Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD. fhere the rough road turns, and the valley sweet Smiles bright with its balm and bloom. se'll forget the thorns that have pierced the feet And the nights with their grief and gloom. And the sky will smile. and the stars will beam. An.I we'll lay us down in the light to dream. We shall Jay us down in the bloom and light With a prayer anl a te:tr for rest. As tired children who ereep at night To the love of a mother's breast. And for all the grief of the stormy p:azt, Best shall be sweeter At last-at last Sweeter because of the weary way And the lonesome night anl lon-. While the darkness drifts to the perfect day With its splendor of light and song. The light that shall bless us and kiss us and love us And sprinkle the roses of heaven above us -Frank L. Stanton. in Atlanta Constitution. A PNK SILK PARASOL Br nrrH SPENCER. HAT are we going to do now?" quer ried Anne. "If Pa had only stayed quietly at home !" sighed Mar garet. "But he didn't.' said Helen. "And the lecture tour ended in disaster; and he has returned with empty pock ets, and a cold which threatens pneumonia!" "Oh dear! and we were so well oft before little Mother married again," Margaret murmured, dolefully. "Treason !" cried Helen, stoutly; "not one word against Pa Pendergast -the dearest old visionary thing that ever lived!" "He certainly tries to make a for tune for us," smiled Anne. "And has only succeeded in reduc ing us to the verge of-beggary!' supplemented Margaret. "The expressman is stopping at the gate," said Helen; "but, of course, it's a mistake." "Yes; nothing comes to us now but trouble," ended Margaret. But a moment laterand Helen called back, ecstatically, "Oh, girls, it is for us, sure as you live !" Then, less joy fully, "But-there's seventy-five cents to pay !" At last the necessary amount was made up, the expressman departed, and the girls and their mother, in a state of unusual excitement, gathered around the huge, irregular bundle which, by their united efforts, they had dragged into the middle of the sitting-room. "Who could have sent it?" won dered Anne. "What do you suppose it is?" ques tioned Helen. "It's-old cloth-s," Margaret said, gloomily, "Madge!" in a general chorus of dismay. But even as Helen cut the strings the lopsided bundle burst asunder and shed its contents of crumbled ball gowns and all kinds of forlorn and dAraggled finery upon the floor. Anne bit her lip, Margaret's eyes flamed wrathfully and Helen laughed. But the mother's face worked piteously, and it was all that she could do to keep back the tears. All, her life till now, Mrs. Pender gast had been used to comfort, and even luxury ; and she had always shown so much tact and delicacy in sending their own left-off but useful garmentsto those who were poorer than themselves. And it was a bitter hu miliation to her now, when, for the first time, a mass of dingy and inap propriate finery had been literally dumped upon her doorstep, without any accompanying message from the rich, city cousin, from whom it un doubtedly had been sent. "There isn't a practical thing among them!" laughed Helen, who was adorning herself with whatever came first to hand. And even Margaret could not help smiling at the comical picture her pretty young sister made with a crushed French bonnet perched coquettishly on her fair curls, a faded and altogether too-ample olive red ingote enveloping her pretty form, and above her head the bony skeleton of a once splendid parasol-its melan choly ribs uplifted now, as if imploring Anelaughed hysterically ; but just then Pa's querulous voice wa heard in the room above, and the mother was glad of an excuse to hasten away. Night came. The debris had dis appeared, and the letter of thanks to Cousin Frances, which Helen had volunteered to write, was finished. "Listen. girls, while I read it," she said; "but don't interrupt. If yoni think of anything more to say just wait and I'll add it on at the end. "My generous rich relative," she began, and, regardless of the ristng murmur of dismay, she hastily went on: "It was so.thoughtful of you to send us such a lot of old clothes (which we can't possibly make use of), aul not to prepay the express (which is un commonly high in this part of the world). We now understand why it is 'more blessed to give than receive !' But, unfortunately, we don't know any one who would take such stuff as a gift, unless it's the ragman"~ "Helen!" ' "You shan't send such a letter !" and Margaret snatched the perfectly prboper little note she had written from Helen's hand, while the yon-g girl laughed merrily over t be sueess of her impromptu nonsense. She loved -.to tease her sober elder sisters. and with her happy disposition she fouind a way of getting fun out of every thing. But anxious and busy days came after this. Pa Pendergast was seriouis ly ill for a time, and before he was really able to be around again he was planning another oft those disastrous lecture tours, with which he was alway-s trying to retrieve their fallen for tunes. At last, however, they hatl managed to persuade him to puit it off unt:l the fall. There was no family in all the v-il lage who had once .st'od so high. or who were mo'r.' r'spect edl in these days of thJeir mfisfor'tunes. "Pt (ailings awl pood guiI:dities wer-' :likhe freely aiseased'~. and~ his wi c'ne miseratedl for having allowe I her vis: sonary souse the control of her coml fortable little fortune, whic. in or his childlike incapacity for husinss had disappeured in an incredibly short number of years. Anne and Margaret were now the main support of the family, one teaching music and the other having a good position in the villAge school. The "little Mother" aud Helen were the "household angels:" and it was no light task to keep things nice and comfortable with their extremely limited purse, and to prevent "Pa" from seeing too plainly the ruin he had wrought. The neighbors were very kind, and often some little delicacy found its w ay to their scanty table-given with so much friendly good-will- that sensi tive little Mrs. Pendergast was no more hurt by the attention than the neighbors were when Helen brought them bunches of Mayflowers from the woods in spring. But of late Helen's fingers had been busier than ever. Upon careful re-ex amination the "bundle" had shown possibilities which had not been ap parent at the first. And the old party dresses, dyed-for Helen had mas tered the dyepot's mysteries long ago --were now transformed into four pretty silk petticoats which would "rustle delightfully" under their woolen gowns. "Just the last things in the world any of us really wanted," Helen ad-! mitted; "but the silk wasn't fit for 1 anothe? thing, and as it didn't cost us anything I guess we can afford to be 'swell' for once !" Then in some magical way her deft fingers had fashioned for herself as: dainty a gown from the volumincus old gray opera cloak and the best of the well worn redingote as ever a pretty maiden wore to church on a bright Sunday in spring. The battered Paris bonnet bloomed anew with apple blossoms, freshened over the kettle's reviving steam. But the crowning feature of the costume*: was a beautiful pink silk parasol, which Cousin Frances would certainly i never have recognized as the "skele- < ton" of her famous bundle, newly clad in the pink lining of the opera' cloak, and adorned with the freshest flounces of the chiffon gown. "Girls, how do I look?" was Helen's anxious question, as arrayed for the first time in all her glory she was i about to start with them for church. "Just too sweet and lovely !" Mar- I garet said, with enthusiasm; and the mother, who thought her girls were ) always perfect, echoed Margaret's; words. But Anne was troubled. Such finery seemed hardly in accord with their straightened circumstances, or with the almost Quakerish simplicity of the' quiet town; but Helen was so happy that she could not bring herself to speak her doubts which, after all: might prove without foundation. She was keenly alive, however, to the sensation which Helen's appear ance caused, and which, all during I the service, divided the attention ( of the congregation with the I good minister's. words. -And after the service, Anne's straining ears caught more than one fragment of un friendly criticism, which seemed float ing in the air.f "It does beat all," old Mrs. Sharp whispered to her neighbor, "how folks behind-hand in their rent can buy such finery !" "#'raps Pa Pendergast has some how made his everlastin' iortune," was: the audible answer. H "Did you see how Chan Bassett kept lookin' at her? He can't afford to dress a wife like that. I heard Mis' Bassett tell him so durin' the collec tion." "Jest see that pink parasol ! Why, 'Many couldn't get one, plain dark blue, for less'n five dollars. An' silk petticoats, too, I know by the rustlin'. They're up an' down extravagant, or else they ain't so poor as they've been makin' out." "An' the neighbors sendin' 'em in cake an' pie at every bakin' !" 1 Helen's cheeks were like roses as; they went on their homeward way, and Anne wondered if she, too, had overheard the gossips' whisperings, or whether the deeper flush was only the refection from the pink silk parasol, which she held so bravely overhead. Margaret was less observing, and wasi evidently quite unconscious of any un-V usual stir going on around them. It was the first Sunday in many months that Chauncey Bassett had not I walked home with Helen. He had been with his mother on the church steps when they came out, but he had only bowed and then had looked away. It 'was certainly strange, thought Helen, but---if he didn't want to come, he needn't ! And no one, not even Anne, should know she cared ! The weeks rolled around, and sum mer followed spring. Every Sunday Helen went to church in her brave at tire, and walked home afterward with Anne and Margaret; and Chauncey never came. She never mentioned him; but Anne, watching her darling with jeal ous eyes, saw how her cheeks grew paler, and how listless she seemed to: be as the summer days went on. One night as Anne lay pondering upon these things, with Margaret* asleep beside her, she heard a stifled sob from the cot where Helen lay. That was all; but it was not long be fore Anne had determined what to do. And the next day, on her way home from the village, she stopped at Mrs. Bassett's for the first time since that spring Sunday when Chauncey had lingered at his mother's side. "It's ever so long since I've had a' chance to run in," Anne began, with' friendly apology. "But I've been so busy, teaching right along. It was' fortunate for us that the Bentons wanted their children to make up all they lost when they had whooping cough last spring. If' it wasn't for that and for two of Mararets music scbolars, who have Ikept right on, I hardly know what we' should have done?" It was not like Anne to speak so freev of their affairs; but Mrs. Bas stt showed no signs of unbending yet. "You know how it is,.' Anne con iued, with heightened color. "Pa ries to do all lhe c-an; but he's always s-unfortuniate." "Then that last lecture tour wasn't a' sucess? saidl Mi-s. Basse~tt. falling~ iito Anne's skilfully openedl net. "Eveyone thought he must 'a' been ma~kini money, the way Helen came ctthis snring." "And diflnt she look sweet?" cried Anne. "But people shouldn't judge by appearances! i'm going to tell vou, Mrs. Bassett tho' I should hate to have it get around. A cousin of mother's in the city sent us a-a bun lie of old clothes. And Helen is just the most ingenious, most economical irl you ever saw! Those things weren't suitable for us at all, and I thought they'd be of no use whatever; but Helen turned them and dyed them, ind made the old worn out party silks into the prettiest petticoats you ever aw-and one for each of us! Then ,he poor child needed a new dress, badly; she hadn't a thing fit to wear o chureb, and we couldn't afford to buy anything; so she went to work md somehow made that pretty gray mud olive gown out of just aothing! And her bonnet, too-you >ught to have seen it when it came! nd," hysterically, "all that never yost us a single penny !' "You don't mean to say !" ejacu ated Mrs. Bassett, in amazement. "But-that pink silk parasol?" she vueried. "'Mandy Ward priced one in the city, an' they asked-sixteen lollars !" "She made that, to->!'' cried Anne. 'Oh, you don't half know how clever Eelen is! You won't let this go any further. though?" she added, anxious V. "I wouldn't like every one to inow, because-well, because it was :he first time any one had ever sent Ad things to us-and poor little .other-cried." "I won't tell a livin' soul but Chan,' .rs. Bassett said, earnestly. "But I nust tell him. He'll be home to 2ight, you know, over Sunday. An' -an' I'm comin' 'round to see your na, right soon." Anne went her way with a lighter eart; and she had not far before /hauncey Bassett himself came into riew. 'To her surprise he ,topped. "It's ever so long since i've seen rou," he began awkwardly. "Why haven't you been around?" he asked in her pleasant way, noting uriously his wane and troubled face. "I'll tell you why," be said, sud enlv. "It's because I can't think of ny one or anything but-Helen! And never realized until-until one Sun ay morning in the spring' (Anne ighed) "how far above the farmer's on-the poor book-keepei-she was. ['hen I saw that the best I could ever iope to give her would not be worthy f her-not even as much as she is lving now" (Anne smiled); "and I [ knew that it would be better for me o-to forget her-before she ever lreamed I had begun to care. I hought I could turn my thoughts way ; but I can't; and though it is nadness to think she could ever care or me, yet I must see her and tell er; and, inless you tell me not to, I m coming this very night. "Come," said Anne, with a reassur ng smile. Supper was over and the girls-were >utting the things away. As Margaret lisappeared in the china closet with a )ile of plates, Anne said cheerily: Oh, I met Chauncey Bassett as I was oming home, and, do you know, he aid he was coming around-- to-night." "Anne! you-you didn't say-any hing?" I "You dear little goose' Not a cord that the town crier couldn't pro-~ elaim with propriety. But I thought xe was looking thin and worried, poor ellow. There, I'll wipe the teacups, or you had better go light the lamp n the parlor, and put on your pretty. -ay gown, directly." "If he had waited until he had seen iis mother, I'd have hated him--al-' nost," thought Anne, an hour later, hen, above the murmur of voices in ;he little parlor she heard Helen's! augh ring gayly, as of old. And the next day, being Sunday, he village gossips had something new o talk of ; for Mrs. Bassett actually vaited and kissed Helen on the church )orh. And Chauncey walked home vith her again, as he used to do; but hough his face was radiant, no one! ~ould get sight of her smiles and blushes! hen, for carefully and almost rever ~ntially Chaneey was shielding her ovely face with the pink silk parasol. -Independent. To Sterilize Water. A savant of the University of Gene ra publishes in the Swiss Medical Re riew a new method of sterilizing water, :hat is killing any organic germs that nay be in it, which is said to be at >nc~e simple and efficacious. The pro-' ess consists in stirring into the water ismall quantity of permanganate of otash, which will instantly destroy y living organism that the water nay contain, purifying perfectly even ;tagnant water taken from putrid ools. The permanganate imparts a olor to the water, which is not fit to rink in that condition. The addition >f a little charcoal in a finely-pow ered state (bone charcoal being ecommended for the purpose), at once relieves the water from the perman ganate, and makes it absolutely pure ad colorless. Careful experiments aave demonstrated that water contain Ing ptomaines, and other deadly or-1 ;anic poisons, is perfectly purified by :his process. so that it may be drunk with impunity. It is established be rond all doubt that cholera, typhoid ever, and other dreaded diseases are n most eases communicated through irinking water and unless one is per ecty sure of the purity of his water pplyl', it would be well for him to :ake the precaution by testing this proess. Queer story of Teeth Extraction. A novel suit is liable to be begun at uperior by IP. A. Tiles, father of Retta Vilea, eleven years ol, against the Electric Company. About four weeks ago the girl, in running, struck her cheek a:gainst a guy wire of one of the poles along which the ele'trie lighting wires are strung. The girl's attorney says that thme guy wire had ecme char'ged by induction, and that te~ shock pulledl three of her' teeth. t wo molars and a bicuspid. Her' face was sore for several dlays, but has now re~verd., except that the skin is some 'hat seared. There was no pazin at the time the teeth were pulled. -Milwau kee Journxal. A root of eassava that measures snfeet ini lceth andl a sweet potato twenitv' ines ini (ccmuference- are two prdS from the farm of'H. A. KING COTTONS STORY TOLD HISTORY OF THE STAPLE'S PRO DUCTION IN THIS COUNTRY. A Hundred Years Ago the Entire Crop Was 20,000 Bales--Now the Annual Product is 9,000,000. HE Manufacturers' Record publishes a brief history of cotton production in this , country, by R. H. Edmonds, the editor. Just 100 years ago, the total crop of the South was 20,000 bales, but by 1820 this had increased to nearly 400,000 bales. Under this rapid gain in production prices gradu ally declined from forty-four cents a pound in 1801 to thirteen and one-half cents in 1839. With prices ranging from thirteen to forty-four cents, and averaging for forty years, from 1800 to 1839, a frac tion over seventeen cents a pound, cot ton cultivation was so profitable that we cannot wonder at the disposition of the people of the South to concentrate their efforts more and more on cotton cultivation to the exclusion of indus trial interests. Beginning with 1810 there came a period of extremely low prices and the Cotton States suffered very much from this decline. In that year the average New York prices dropped to nine cents, a decline of four cents from the preceding year, and this was followed by a continuous decline until 1816, when the average was 5.63 cents, the lowest average price ever known to the cotton trade. Even in 1891-92, when an enormous surplus of cotton following the de pression that succeeded the Baring failure forced prices to what many claimed was the lowest point on record. the average at New York was 7.50 cents, or nearly two cents higher than in 1816. Moreover, in 1846 the seed was without value, while in 1891-92 the scale of seed added almost a cent a pound to the value of the crop and transportation was very much cheaper than in 1846. In 1847 the crop was short and prices advanced sharply. only to drop back to eight and. then to seven and one-fourth cents, making the average for the decade, from 1840 to 1849. the lowest ever known in the cotton trade. After giving in detail the statistics of production, consumption and prices for each year since 1840, the Mann factirers' Rezord says: A study of the foregoing figures will show that seven years of successively increasing crops, as from 3883-86 to 1891-92, was unprecedented in - the history of trade. It is doubtful if any leading crop raised can show such an unbroken increase for seven years. Jumping from 5,700,000 bales in 1884 85 to 6,500,000 bales in 1885-S6, there was practically no halting, as the vari ations in two years were too small to be noticeble, to 9,035,000 bales in 1891-92, a gain of 3,300,000 bales, or nearly sixty per cent. advance in seven y ears. It ought not to have been ex pected that consumption could keep pace with such an increase. Fortunate v there came a break, and we have now bad two short crops. This will help to reduce the enormous stocks that have overweighted the market for several years. With surplus stocks worked off a fresh start can be made, and if next year's crop isioderately small the cotton trade of the world will then be on a sound basis for higher prices, be ause consumption will then have overtaken production. In eighteen years cotton has brought into the Souith over $5,700,000,000, a snm so vast that the profits out of it ought to have been enough to greatly enrich the whole section. Unfortun tely. the system which the poverty following the war developed, of rais ing cotton only and buying provisions and grain in the West, left at home but little surplus money out of the cotton crop. The West and North drained that section of several hundred million dollars every year, because it depended upon them for all of its manufactured goods, as well as for the bulk of its food-stuffs. Hence, of the enormous amonnt received for cotton, very little remained in the South. The increase in diversified farming, the raising of home supplies, the de velopment of trucking and the build ing of factories are all uniting to keep at home the money which formerly went North and West. Whether the cotton-raiser himself be getting the full benetit of this or not, the South at large is necessarily doing so. The tigures given in the foregoing tables show that the lowest average yield per acre for the seventeen years under review was 145k pounds in 1881, and the highest 209; pounds in 1891. Hart the yield per acre in 1891 been as low as in 1881 the crop would have been less than 6,700,000 bales, instead of 9,035,000 bales. From 18#0 to 1849 the average price in New York was eight cents per go'und, a lower average for nine years than any single year since has shown except 1891-92. The imp~ortance of cotton in our foreign trade relations can be appre ciated from the simple statement that since 1875 our exports of this staple have been valued at $3,800,000,000, while the total exports of wheat and flour combined for the same period have been $ ,500,000,000, showing a difference of S1,-300,000,000, or over fifty per cent. in favor of cotton. Moreover, during the same period we have exported ab~out $200,000,000 of manufactured cotton goods, making the full value really $4,000,000,000. Compared with the exports of wheat, flour and corn combined, the value of which since 1875 has been $3,100,000, - 000, there is a dlifference in favor of cotton of $900,000.000. Going back to 3820, it is found that the tot.1 value of dour and wheat exported for the last seventy-four years is $3,913,000-, 000. or $100,000,000 less than the value o4 the cotton exported during the last eighteen ycars. The '.treeping" of Railroad Rails. FEverv- railroader of a scientitic or investigative turn can tell you queer stories of how the rails "ereep," but the greatest seientists of the world do not attempt to explain the phenome non. i has been known for years that rails "do ere, hut it has only atlv~ been learned that oni lines run ning'north and south the west rail " creeps" faster than the east.---St. (ruelty unec(kedl is a child Henry Bcrh clle xln~ruu edcaton PROPHETIC GROUNOII0%S i A CROSS BETWEEN A MOUSE AND A MONKEY. Their Habits, Home and Food and How They Live Through the Winter- -Qucerest of Mammals. 7HEN the legendary and prophetical groundhog comes out of its hole and I o o k s around for its shadow, if he sees it, which will nattr ally be the case if the sun shines, he returns to his underground habitation ( for another long rest, being convinced that winter is destined to linger in the lap of the forthcoming spring. ' This interesting animal is equally t well known as the "woodchuck." But I it has a great many other names be sides. In fact, people would seem to I have exhausted ingenuity in devising varied designations for the beast. Linnaeus, the famious founder of the modern school of natural history, en titled it "mus inonax," which, being interpreted, means a cross between a mouse and a monkey. The Canadian French speak of it as the "sitfleur," or "whistler." This is on account of the whistling noise which it sometimes utters when startled. In the great t fur-bearing region about Hudson's t Bay it answers to the name of the t '"thickwood badger," while to the f westward the hardy inhabitants of V Alaska meant woodchuck when they t exclaim '-tarbagan," and the wild Chippewas likewise when they grant i "kath-hilloe-kooav. The animal's habits do not vary with t the multitude of his titles. He lives i in a burrow remarkable for its extent. I It is dug in the slope of a hill or by ' the side of a big stene, making an ex cavation twenty or thirty feet long, t which deseends obliquely four or five N feet, then gradually rising to a large I round chamber, where the groundhog family sleeps and brings up its young. The little ones are born three to eight k at a time. When the farmer, with his horses and mowing machine, chances f to slump into one of these holes, dis- t appearing from view until excavated r by charitable neighbors, he is apt to I feel annoved and to revile the whole i woodchuck tribe with discrimination. i It is largely on this account that i bounties for killing the creatures have f been offered in New Hampshire and s other Statcs, as much as ten cents for I each tail being paid. Hunters will - not kill them, for the fur is worthless 1 and the flesh by no means palatable. r It is not true that in certain parts of the country farmers have found it I necessary to shovel paths through c groundhogs in over to reach their s barns. Save in the way just mentioned, the P woodchuck does little or no harm to I anybody. He is strictly a vegetarian, c feeding mostly on clover and gras*s. a Rarely does he enter the garden, pre ferring the open meiadows and rocky a hillsides. The first rains that fall t copiously after haying is over cause i the fresh green grass to spring up f [anew. This second crop in many f places consists largely of red clover, f which the groundhog regards as a most t delightful delicacy. It eats so much I durag the latter part of August and t the first half of the following rmonth that it becomes exceedingly fat and t inert. About September 30 or a little later it goes into winter quarters, and it does not come out again to stay un til the middle of March. This creature isthie most remarkable existing example of a hibernating mammal. It lays up no store of piro viions as the squirrel does. Its food is of such a nature that it doe:- not< keep, and so the groundhog mustr seep to save itself from starving. Itt disappears with astonishing precision within a few days of the autumnal I equinox atra remains underground un-a til about the time when the sun ents the plane of the equator at the vernal r equinox. Often the weather is very i warm when it retires, and it will con~e r out ini March when snow is on the grud -aing long journeys to find ground wher patches of the coveted green grass has been laid bare by thaw. 'At the end of the winter the animal is thin and doubtless feels rather seedy, Ihaving lived on its own tissues and ' without subsistence for so long a time. 1Unring the term of hibernation physical waste is reduced to a very low point, the heart's action slacken ing and the breathing becoming so , slight that it can only be detected by 1 delicate instruments. Even when kept in a warm house through the cold season a tame groundhog becomes torid at the usual date and remains so until the hereditary habit has been carried to the customary term. In this latitude the hibernation of' theI animal is not so complete as farther north, and a few hundred miles far ther south it is interrupted by periods of wakefulness, during which the woodchuck goes abroad and gets its meals. The practice of hibernating is merely a device of nature for en abling tihe animal to get along without food at times when there is no food to be had. Otherwise it wouldl perish and the species would become extinct. No use for the groundhog worth mentioning has ever been discovered. It is otherwise with another queer2 ammial -the p)orcupine. Porcupines have been used as fuel, fct which pur pose they are saidl to be superior to Iwood. Some time ago e-t the Wihunot mine in Minnesota the lporcepmes1 cane to be regarded as such a nui sance, being very numerous, that one day the foreman threw a couple or (ead ones ir~to the tireplace of the steam drill. To his surprise the steam and up to eighty pounds in a short time. From that time on the miners were instructed to kill and bring ini every porcupine they could catch for use 'in the furnace. Sueb, at all even ts,is the story. -Washington Star. Incereasedh 'se of Mutton. It is not altogether the cheapness of mutton that is leading peop~le to usei it more freely. They h-tve learned that it is an eseellent anid healthfult meat and the consumpt ion of mutton ] in the United States is six times as reat in 1893 as it was in Wi'S. We ale undoubtedly killing off 'heepe faster, than their natural increas. This mut lead to increasing scareitye of fatt .heep for muittonl and higher. priceLs < o the mutton when marketed. Sheep 1 cannot be increased yery rapily at the b st and if oiur stock become~s 'Is pleted it takes 3ereral years io build. it up .aain-DostCu(fltivatur, "Diii f ,a. my belst? '-Northwautern Chritt.an Advocate. WIME WRS. Forgetting is forgivin: . A light heart lives Ion.. Marriage is love's s:t-rific:. Don't try to pump out h !:!-t. A good deed needs nal A kiss is a song without words. Covetousness hoards itself poor. Sunshine is the leaven of living. Love teaches us the pleasure of pain. All true love is grounded on esten. Friendship depends largely on funds. Speech is a deformnity in soue peo ple. A woman's smil cin make a harden light. Love is contagious, epidemic and incurable. What the rosebud promises it does not fulfill. You cannot play false, and yet rightly win. Help the deserving, not all those who appeal. It is wonderful how near conzeit is to insanity. Suspicion paves the road to misun derstanding. It is not the longest life that has the most in it. Peopleareso much alike they should be better friends. When two ride the same horse, one must ride behind. Love antl necessity ar the only cures for laziness. It is seldo-m that a woman thinkS so without saying so. We rarely find as much in a dollar as we think there is. Theory of Plant (rowth. 'j The theory of plant growth, elahor ated chiefly by American biologists. that the motion is rhythmic and not regularly continuous is being brought forward to account for many phenom ena hi-:herto deemed inexplicable. One of the most notable of these attempts appears in a paper in the Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, describing the manner in which nature produces -tfe various forms of the Citrus tribe. It is no un common occurrence that a small orange is found inside of a larger one; and the kind known as the navel orauge is one in which a very feeble attempt to form another orange results in giving thne "navel" appearance to the fruit. This is explained by stating that a branch is arrested in its longitudinal growth when the fruit is to be formed. and the parts., leaves and stems becomuc enlarged and succulent iustead of nor mal leaves an:1 stem. An (rang- 1. really but a transformed mass of leaves and branches. In the double orange the wave growth does not enirely rest when forming the one orange, but makes another feeble attempt to elon gate, only to be arrested a; the tir.st wave wai', resulting in a smaller fruit. Sometimes the primary wave is the feebler, in which ease it is . almost wholly abortive, and the only"orange" resulting is the one which would be the interior in the double instanice, or the "navel"' in the othe'r. This re sats in the variety knoin as the ma~n darin. The mandarin is the product of the upper, anid usually very feebl. growth wave. In the lemon the "nip ple" is the result of a feeble att.empt of the second growth wave to form an other lemon on the top of the lower, and is analogous to the "navel" in tho variety of orange known as such. The author of the paper believes that much of the variety we see among plants and flowers are referable to varying inten sities in growth waves. -New York Independent. Gisneng and Other Herbs. Giseng is a low-growing herbacons plant, with a single stem about a foot high or less, on the top of -.hich there are three petioles or leaf stalks, each of these bearing five leatiets, hence the specific name of this species, viz., Aralia quinquefolia. The flowers are poduced on a short stem above the whorl of terminal leaves, and are small and of greenish white color, and these are succeeded in autumn by small clusters of bright red berries. The roots are thick and fleshy, the largest about the size of a man's thumb, but tapering to a point at the lower end. They have a spicy and somewhat agreeable aromatic tatste. The best time jo gather these roots is hi the fall and winter, for at this sea son they are fl-rm and solid, and their locationi can be readily determinedl by the old stalks andl withered leaves, which remain in position uutil beaten down by snow or rain. There is a steady and increasing demand for the dried roots, the price advaucing as the supply decreases from year to year in our forests. L'arge <puntities are gathered.in t he mnour tai.s of North Carolina. -New York Sun. Related by an Argonimt. . James Brown, of Salt Lake C'ity, Uta, claims to have witnesse I the fir-t discovery of gold i Catlifornia, having been wit'h MIarshall when the glitter ing scales wer' picke I upj int Sutter's millrace in 18t7. He tells the story f the find as follows: "Aome time in Jagnuary. 18 M .. 1 was working with Mxrshail at .Snt ter's mill. on the Amer.ean Rive'r. Matraall and I came upon so:ne deemye 1 granite at the botto~n of' the millrace, where we were at work. Marshr.ll was inter eted in the rock. but the rest of us didn't think anything of it. He sai 'l, 'e will shut down the gates early in the morning.' and it was done. He as down at the rae that morning while the rest or us were in the cabin. In a short time Marshall cam; upwith his hat in his hand, saying, 'B's y:.v got her now.' being about the youngest and most curious of the crowd, ran e.. hi, and saw on the lining of his hat ten ''r twelve pieces of seale gold. The~, lir et piece was w orth fifty cents. J pike i up and tested it in my teeth. and1 as it did not give I held it up and yelled "t that the re'st 'f th.-:n erod' mrud I plated rzy ple 't'u't tim a d ran to the ein: tx tu 'M4 I a " a hot bvd of man::anitat , oiand 1 it d &i nhru awy" I knew~ it wa g t. W * pcked up jots ot it i thenex t wo ..o,. thre du .-netrmit F.ree- Prss UAYE1 SE EX EN LIVYES. IEROISX OF A FRAIL YOUNG OOL LEGE MAN. k Devotion to Duty and a Wrecked Life -An Ineident of a Disaster on an Inland Lake. HA) for my roommate in cellege at Evanstown a frail lad, born on the banks of the Mississippi. He , had learned in its waters to swim .nd dive until he seemed almost as uch at home in the water as on land. )ne of his first accomplishments ac iired at Evanstown was not in Greek r Latin, but in swimming in the lake i time of storm. He would dive hrough the breakers or toss upon heir tops, or play with them as a iant might with a tiny fonntain. He cas a wonderful swimmer. One day there came trickling down brongli the village news of a great teamship wrecked at 1 o'clock in the norning, ten miles out in the lake, rhose 400 passengers were struggling rith tb'e waves or were already Irowned. My roommate heard abugle >last in his Eoul that morning. He aid he seemed to hear these words: 'Who knoweth but thou art come in o the kingdom for such a time as his?" Two hundred others volun eered for service, one of whom is now , bishop in the Methodist Church, .nd afterwards became President of he university. They put a rope around my room aate's waist that they might recover is frail body if he should be killed by he floating pieces of wreckage. Back rard and forward he went for six ours, helping to save human life. hrough his great familiarity with the urf lie was enabled to do much more han all the rest put together. Some rere saved by a tug far out in the ake, but of nearly 400 passengers nly thirty came through the break rs alive, and of these my roommate aved seventeen. He put into that one day the truggile of three-score years and en. He was compelled to give p his studies. He was com elled to give up the Christian ainistry, for which he was preparing. .o-day he is the wreck of a man, liv ng among the hills of Southern Cali ornia. far away from a railroad line, trugling on a fruit ranch for a live ihood. The price paid for that day's rork was the health and strength o' a ifetime -but he saved seventeen hi aan lives. Betv:een his journeys into the waves e stood before a blazing fire, was overed with blankets, and drank trong stimulants in order to keep his imbs from cramping. But each time n unfortunate one came near the reakers, if he was able to go, he threw f his incumbrances and plunged gainU into the water. At first he wore the rope upon his ra, but coming to a piece of debris o which a drowning person was cling g, the wreekage struck him in the ace and he commenced to bleed pro uselv. The crowd on shore, alarmed or iis safety, commenced pulling in he line pra'maturely before he ha told of the drowning person. He hrew off the rope, clutched the man .nd brought himc safely ashore without he help (of the rope. Walkinig upm on the beach he saw a ~entlemian sitting in an elegant car iage who had evidently come to the ske with the coachman from his uburban home. He said to this entleman: "Thlese people have al ost killed me, and another accident aay take my life without my having Lone my work. Will you consent to anage my rope for me, not allowing he ~eople to pull until I give the ignal. If you do this you shall have alf the credit for anything I may be ble to do." The gentleman con ent~ed, and for five hours managed the ope. He was thus largely instru ental in the successful work my oommte did. The last person saved that day was man who 'was coming ashore in a ificult part of the surf, where the 4nk was high and precipitous. Any ne reaching shore there would be ounded to death on the Eteep bank. hose who came to this part of the urf were absolutely lost, as it seemed nore than a man's life was worth to ave them. My roommate saw this nan with one arm clinging to a piece f wreck, while he held in the other a mndle, supposed to contain silver >date or some other precious thing rrapped up in a bit of clothing. A sudden lift of the waves brought he man and the raft into full view, .nd theie streamed out from the )ndle a tress of hair eighteen inches oug. Then my friend knew that the nan was trying to save his wife, and aid to those about himt: "Cost what t may, I will save that man or die in he attempt." He ran down the beach, following he retreating wave, knelt down as losely as possible to the sand and let he return wave pound him. When iext seen he was far into the water. He swam to the piece of raft to vhich the two were clinging. .When ithin six or eight feet of them the nan cried out : "Save my wife ! Save v wife !" The brave swimmer said: 'Yes, Il save your wife and you. 00." Fastening his hands in their lothing at the back of their neeks. he aid: "I can sustain' you in the water. nt von must sw'im for your lives and nine. We mustit push up northward ndget beyond this daingerouis surf, if r-e are to b~e saved at all. To the joy >f the onlooking sp)ectators he came afel to shore with both unfortunates, or whom he had so braveiy imperiled is life. The daily papers were full of >raises. The illustrated papers of New ork and Loudon contained his pie r, but when we were alone in our oo it was pitiful to see him. His ace would turn ashen pale and lhe vould turn his great hungry eyes on ue and say : ''Tell mec the truth. Vill, evervbiy praises me. Tell me he truth.' Did I fail to do my best ?' 1t. did not ask. "'Did I do as well as ome one eise?" That went without He did Dot ask: "'Did I do as well s any man oiu God's footstool? I bink he might. have answered that inestion in the aflirma~tive'. The ques ion that ran throeugh him like a poi oed dangg r as he. reme:nheredl the and more who lost their lives in iht, and most of them in hearing of andth em. slnsrme question was: