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Lv~ M. " 4'*'' ./; ^1 frU, ** i £■■' ‘ ' . -« «9t ,> li / ■' ^ . - *i- v*^> fr* •-' «■ ' - i.V .•f«' vol. vjn. fig BARNWELL, S. C„ THURSDAY, Httsband and Wife. ^ . Husband Speaklnr: “It’s the ctrangest thing that ever I kaeir. Aim] the most provoking, ’twlrt me and you. And a woman who’s got a man Uke met A good provider, and stood/and free With all her folks, with funds salted down. And as fine a house as any in town, To be lamenting 'cause one child in ten * Ain’t quite as good aa he might have been. ‘‘It’s a pretty good showing. It seems to ma. That only a tenth of the lot should be A little off color, and that’s what I say To their mother twenty times a day; But I can't make her see it in that light, And she listens and waits night after night For the as' ’nd ot his step, till I grow so wild That 1 affNAet curse both mother and child. M ln the garden, u ns- I'll go and look for “She ought te n*e*or the otbers.-yw» know, And let the tormenting vagabond go ^ And follow his ways and take the pain— But 1 turn him out and she calls him again. This makes a hardness between her and me. And the worst of it la, the children agree That I gi tn the right. You'd pity her then— Such times 1 think I'm the meanest of men. “I’ve arguod and scolded and coaxed without' end; . , Her answer is always: ‘My boy has one’friend As long as I lira, and your charge Is untrue That my heart holds no equal love for you And all the rest. But the one gone astray Needs me the most, and you'll find 'tls the way Of all mothers to hold close to tho one Who hurts her the most. So love's work Is done.' “Now what can I say to such words as those? I’m not convinced, as the historv shows. But 1 often wonder which one Is right. As 1 hear her light step night after night. Here and there, to the window and door. As she waits with a heart that Is heavy and sore. I wish the boy dead, while she gives her life To save him from sin "" • • - wffe.” There's husband and —Cardiff Mall. MADGE’S MISTAKE. “Wo start for Egypt on Thursday.old fellow. I have not broken the news to Madge, poor girl! But it will have to be done without loss of time, although I shrink from the ordeal.” Th6 speaker was a tall, handsome man, of, perhaps, fivo-and-twenty, with bright ryes, and a dark, resolute face. He looked every inch a soldier as he stood beside h's friend on 'the platform of the cron ded London terminus, where they had met each other, after a separation of some eighteen months. “Madge!” said the young ollicer’s friend; “surely you arc not engaged? You, who were always so proud to pro claim yourself a woman hater.” “Not engaged,” returned George Enfield, with a slight flush on his bronzed cheek. “Not engaged, Le Roy: but married. Where have you been all these months not tohkvcheard the news?” “1 had forgotten how time passes,” said Le Roy, hastily. "Of course, the world has not been standing still since I left England, with the grim determin ation not to open a book, or newspapeif until I regained tho health andstrengtli I had exhausted in long hours of study." “And you have gained your object," sai l George, with friendly solicitude. “You sro quite yourself again.” Le Hoy made no immediate answer; but turned his eyes awav, that George might not see tho look of anguish that darkened them for a moment. “1 am better,” ho said, at last, with Bo truce of emotion on his fine face. “I am bettor, or I should not have return ed to take up the old life.” “You have come homo for good,” said George, eagerly. "You really mean to remain in England?” "Yes,” said Le Roy, absently. “A man cannot fly from himself. 1 have come to the conclusion that the man who seeks health in travel, had far bet ter remain at home.” George felt that Le Roy was hiding something from him; but he would not utter a won! to bridge the barrier of reserve which his friend had allowed to come between them. “He shall tell me of his own free will, or not at all,” thought George Enfield. “I will not try to wylng his Irecret from him.” • •* So there was silence between them for a space, as they strode up and down ’each occupied with his own thoughts. George was the first to speak, and his voice startled Le Roy, arousing him from a painful roveric. He looked up eagerly, meeting the eager gaae of his friend “What is it, George?” ho asked, apologetically. “Forgive me; but I scarcely heard what you were sa^ “I was only telling you, Le Roy, my people do not approve of my mar riage. They have been cruel and un- iust, and I conld not think of letting Madge go to them.” “1 am sorry to hear this,” said Le Roy. “It must be hard for her and for J ou; she will not be quite alone, I ope. Of course, your wife has her own friends.” “She has one sister,” returned George; “but the two poor children will be very lonely, when I am gone, Le Roy, and I want you to extend your friendship to them.- It wee a strange request to make; but George could see nothing strange in it He loved bis friend, end had every faith in him; he knew that Wilfred Le Roy was the soul of honor.” “How fortunate that I should have met you here,” ho continued, without giving Le Roy time to speak. "You, must come to our little villa, and let me introduce you to my wife. I know you hare an eye f&r beauty, and will appreciate my good taste. Don’t ac cuse me of egotism, old fellow, until you hare seen ray Madge.” They jumped into a cab, and as they drove quickly in the direction of George’s home, the two friends fell ter talking of dd times, and Le Roy was laughing quite merrily when the han som drew up before a pretty cottage not far from Hampstead Heath. A pretty little maid with bright eyes and roey cheeks opened the door in er to George’s ring, and Le Roy ed her into a quietly famished ; where a young lady was bend- over some needlework. •Medgel” said George, putting hie tdea her sheuMer, “let me intro duce you to Ae best friend t have In Umwojg-mifred LeRcys Wilfred, Tlniy lodted at each other, end s sudden ghastly peRor came over Le lying.” ay, that parlor, ing ore ‘•Mmi selous George, ual, I suppose, her.” And be hurried out of the room, leaving his wife and Wilfred alone to gether. Madge leant back in her chair, white as the lacework that had fallen from her slender fingers. “You won’t tell him!” Mrs said pite ously, lifting her beautiful eyes to WU- fred’s face. Wilfred was silent for a moment; he could scarcely trust himself to speak. But he controlled his anger ey a mighty effort, and said calmly: “Let the past rest—it is gone forever. I wish to remember only that I am your husband’s friend.” It cost him a great deal to speak these words, for Madge had treated him very badly in days gone by. They had been engaged, and she had jilted him, on finding that his prospects were less bright than people had led her to imagine. It had been a secret engage ment, and she had never tola the wrong she had done. But it was rath er hard on him, to find that she was tho wife of his friend, and that he was expected to look after her daring George’s absence. The worst of it was that he loved her still, although he felt that she was un worthy of his love. Weak and tickle as she had been, he could not help the memory of the sweet past coming back to him, when he looked at her beauti ful face. "Then you will keep my secret?” said Mai'ge, anxiously; “George has such strict ideas. He would be angry if he knew 1 had been engaged to you. I don’t think he will ever forgive me.” “You can trust my won!, 1 hope,” returned Wilfred, coldly—all the more coldly because of the love he could not subdue. And then he held up his hand warn* ingly, for he coul 1 hear voices in th« hall, and in another moment George entered the room in company with a young lady whom Lc Hoy had novel seen before, for she had been at school in Germany when lie had first knowr Madge. George introduced her informally to Le Roy as his sister-in-law, and thet left her to entertain his friend, while he took Ids wifo out of the room tc break the sad news to her of his speedy departure for Egypt. »hc cried a little, for although she did not love her husband very much, he had been kind to her when hei father's failure and death reduced her an t her sister to poverty, and had giv en them both a home by making tier his wife. But for that, she reflected with a shudder, they would have had to gc out in the world and work for theii living. Bessie would not have minded it so much, but Madge had recoiled from tho prospect of working for hex daily bread, with horror. ’ They went back to the drawing-room after a time, and Madge sat down at the piano at her husband's request, and played for them; but she could not sing—she could not, while Wilfred was in the room; She had liked him better than she had liked George, although her hus band v*as better-look ing than his friend, and the old fascinat on was creeping over her. If she had been a wise woman she would have objected to he left under Wilfred’s guardianship; but, unfortun ately, she was a very foolish one, and it seemed to her a very pleasant arrange ment indeed. Now that he had promised not to speak of the past to George, she was ? |uite cordial and friendly with W’il- red. “It will be so nice for us to have a friend to.look after us while George is awav.” she said; “will it not, Bertie?” “Very,” returned Bertie, rather dri ly. Girl as she was, she thought Le Bor altogether too young and too handsome for the responsibility he had undertaken. ? Bertie was very sweet and girlish, with soft blue eyes and a closely crop ped head that gave her quite a child like appearance. Not so brilliantly handsome as her sister, perhaps; but, nevertheless a very pretty girl. When George was on’ nis way to Egypt, Le Roy called daily at tho cot tage, often staying to partake of after noon tea with tho two sisters, who al ways gave him a warm welcome. “He is very handsome” said Bertie, as she watched him riding down tho street on his brown mare, after spending the afternoon with them. Something in tho tone of her voice and the way she looked after .Wilfred annoyed Madge, who had never noticed how pretty her sister was getting until that moment. “Yes,” she said, “he is handsome, poor fellow!” And as she uttered these last words Madge sighed. “Why ‘poor lellow’r’ asked Bertie, quickly turning to look at her sister. “Because he will never marry?” “How do you know that?" cried Ber- tie, coloring vividly. “Has ho told you soP” “No, but I happen to know: he lov ed someone long ago, and will never forget her.” ' ‘•What can you know about Wilfred Le RoyP” incredulously. “We have only known him a few weeks.” *T knew him before poor father died,” said Madge, playing with her rings to avoid meeting her sister’s steady gaze. “And yon let George think yon had never met before,” said Bertie slowly. “Yon never loved him,” opening her blue eyes. “If yon had loved him yon would have been true in spite of bis poverty.” Months passed’on, and taking up the IVmes one morning, Wilfred came up on his friend’s name in the list of the Main. It was a terrible blow for him, as be had loved George with quite a brother- ty affection. Madge went into hysterics when she heard the news, hot soon calmed down, showing admirable resignation to her a Bertfe, indeed, teemed to feel It as nsaal to the cottage, iheaad Madge’ aUaded to ‘Mads ire,” said Wilfred, earnestly, “When I first came here and found Job the wife of my friend, I thought Y should go mad.” Madge murmured something about it being too soon to talk of snen things, but he did not appear to heed her. “Yes,” ho went on, “I loved you stOl. Forgive me. It was wrong, and I couldn’t help it. And now——” He paused lor a moment, and Madge colored hotly, forgetting her recent be reavement, and knowing only that the man she loved was metaphorically at her feet “And now?” he returned in an agi tated voice, “now I love—*1 love your sister.” Mrs. Enfield's complexion had never looked more Mffely—her cheeks were like roses; but her eyes!—well, they had rath.er an angry sparkle, and her lips were slightly compressed. “I am glad, very glad indeed,” she said, with em; basis. “If I were Ber tie, I shouM not care for a man’s sec ond love; but, of course, everybody to their taste.” And with this parting tanntshewalk ed out of the room just as Bertie enter ed it,. The girl could not understand tho meaning of the angry look her sis ter gave her. She did understan 1 it. though, a mo ment later, when Wilfred caught her in his arms and told her of his love. After all, it was fortunate for all par ties concerned that affairs had taken this turn, for a short time later on it was found that George Enfield's name was among tho “Missing,” not the killed. Ma'lge, to do her justiee, was genu inely glad when she heard (hat her hus band had “turned up” safe and sound, and welcomed him as warmly as if «ho had never thought of being his friend’s wife. So all ends happily, and—for George at least—where ignorance is bliss it is folly to be wi e. ^ • — Endurance In th<* Water. Man and animals are able to sustain themselves for long distances in th< water, and would do so oftener were they not incapacitated, in regard to the former at least, by sheer terror, as well as complete ignorance of their real power . Webb’s wonderful en lurance will never be forgotten. But there are other instances only less remarkable. Some years ago the croond mate of a •hip fell overboard while in the act of hoisting a sail. It was blowing fresh; tho time was night, and the place was some miles out on thr stormy German ocean. The hardy fellow, neverthelses, managed to gain the English coast. Brock, with a dozen other pilots, was plying for faros by Yarmouth, and as the main sheet was belayed, a sudden puff of wind upset the boat, when entlv all per shed except Brock self, who, from 4 in the afternoon of an Octobefevening till 1 the next morn ing, swam thirteen miles before he was *blo to hail a vessel at anchor in the offing. Animals themselves are capa ble of swimming immense distances, although unable to rest by the way. A dog recently swam thirteen miles in America to rejoin his master. A mule and a dog, washed -overboard in the Bay of*Biscay, have been known to make their way to shore. A dog swam ashore at tho Cape of Good Hope with a letter in his mouth. The crew of the ship to which the dog belonged all per ished, which they need not nave aone had they only ventured to tread water as the dog did. As a oertain ship was laboring heavily in the trough of the sea it was found needful, in order to lighten the vessel, to throw some troop horses overboard. The poor things, my informant, a staff surgeon, told me, when they found themselves abandoned, faced round and swam fbr miles after the vessel. To Restore Faded Photographs. To accomplish this, according to th« British Journal of Photography, than which there can he no better authority on such a subject, one has only to im merse tho vellow print in a dilute solu tion of bichloride of mercury until all the yellowness disappears. It is then well washed in water to remove th« mercurial salt. If the print be a mount ed one, it is by no means necessary tc unmount it previously to treatment. All that is required in this cose Is to keep it in intimate contact for a time with blotting paper charged with the bichlorate; indeed, this is the plan orig inally suggested by Mr. Barnes. By the bichloride treatment no lost detail is actually restored,as some have imag ined. It is simply that the sickly yel low color, whicn, as it were, buried the delicate h&lftints, or what remains of them, is removed, and thus renders the picture bright and clear. Pictures which have been treated with the mercury al ways possess a nrach warmer tone than they did i pres- him- ISP1. NJrt Flared!* 1 To School. originally; as the purple or the black tones give way to a reddish brown or reddish purple, more or 1< bright, according, probably, as gold or sulphur had been me principal toning agent. Here a question very naturally arises with regard to the future perfor mance of pictures which have been thus “restored, * seeing that negatives in- wemny they appear to be permanent; at least that is our experience with some that have been done for many yes appears to be no farther loss of detail, and the whites retain their purity; in deed, since undergoing the treatment with mercury, no alteration is yet per ceptible. “I have formed a settled conviction that the world ,is fed too much. Past ries, cakes, hbt bread, rich gravies, plckjes and pepper sauces are all dis carded from my bill of fare, and I firm ly believe they will be from the recipes of the twentieth eeatury. Entire wbeat- .;V- Dear reader, do you remember the boy of your school who did the heavy falling throngh the ice and was always about to break his neck but managed to live through it all? Do you call to mind the youth who never allowed any body else to fall out of a tree and break his collar bone when be could attend to it himielf? Every school has to secure the ser vices of such a boy before it can suc ceed, and so our school had one. When f entered the school I saw at a glance that the board bad neglected to pro vide itself with a boy whose duty it was to nearly kill himself every few days in order to keep up the interest, so I ap plied for the position. I secured it without any trouble whatever. The board understood at once from my bearing that I would succeed. And I did not betray tho truet they bad re posed in me. Before the first term was over I had tried to climb two trees at once and been carried home on a etretcher; been f mlled out of the river with my lungs nil of water and artificial respiration resorted to; been jerked around over the north half of the county by a frac tious horse whose halter I had tied to my leg, apd which leg is now three inches longer than the other, together with various other little early eccen tricities which I cannot at this moment call to mind. My psrents at last got so that along about 2 o’clock p. m. they would look anxiously out of the window and say, “Isn’t it about time for the boys to get hero with William's re mains? They generally get here before 2 o’clock.” One day five or six of us were playing “I spy” around our barn. Everybody knows how to play “I spy.” One shuts his eyes and counts 100, for instance, while the others hide. Theh he must find tbe rest and say “I spy” so-and-so ifnd touch the “goal” before they do. If anybody beats him to the goal the victim has to “blind” over again. Well, I knew the ground pretty well, and could drop twenty feet out 'of the barn window and strike on a pile of straw so as to land near the goal, touch it, and let tbe crowd in free without getting found out. I did this several times and got the blinder, James Bang, pretty raau. After a boy has counted 500 or 600, and worked b&rd to gather in tho crowd, only to get jeered and laughed at by the boys, he loees his temper. It was so with James Cicero Bang. I knew that he almost hated me, and yet I went on. Finally, in the fifth ballot, I saw a good chanos to slide down and let the crowd in again as 1 had done on former occasions. Cl slipped out of the window and down the side of the bam about two feet, when I was detained unavoidably. There was a “batten” on the bam that was loose at the upper end. I think 1 was wearing my lather’s vest on that day, as ho was away from home and I frequently wore his clothee when he was absent Anyhow the vest was too large, and when I slid down that loose board ran up between the vest and my person in such a way as to suspend me about eighteen feet from the ground in a prominent, but very uncomfortable, position. 1 remember it yet quite distinctly. James C. Bang came around where he could see me. He said: “I spy Billy Nye and touch the goal before him. No one came to remove the barn. No one seemed to sympathize with me in my great sorrow ana isolation. Every little while James C. Bang would come around the corner and say: “O, I see yc. You needn’t think you’re out of sight up there. I can see you real plain. You better come down and blind. I can sec ye up there I” I tried to unbutton my vest and get down there and lick James, but it was of uo use. It was a very trying time. Lean re member how I tried to kick myself loose, but failed. Sometimes I would kick the-barn and sometimes I would kick a large hole in the horizon. Fi nally I was rescued by a neighbor who •aid he didn’t want to see e good barn kicked into ehaoe just to save a long- legged boy that wasn’t worth over sue bits. It affords me great pleasure to add that while I am looked up to and mad ly loved by every one that does not know mo, James €. Bang is the brevet President of a fractured bank, taking a lonely bridal tour by himself in Europe and waiting for the depositors to die of old age. The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they most generally get there with both feet. (Adapted from the French by permission.) A Big Bird’s Nest. What would my young reader! think if they should find a nest 80 feet in di ameter and 6 or 8 feet high? There are such nests in tbe Molucca Islands, made, too, by a bird as small, if not smaller than the straw-in tail, and called megapodins. Like the tropic bird, too, they freqnent tho scrubby jungles along tho seashore, where the soil is sandy, but they have remarkably large and strong feet and long daws. Where there w a considerable quantity of deb ris, consisting of sticks, shells, se weeds and leaves, the megapodins forms immense mounds, often yith compara tive ease, for with their long feet they can grasp and throw backward a large quantity of material. In the center of tnis mound, at she depth of two or three feet, the eggs are deposited and are hatched by toe gentle neat prod need by the fofmentatioa of the vegetable mat ter of the mound.—Golden Days. “Iste that Representative HeOritt cannot sleep on account of the barking of dogs,” said CoL Teat Ochiltree yes terday, as he reclined in an easy chair at Chamberlin’a “I hsrdly know how to sympathize with the mstingaished gentleman from New York*’’ continued the incarnadined Texan, “for all the dogs in Christendom and ConsUntl- le ae well could not keep me awake if wanted to sleep. Why, sir, at the of Petersburg I slept soundly for t the gunner said I snored so loudly that he could scarcely hear the orders that were given him between the shots. Why, sir, on one occasion whife I wss traveling through Guadalupe County, Texas, Istopped at a piece of thick woods at dark, staked my horse, built a fire, and lay down. That’s a bad wojf country, and by 10 o’clock there were 2,000 of the savage devils howling around me within fifty feet of my camp fire. I spread my blanket on the grass, fixed my saddle tor a pillow, ana lay down with a navy revolver in each hand. In two minntes I was asleep, dreaming that I was in Paris. When I awoke the next morning the sun was high in the heavens. A neighboring ranchero told me the wolvee had howl ed till dayl ght Sixty of them were found dead Tn the bushes. They had died from prolonged howling, while I had slumbered gently, like a babe, on the breast of my mower earth. Think of that, and then of a Congressman whose nightmares are interrupted by the midnight whining of a greengrocers dog. “Why, Tom Benton used to sleep so hard that hotelkeepers had to break in his door to see if he was not dead. Ben Bntler cannot ride in a street-car with out dozing. In a flying ride down the Shenandoah Valley, Stonewall Jack- eon, strapped to his saddle, slept for six hours with his horse at a sweeping S illop, a courier holding the guide-zein. apoleon snatched slumber for a mo ment as his cavalry thundered by with in a few feet of him at Austerlits. Yet here is a Insty statesman who cannot even enjoy a cat-nap becaoee a sad and lonely cur around the next corner crawls out of his kennel to bay the moon! Gentlemen,” continued the ru bicund Texan, “I hare driven an ox wagon from Sabine Pass to El Paso, I have ridden a steer from Caddo Lake to Bagdad, and I have ridden a from the San Jacinto to*theCibolo. I hare slept in the eternal pine forests of Eastern Texas, with the deadly taran tulas crawling all over me and the rat tlesnakes hissing in my ear, but if I hava ever lost fifteen minutes’ sleep sinoe I quit teething, then, by the homed frog of Texas, I do not know itl Why, gen tlemen. there is not a Capital in all Europe in which I am not famed as a sound sleeper. On my last visit to Paris, my friend, the Count de Lafay ette, with some associates, got up a de vice to break my slumber. They rig- up an automatic sheet-iron cat and it on my window-sill at the Hotel de Vendome, where it yowled and scratched at the window pane for hours. Well, sir. what do you suppose? I hope that Santa Anna may nee up and make a conquest of Texas u that sheet-iron cat didn't get so dis gusted by midnight that It jumped from the window to the ground, ran around the corner, and has never been heard of since!”— Washington Rqtublicam. One Canee of Bad An Ohio school-teacher went over to a conntiy distribt in Indiana to engraft a little Knowledge upon the youthful sprouts in that vicinity, and one ef the school trustees used such grammar that the Buckeye pedagogue was threatened with hysterics. After two or three weeks he felt that he knew the trustee well enough to speak to him about it. “Why is it,” he asked, “that you persist in saying ‘have saw, 1 ‘have came,’ 'knowed, and other thing* equally as ungrammatical?” “Because I was teached that way by my parents,” replied the trustee. “But, good heavens, man, you should know better than to continue murder ing the English in that styieP 1 “Look here, young man,” answered the trustee, hotly, “rve got a right to murder the English,” “No yon haven’t.” “I know better. I'd like to know if my grandfather wasn’t in the war of ’12, and his father fit in tbe Revolution, and they both done all they could to is to scrimmage 'round and git money enough to take you back to Ohio whar you come from. That’s the kind of a school trustee this chicken is, an' you needn't try to teach him none of yonr new-fangled notions, or you’ll be out ef a job quickern a republican poet-mas ter after March A” The teacher taught the scholars after that. —Merchant TravtUr, AFunnjr' Carolina i* aa old ram that ~ belongs to ek Town- Jlm Webster has been helots the court* of Austin innumerable times for various petty offenses. He wss triad for stealing chickens one day last week. Finally the Judge told him: “You can go. You are discharged. The jury ( has decided you As not guii- ty. Jim passed his hadd over his brow, and asked in a dosed sort of a way: “Ma not guilty P” “Yea, you are not guilty.” “Too don't tell mo so, boss. I’m neber had nufin like dot happen tome before. Dis am a mighty funny yeah. Yus! tbe ^Publicans didn’t The most sazaoioos sheep in North anyhow. ^ ^ w 'lect dhr President, and now I*s been dlgeetlo organs, into pure, rich, fever less blood; electric but steady nerves, and brains that eon think God's thought* after Him, os they have never yet been thought. ThU is my moipe: Sm> od J. A. Adcock, in Sandy Greek ship. He can not only distinguish toe persimmon tree* from trees of other growth in the pefftura, hut has' learned to get the fruit down from them. This he does by batting the tree. He gets off hind The adaptation oi the tints to every gtade of color of the sea-weed In i ous. The younger, lighter taeeons are always to oe found young, verdant fronds of the whilothe older parts of inhabited by older, bn The older stems are of with the white shells of corresponding with these ire to fina white spots on the brown of the crabs. The legs of tbe are frequently of ai with brownish spots, tho slender seo-weed-leavee that just beginning to turn brown. If OUO will, as I did, mdl one of the hscgq plants upon too deck, leave it In a soak of sea-water for an hour or twonad then look through it for crabs without disturbing it, he will find it very hold to discover three or four of the ammolo, although he may be sure there art a quarter of a hundred of them there; and, if be gives the mass a lively shake, he will find a curious assemblage of tho moot varied sorts tumbling off the bush, whose behavior win go far to verify Wagner’s view; for, if they are allow ed umpportunity, they will all swim back to the sea-weed, and each will seek a part of the plant most like it in color. I tried the experiment forty or fifty times, and never ea# a little green crab settle on a dark-brown stem. ■ The crustacean* keep to their color, odd the brown ones will, with amasing speed, dart throngh the thick net-work of stems and leaves, to the darkest spot they can find, where they quickly es cape observation.—2>r. Wilhelm BrtiU enbach, in Popular Soione* Monthly for January. The I a teat Crass tin 1 >7j| *■»' fell State, Senator in The erase for photographing of the human form divine has not yet reached New York, bat it’s bound to come. I have been looking over an English collection. Tner^ were hands—some of thorn stuck through holes in a dark screen and clasped and raised; others wort taken singly, holding a flower; others again, exhibited tbe palm in such a way that a fortune teller could “read the lines. 4 ’ There were bore feet If any ona ever saw a bare foot that was pnstty on anything bat a baby, then they have •sen Ljziie Weatherby's (Mrs. Not Goodwin). She has a beautiful foot without a blemish, and might bn justi fied in having hers pfaotograph*4- But the English feet that had been subjected to this prbeess toot I saw ware some thing wicked. One, belonging to Lady Gladys Lonsdale, was handsome; bat it was as big as the foot of a MU jt Christmas. Then the backs that ora 1 just simple, plain hacks, with perhaps, or without; and sections of shoulders and napes of necks, seraft of necks—scrags of neck, the mntton sellers call ’em—or an*ear, just one detached ear, for that ear Is slant through a slit in apiece of velvet—AMs York Mirror. Laboucbere, of London, should enjoy life. He hss plenty of money and plenty of brains, a seat in Parliaments share in the Daily Newt, a paper of Iris own, a* bank, a house la town, a elasefc home on the Thames, a clever wife, of whom he is really fond,and a baby that Is to him a eonstaat sarprisa. •^ 8 ft' £ ■ ■ 4 into! X K., ■ „ tir ing Methodist i djt • VbtflaimK by 1 K. Polk, and! CSS*' through vmymwh din. thMBssassttocs hMtt 1 ahOd's! the progress of Vrowth of tbs MISS thi Preyer, infant r >aita of tobti aol dastarttir. ■fl fitted fas kind of The total i in ths innaolly. to think titidl or II’ -T t ilf coHPEnnoxr BtigWI e-U ' PADGETT LEADS ALL WALNUT BEDROOM SUITES, tT A NICE BEDROOM BT EVERY KIND AND EVERY YAEOTY COOKING 8TOVE8 AT ALL! iaDGETTS fummitumm Aim 1110 Oeu iii2 BROAD BTBEET - - CTBefer yon to the Editor of this papac. , * v , a suitable distance, stands on lea os if in the attitude ef fighting strikes toe tree a vigorous blow ’ Us head When ha boa persimmons at he quietly < and goes on hit #ay nntfl his fismsnds mm, Tm sKm oM itl* Toil Iw Ttt FiNu CLOtHING, HATS AND ING GOODS; BOT I. L. J V- ;*'V. 746 BROAD STREET, UNDER GLOBE HOTEL*. Gan gat away with them aU In Cbs way of] GENTS’*l/BNiaaiNG GOODS ftr «¥>: Stylos and at Priam thah astonish avorybodytifetl Ha means to outsell them aU. Giro Um hi best pleased man In tbs Stnto. GPDon’ti v ^ ^ > • x. 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