present time. And why
do we not have more marriages ? We
answer, says the Albany Argus, because _i
marriago for love is the exception and
not the rule. The young people of this
age have gone fashion and money mad.
If the dandy bauk clerk who pays onehalf
of his inoome for board and the
other half for clothes cannot improve
his condition he will not marry. The i
shop girl who earns good wages and ,
cannot be distinguished by her dress
from the banker's daughter oertainly
will not plunge into matHiuony unless
she can better her condition in life. If
a man is fortunate enough to possess
money, it matters not how old or ugly
he may be, hundreds of intelligent,
handsome young women can be found
only too willing to become his wife.
Love is an after consideration. They
marry to be supported and dressed extravagantly.
How often do we hear the 1
remark* "Better to be an old man's 1
darling than a poor man's slave." Alas! |
too many of them are not satisfied to be
darlings. They will persist in loving j
other men after they are married. It
cannot be denied that a great number of J
unmarried men are adventurers looking
for wives who can keep them without 1
working for a living. The peace and '
contentment of a happy home are not 1
taken into consideration. They are
willing to suffer a hell upon earth if they
can be kept in idleness. If our young 1
people do not abandon this extravagance 1
of dress and greed for money our ooun- \
try will be filled with old bachelors and
old maids. We must have more genuine
courtships and marriages to have prosneritv
and hatminess in this world. Too i
c tf -jf r ? # ,
many marry for money, only to be disapSointed
and unhappy the rest of their !
ves.
The Discovery of Greenland. 1
Though Iceland was thus settled by f
the Vikings, and although these sea rovers
still followed their wave wandering |
life, we must believe that they were no
longer the "pyrates" of the mainland. (
One of these sailors was Gunnbiorn,
who, driven westward by a storm, soon ;
after the settlement of Iceland, fell upon !
the shores of Greenland, to which region ;
he gave the name of Gunnbiorn's rocks. \
He made his way home again, for the ,
strait between Greenland and Iceland is
not so wide bat one may see the shores j
of each, when midway between them, ,
of a clear day. Ht gave, like all dis- (
coverers, a very glowing account of his
new land, but none went thither until .
the next century.
In 985, Eric the Bed, who, like In|
golf, had been obliged to quit his own
country on account of his violence and J
crimes, went to the new land in the j
west. He established a home for him- j
self, and three years later, he was back ]
in Iceland with a wonderful tile. In (
the quaint language of the chronicle : j
44 In order to entice people to go to his ,
new country, he called it Greenland, j
and painted it as such an excellent place ,
tor pasture, wood and fish, that the next ,
year he was followed thither by twenty- <
five ships full of colonists, who had fur- j
nished themselves richly with household .
goods and cattle of all sorts ; but only (
fourteen of thtese ships arrived."- The
other eleven, we are left to surmise,
were wrecked on the way. ? &t. Nicholas
for July. 1
A Stubborn Suicide.
The London Court Circular says: 1
They are not very lively people in Suf- i
folk, but it appears that when one of 1
the natives contemplates suicide the 1
resolution is carried out in a very thor- :
ough manner. I read that at a small '
village the other day a tradesman's wife 1
got up in the night, and, having pro- 1
ceeded some distanoe from her house,
placed half a pound of gunpowder in a
circle aronnd. hef^jand set fire to it, but
it did not injure her. She then proceed- 1
ed to her shop, obtained a pound canis- I
ter of gunpowder, placed it in a bucket,
and held her head over it and set fire to 1
it. The result was that the outhouse
was blown to pieces, and the woman
frightfully burned about the face. She
next procured a shoemaker's knife, and
stabbed herself in the throat. Strange
to say this energetic female is still living;
but, as she is under medical care,
she need not give up all hopes of extinction,
for the doctor will probably
finish the work for her which she seems
to have oommenced so vigorously.
An Ifonest Convict
i
At Des Moines, Iowa, a few months 1
ago, in a moment of passion, a young (
man of upright character, named Morris
Spangler, killed a mate with whom he 1
had hitherto been on friendly terms. <
It was believed there were extenuating
circumstances which would prevent a
verdict against him, but he was oon- <
victed, and sentenced to the penitentiary
for two years. He asked leave of the
sheriff to visit his parents, who lived a
few miles from the city, promising to
return so as to go with the other prison- .
era on the day when they were to be ;
removed. The sheriff acoepted his
promise. He went home, and bade all
his friends and schoolmates farewell, ,
leaving with them various keepsakes,
gathered together his school books, and
returned promptly, and was conveved to
prison. He took his books, saying he ,
should make a man of himself while he '
was there.
A Child's Morning Prater.?Some i
one asks why there is not a morning '
prayer for children corresponding to the I
evening petition, " Now I lay mo down :
to sleep." The Now York World replies :
thit there is such a petition, and this I
is it:
" Now I wake and cee the light.
'Tin God has kept me all the night.
To Him I lift my voice and pray
That He will keep me all the day."
A clergyman was " tnrned down " at a ,
fashionable spelling bee for spelling J
dnmkonnesf with one n. Shortly after- ,
ward ho returned to his parish, and
found himself very coldly received by
his parishioners. He sent for the parish
clerk and asked him what was the cause.
"Well, sir." replied the man, "a re- i
port has come down here that you was
turned oat of a great lady's house in London
for drunkenness."
1111 liiuu; ->
Who weeps when lore, t cradled babe, in born?
Ilather we bring frankincense, myrrh and
gold.
While softest welcomes from oar lips are
rolled
To meet the dawning fragrance of a morn
Of obeekered being. Eren while the thorn
Keeps pace with rosy graces that anfold,
Do we with raptnre cry: " Behold, behold,
A Heaven dropped flower our garden to adorn!"
And jet, when from oar darling fall the years
As from the rose the shriveled petals rain,
And into newer life the soal again
Springs tbornlees to the air of purer spheres,
80 blinded are we by our bitter pain
We greet the sweeter birth with selfish tears.
?Catholic World.
A DRAGON IN COLORADO.
The 8 trance Story of a Traveler In the Great
American Desert.
A correspondent of the Denver News
Bays: I was traveling horseback along a
Btretch of country which, for a long distance,
merits the appellation of the
Qreat American desert. As far as the
eye conld reach not a living thing or object
created by the hand of man conld be
Been. On every side the horizon only
bounded the view, and not even where
the sky kissed the plain did aught bat
the scanty prairie grass, already burned
to brown under the rays of the fast summering
Sfln, lift itseli, dotted here and
there by innumerable cacti, from mother
earth. Save the quickly recovering
thud of my horse's hoofs as he loped
over the prairie, not a sound was to be
heard, and the stillness was profound.
Bat the silence and tho solitude were
not for long. As I was about to seek a
place to build a fire and bivouac for the
night, suddenly a long trailing form
Btarted from the earth, and a queer rum
* ? ?- ? AAwfl nviAn flia
bling cry was Dome w mj c?io U|A/U utv
western wind. Hardly had the sound
died upon the air when an intense trembling
teized my horse, and, with extended
nostrils and dilated eye, he begun
looking on all sides as if to And a way of
escape. And now the same strange cry
was repeated, and my terrified sight perceived
an enormous reptile, half ser- .f' .
pent, half quadruped, that was now running,
now creeping along the earth,
with incredible rapidity. Although my
limbs almost refused to perform their
office for terror, I had turned mechanically
to leap on my horse, notwithstanding
that I knew that tho pace at which
the monster was coming was far faster
than that of a horse at fall gallop, but
the beast had broken away from where I
had tied him, and vas quickly devouring
the earth with rapid feet. Not,
however, away from the coming danger.
Although destruction stared me in the
faoe, I almost lost consciousness of my
peril in viewing the strange scene that
followed. As soon as the terrible thing
perceived that the horse was able to run
it a rate that compelled an inconvenient
degree of speed to catch np with him,
tie suddenly stopped in his career, and
for a moment remained silent and motionless,
and the only sound to be heard
was that made by the retreating horse,
which was growing fainter and fainter,
fmmediatcly, ere it bad become quite
lost to the ear, the cause of the brute's
Sight begun to utter a sonorous roaring
that one moment sounded like some
brutish mother calling her young, and
mother a weird imitation of the cooing
of a dove. Hardly had the sound been
ntfored. when the horse, whioh was now
almost lost to sight in the rapidly growing
darkness, stopped. Presently he
turned around and began with hastening
steps to return. The noise still sontinned,
and even to my human hearing
seemed to have a pleading, inviting
note in it. The Brobdingnagian beast,
too, had assumed the shapo at onoe of a
cat ready to play with he* kittens, and
of a serpent when trying to charm its
prey into its folds.
And now let me describe the monster.
Like other saarians, it had the body of
a lizard, uplifted on, as near as I could
judge, eight feet, bnt its propelling
power, as already noted, seemed to existchiefly
in its tail, which streamed behind
the faiody^t least a hundred feet. The
trunk of the monster must have been
thirty feet long by about half that figure
in width, and at least from eight to ten
feet through. The feet seemed little
more than paddles with which to push
this huge body along, and apparently
had little supporting power, the creature's
belly touching the ground excejft
when its rapid motion forced it forward
in the air. The head was flattened at
the top, and towered high up over the
body on a neck greater in diameter than
a barrel, and fully ten feet in length.
The eves, as large as saucers, were about
a yard and a half apart, and gleamed
like lanterns on either side of a carriage.
Thus far, the mouth was only partly
open, to emit the sound above noted, so
that in the comparative darkness I could
not see it distinctly. The oolor was a
dark purple, such as is sometimes used
in churches at Lenten time, mottled
with black.
By this time the horse had come within
the embrace of the seducer, and the
charming all at once ceased. Another
movement, and the terrible mouth,
which I could dow see was as large as a
Kawn dnnr mumed. and a forked tongue
*?~m ~r .
darted out and pulled my poor beast
within. Then came the sound of the
teeth crunching and the breaking of
bones, mingled with the stifled death
cry of as faithful a brute as ever man
bestrode. Then all was still, and the
frightful creature lay motionless, as if
digesting its meal. Presently it stirred,
and, giving myself up for lost, I made
up my mind to be its next victim, when,
turning, it rapidly rolled away in the direction
from which it came, without as
much as looking at me. More dead thah
alive with terror, I made the best of my
way to this place.
When you reflect that at picnics one
hundred years ago it was the custom for
the girls to stand up in a row and let the
men kiss them ail good-bye, all this enthusiasm
about national progress seems
to be a grave mistake.
Mark Twain, speaking of a new mosquito
netting, writes: "The day is
ooming when we shall sit under our
nets in church and slumber peacefully
while the discomfited flies club together
and take it out of the minister."