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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. â–  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. â– 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. Xk sTjcarsf
748 BROAD W.
PLEASURE ANSI
watch Airo jrrsLBY ssFxisne juo>
q-irs napiii|i im * i
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