Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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m DAY, MAY 28,1885. Hark! how tbo Winter'* wind doth whiatlo •hriH And '(WiDet the fro*ty pane doth (harp Im- pul .,j. Ilia warlike mimicry of (hot and ahell With *n the strength of an uneonquored wilt The feHth'ry pines with g-litt'rinir store are bright. And all along the maples' slender limbs Hun velr* of silver—suddenly there gleams Through a ol*,:d-rift—one fair, faint beam of iiRht, . . . TJ»c thwarte*! »u; - good-night. Now drops night's nth. Hear ihe loud wind swirling 'from ice-flelds far. Andlq! boht... out-twinkling, star on star. Tlic lights of home far shine with rays all magical. How blest beyond all knowledge, love, were we If but one light ml&ht rrlow for thee and me. II. Unheeded .nen should bo the storm-swept sky. Unheard the wind, the rattling of the sleet Against the pane, for ohl thy presence sweet. Thy hand—-thy voice—thy fond, approving eye Woold make for me a May In mid-December. 1 should hot mind the landscape bleak and chill. The shrouded plain, the drift-encumbered Inn. 1 should fortf t the Winter to remember. Alas! Al as! that bliss may never he: The Winter wish itsg.taim will puns away. And I c re^heTCre this window, now'rets gay, Dy south wituis kissed, upleap—but oh! for me, lu the sad Winter of love’s discontent 1 mutt torever dwell in iangulshment. —Ada Iddings Gale, in The Current. . THE N :.W WIFE. “Miss Clierry, Miss Cherry, it is time to come in!” The ohl stable-clock struck six as Nurse Nancy stood with her hand shading her eyes—the sun was sinking behind the fringe of willows that out lined the river, and the dead leaves tiuttcrcd to and fro upon the brick- pat ed walk that extended beneath the e.i iitlier nf pear-trees. And Cherry Fountain, sitting in a low rustic chair on the river-bank, nev er si irred. “ML'S Cherry,” reiterated the old nurse; cold yourself, you might have some consideration for Master Wil fred.” “Nar.ay. don’t Clierry. petulant!}; here. Willie and 1. ns alone? - ’ “Hut your papa is Miss Cherry. He h interrupt,” eriod “we are happy Why can’t you let ’hy i asking is come love man ( iu but b and some 11! more slowly her living footsteps, “you never toid i.s that this Clierry of ours was almost ayouu' r lady.” •‘Heeause 1 didn t realize it myself,” said Cokea l Fountain, caressing one of Cherry’' 1 ing brown curls, and think ing. even at that inauspicious moment, how much like her dead mother she was growing. “Cherry, this is your new mamma. You must be great friends with her!” The tears brimmed into Cherry’s eyes—her lij»s quivered. Mrs. Fountain's quick eye saw it all, hut she had too much tact to interfere. She only kissed Cherry and clasped her hand Usmiurly. and then began to talk about the beauty of the river, all reddened iu Ute sunset glow. “They are beaut.fill children” she said to her husband that night. “I am sure I shall love them if only they will let me!” “I don’t think there will bo any trouble about that, darling.” said the colonel fondly. Nor would there have been, if Cher ry’s frank, generous soul had been left to its own impulses. But the neigh bors had condoled with her too sym pathetically. Miss Darting, who would herself have been glad to console the handsome widower, had said plaintive- ly: “You, dear Cherry, must remember your mother’s mamory, although your father seems to have forgotten it.” And Aunt Frederica, the elder sister of the deceased lady, had ostentatiously come to the house to remove all the f ersonal belongings of the late Mrs. ountain, during the aoscnce of the colonel on his wedding-tour. *T dare sav your new ma will be for flinging all these in the fire,” said rfhe. “I only hope she will be kind to Willie, poor child 1” “If she is not,” flashed Cherry, “she tvtll have me to settle with.” But Aunt Frederica, only grpaned and shook her head. And it was in this spirit that Cherry was prepared to meet her father’s sec ond wife. Small wonder that Alice Fountain found it well-nigh impossible to win her love. “This was your dear mamma’s faror- . ite flower-bed, Cherry,’ said the bride one morning. “Willie told me so. You and Tmust make it our oafe to keep the place always bright and lovely.” Cherry blushed a Tittle as she glanc ed down at the weed-grown parterre. “There is no occasion for troul" you,” said she. “I can take onto of myself.” . “But I should like to help yon, dear, I .am so fond of ” m ung for you, home, he and your mamma.” “He ami hi* new wife, you mean,” ^nid ( herry with a curl of her lip. l^it little Wilfred jumped up and puiled eagerly :.t h.s sister'a dress. • Let’s go in. Cherry,” said he; “I And I want to sec mv new 1 i ma. ” i-m". rose slowly and reluctantly, u fore iic could pick up her books sbawi, a light ligure, dressed in jlisieiiing white material, came running our to the river shors. “Where are the children?” said a soft voice; “1 want to see the child ren.” W illie, an alVectioaate little fellow of eight tear- old, ran into the anus of bis young sttqunoti.cr, and overwhelm ed her with kisses, which were most eordiahy received, but Cherry hung back with defiant glances. “Lome here, clarlinsr,” said Mrs. Fountain. “Why, you arc nearly as tall as 1 am. Papa. " turning archly to tho bridegroom, who had followed And onoe repelled. Aunt Frederica came daily to the house, and sat solemnly in Judgment on the bride’s new theories of houso- hold management Miss Darling glid ed in and out like a shadow, attach] herself markedly to Cherry. There was a decided counter-current in the house, which Alice could feel rather than see; and, as the days Went by, she began vaguely to fancy that even her husband was different from what he had been. One morning, sitting at the window, »he saw a carriage loaded with trunks drive up. .. "Dear Felix,” she cried, running to where her hnsband sat in the library, .“have you invited company?” Colonel Fountain reddened a little. “Companyi” repeated he. ‘Oh yes, I see. I intended to have mentioned it before. Tho fact, is, dear, my sister Frederica is coming heie for a few months. You are so young and inex perienced that I thought, perhaps, it would be better for her to take charge of the housekeeping, for the present, at least.” j ( Alice’s damaSk-rosc complexion deep ened into scarlet. ■“Have I in any way failed to meet your wishes, Felix?” said she, in a stifled voice. “No, no; but Frederica thought ” “t do not want to hear what Fred erica thought,” said Mrs. Fountain quickly. “And Cherry is getting so lawless, and Willie is positively ungovernable, and Frederica says that the bouse needs a firmer hand to rule it,” went on Col onel Fountain. “Do you think so, Felix?” “If Well, no. not exactly; but you know pet, that you are young to be at the head of a hou>ehold like this.” Alice bit her lip. “Why did you not think of that fore you married me?” said she. “Now vou arc getting childish, ice,” said her husband irravelv. •Ijjrefer to do it myself,” said Cher- **11**. fountain looked at her wistful- 2 , but said nothing more Just then. la ie afternoon she canto to the little boudoir where Chany tat reading. “Where are your hooka. Cherry f” •aid the.. “YOerpope thinks 1 oould read Freoeb and tjensaa arUkyou and halo Towln f«ir be- Al- “I shall begin to believe that Frederica is right about your temper!” Mrs. Fountain could endure no more. She turned and left tho room. Colonel Fountain looked earnestly after her. Like most men, he bated scenes, but nevertheless, his conscience pricked him a little. He half rose, as if to fol low her, and then he sat down again. “Frederica says 1 ought not to give way to her in everythin":,” said be. "And perhaps she is right. Frederica thinks the children should receive a little more of my attention. I’ll go and walk through the garden with them now. Uf course the poor dar ling' ought not to be* neglected because I have married strain.” ^ Half an hour later Alice looked out of the easement and saw her husband coming out of the greenhouses with CheiTV fond 1 v clinging to Ids arm, Wil- lie trotting on before, and Aunt Fred eric a following with both hands full of the rare white grapes which the old gardener parted with so reluctantly. “Ihey are happy enmtgh without me,” she said to herself, with a sharp sudden pang at her heart; “I am only an intruder iiere. ” Witen Colonel Fountain came up stairs to dress for dinner, he fouqd the room empty, but a little note lay on the bureau. • "Di akest Femx,” was what lie read on tearing it open,—“I nope vou will uotbiaiue me lor leaving your house. Bu: I have de cided that ! cannot hve whore I am not loved and trusted tnoroutrlily. If you and Clierry can be happier witli Miss Frederica than with me, I cheerfully abdicate in her favor. One tiling is certain—til ire cannot be two unstresses In a home. And I will try to be as happy as possible with in v Uncle \\ iiloueliby in the meantime.—And please do not forget that 1 am still > our iovinir A LICK.” Colonel Fountain's first impression was that of hot auger, his second a dull despair. But Aunt Frederica pursed up her lips. “Depend upon it, Felix,” said she, “the girl is tired of you. I do despise these chits that never know their own mind!” “Be silent,” said Fountain hoarsely. “You have ruined mo! Is not that enough?” A week of Aunt Frederica’s rule com pletely discdchantod the whole family. Cherry burst into tears one day when the old lady was especially exacting. “I wish I had my ma^ma back again,” said she impetuously. “Your sainted mother, dear dhild,'” groaned Miss Frederica, “is iu heav en.” “But I mean mv mamma Alice,” sobbed Cherry. “1 do miss her so dreadfully! 1 believe she really loved me. And—and I do love her, and I wish 1 hadn’t behaved so horridly to her. There!" “Can’t wo bring her home?” shouted Willie. “Nobody remembers to help tno with my sums, or to cut out paper ships for me, now that mamma is gone!” “We will bring her home,” said the Colonel, who was just then particularly exasperated at discovering that Miss Frederica had been transforming Alice’s boudoir into a bedroom for some fourth cousin who was contemplating an on- invited sojourn at the house. And Alice, sitting solitary and alone, like “Mariana in the Moated Grange,” was astonished that very day by the unexpected vision of Cherry herself. “Mamma,” said the girl, half bash ful, half eager, “dearest mamma, will you forgive us all, and particularly me? Will you come home to us again? We are so lonely without you, says- “Mammals always right.” echoed Cherry and Willie, showering caresses on their recovered treasure. For, by some magic spell, Alice had contrived to convert the whole family mi last It was never “my stepmoth er” again, it was always. “Mamma Alice.” What Is a Savage? No one would call the ancient Bralv- man’s savages, and yet writing waa un ion) before the third < and papa ays 7 ' SJut Alioa bad sprung to her feet aud clasped her repentant stepdaughter in her arms. •»Will you really love me, dearest?” said she. “Oh, Cherry, Cherry, K you could but know how I have pined for your love!” So she came home again, this tiaw to an undivided kingdom, for Miss Fred- erica and her sisters had politely been turned out of doom: the boudoir waa iteeH again, and Colonel Fountain was waiting on the tbreahold to weleouM her back. “My dear,” said, he, I have made a fool of myself, lace it aft now. ft ■hall not happen a second time." Did I do right, Felix?”she said.tito ok, it known to tiiom oeiorcthe third century B. C. Homer, quite apart from hu blindness, was certainly unacquainted with writing for literary purposes. The ancient inhabitants of Gvrmanv, as do- scribed by Tacitus, were equally ignor ant of the art of writing as a vehicle at literature; yet, for all th.it, we oould not say with Gibbon, that with them the nobler faculties of tho mind had lost their powers, the judgment had become feeble, and the imagination languid. And wc find that the use of leU ters is by no means an indispcnsible ele ment to true civilization, we should ar rive at the same conc.usion in examin ing almost every discovery which has been pointed ont as a situ: qua non of civilized life. Every generation is apt to consider the measure of comfort which it lias reached a.i indispensable to civilized life, but very often, in small as well as great things,* what is called fsivilized to-day may be called barbar ous to-morrow. Bacus who abstain from eating the flush of animals nro apt to look on carnivorous people us sav ages; people who ab-tain from intoxi cating drinks naturally despise a na tion iu which drunkenness is preva lent. What should we say if wo enter ed a town in which the streets were neither paved norlighied, aud in which the windows were without glass; where we saw no carriages in any of the thor oughfares, and where,inside tho houses, ladies and gentlemen might lx? seen eating without forks and wearing gar ments that bud never ocen washed? And yet oven in Barts no street was paved before IIS.). Jn London Hol- born w u, li-st paved In 11’.7 and Smith- field iu l(ii4, while Berlin was without paved streets far into the seventeenth century. No houses had windows of glass lx-for*- the twelfth century, and as lato as the fourteenth century anything might b.- thrown out of the w indows at I’aris aflcr lliree times calling out “Gare I’eati!” .'shirt- were an inven tion of the Crusades, and the fine dres^ es which ladies and gcDtltronu wore during tin* Middle Ages »ore hardly ever washed, but only refreshed from time to time with precious scents. In 1550 wc are told that there existed in Paris no more than three carriages— one belonging to the Queen, the other to Diane i!e Poitiers, and tho third to Kenu de Laval, in England coaches tso called from the Hungarian kossi) date from 1580, though whirliootes go back to the fourteenth century, bo for as we know, neither Dante nor Be atrice used forks iu eating, and yet we should hardly class them JS savages. — Max AJulier, m Ute Nineteenth Century. Professional Dignity. Doctors are fond of talking about the dignity of the profession, and do their best to uphold it. An eminent London physician once told me, in conversa tion, that he makes a point of never thanking his patients for his fee when he takes it, but simply pockets it as a matter of course as bis doe. I presume he would similarly disdain to ask for it should the patient depart withont of fering to pay. They sometimes do this. A friend of the writer, who was once treated thus by a lady richly at tired, stopped her just as she was mak ing her exit, and in the blandest of terms begged to be allowed to look at the prescription again for a moment. He looked at it lor a few seconds, and then, tearing it across, threw it into tho Are. “Indies ia silks and satins,” he said, “esm generally afford to pay,” and calmly rang his bell for his servant to nsher in the next patient. Doctors occasionally get the wont of it, thongh, when they stand too much on their dignity with patients. A local practitioner ia a country town was one day sent for to visit a child in the fam ily of one of his patients. On arrival he found bis little patient had been ail ing for some days, and asked why he had not been called in before. “Oh,” said the mother, “we have been giving it a bottte of E-—•*» stuff,” mentioning a patent medicine prepared by a veteri nary surgeon well known in the coun try, and a bottle of which she had ob tained at the chemist’s. “What!” ex claimed the doctor, “expect me to at tend after a horse doctor?” and he marched off in great indignation. The father of tin* child was a baker, and supplied the doctor’s family with bread. Next day no bread was delivered at the doctor’s house. The doctor's wife put on her bonnet and shawl and went out to call on the baker, respecting the omUskn*. 0« entering the shop she saw the baker’s better-half, and polite ly intimated that abe had called to say that no bread had' been left aa usual, and she would bo glad to have some sent. ‘Oh. no,” was the reply, ‘your husband won’t attend us as a doctor, ao we sha’n’t supply him with bread,” ond thev didn’t The doctor was forced to deal with another and inferior baker, as s milariy the baker had oa the pravi- ous day been forced to send for another doctor. A Cleveland {O.) machine company has the first and only auger ever manufactured that will bore a square hole. Its application ia ordinary and works on the same principle as round- bole augers. Its end, instead of haring a screw or a bit, has a earn motion which oi-ei Hates a eutter mounted oa a steel rocking-knife which cuts on both aides, in onler to prevent the splint ering of the wood the ends of the cut ter are provided, with small aemieirco- lar-«hai>ed aawa which help hi cutting ont perfectly square corners. .It ia ‘ee- tiuuifod that this new prosns will save the labor.of three men who work with chisels. An Ohio man was the Inventor. “It Isn’t il> -r- SSMAN. -L n- Wrti.it* lYuwvU to Death l.»r »r. rca>M*m«eata. Hie pci fume of flowers and the f iir women to be a member t : ti-x.'. We don’t feed on locusts a*..I « L I honey uud sleep on down,” s I.' a we- rj member as he tilted biu-k in lit!, chair and brushed aside Uu.- L. a.«> *4 L piled npnn hi* desk, lie IihiI a liHgiDtrd look in bis eye, ami hi- right hand hung limp at tils side with a pin between his fingers “If anylsxlv thinks it's clover, let him try it! *1 Msrtod out with the idea that it was mv duty t<> answer every letter I got. Wdi; I bi\i* involved myself in a problem of geometrical progression,” and lie oh,led in n de-pairing sort of way at the desk before him, the ample waste basket by his side and the floor about him—all full of letters. “They are accumulating every day. Every one I i.ti'wcr brings two more, and I answer them all. Just think of it! It makes my head swim. When I first came here 1 used to go out a little. I went to the theater occasionally, or to an entertainment, or to a reception, or to see a friend. Now I go nowhere. Each year 1 am more closely confined. The walls are closing in around me, and, like the man in the Tron Shroud,’ I am waiting for them to close and crush me. I’ve stopped going out. I leave my committee-room at the canitol only to go to my desk at home. I swallow my dinner whole, as it were. I write late at night—later each night. The progression is working out, and mv mail’e bigger each day. Presently 1 shall have to sit up all night; then re duce my meals to lire minutes; give up smoking. Write, write, write! Oh— well—think! ’Tis a terrible doom; slowly to write one’s self to death. The pile of letters is up to my neck. Soon it’ll l>e over my head—daylight will be shut ont—and—then—! rt No, *ir; wo don’t live in clover.” And he drew in a long breath and settled himself down in his chair as if resigned to his impending doom. “Why, it started this way—It always ha* a start; any member will tell you— it started this way: Aa soon as I got to congress I got a letter from one of my constituents congratulating me upon my election, and saying that he knew now there would bo some legis lation; the constitution should not be violated; I must introduce a bill in the house to prohibit fishing in my dis trict with three hooks to one line— ’twos unconstitutional. I answered that letter, bewailing the utter disre gard of congress for the national fish eries. sud explaining the utter useless ness of attempting class legislation. I got four letters from that neighbor- homi by returning mail, and they kept on increasing until the entire popula tion was represented by autograph let ters. My promptness to answer any and all letters was heralded all over the country, and I was asked to pass all sorts of bills, from one to regulate the length of prayers to one for the suppression of kissing at pound parties. One man wanted to Know whether the rope Guiteau was hung with was hemp or cotton. I referred this letter to the department of justice. The attorney general indorsed it to tho warden of the jail, who returned it to me with a minute official description of the rope —the material, length, and manner make. This contributed lar; crease my correspo elhit_ that no one else would notice was told my address, with the assurance that I loved to write letters. A large num ber of my letters now are applicants for places under the new administra tion. One man want d a place that would take him to (Lan.-tda. He did not know wnat particular place. His doctor toid him that it would benefit his health to live there, and if 1 would just look around and find a place there for him with a pretty good salary at tached he v ould Uku it. But, by the way he had children just growing ap. I might lake this into co a side ration, and get him located where there were good free schools. “Another fellow wrote that he would leave it to me to pick out his place for him, but I mustn’t get the salary be low 81,300. He thought I’d be a bet ter judge of good places than he was, “Some mqn may refer these letters to the waste basket, but It don’t do. They must be answered. I must write; good-by. I mustn’t waste more time talking. I’ll have to sit up late to make up for it. I must writ*. The walls are doting around me.” “Well, mr good fellow, what can I do for you?” aud ho turned to a sup pliant in soldier clothes, who stood at his elbow with persistence in his face and a glased cap in his band. “I’m an American by adoption. In ’59 I married an Amorioan woman with a mnle—her grandfather left it to——” But at this point the petitioner w; thrust aside by a Mexican pensioi who wore three medals and had been a personal friend of Win Scott’s, and wanted his pension Increased. — Watk- ington Star. • 1 ——■■■ i i ■ Cuffs and Collars In the West. “Don’t talk to me of the West,” ex claimed avoung man on an East-bound train. “The West makes me siok. and I’m getting back to Boston u fast as I can go. No more of the boundless, blooming West in mine, if I can help It, and I think I can.” “What’s the matter with the West?” “Matter enough. Have just come from a little town in Western Nebraska. Had a store ont then. Laid ia a big stock, and fixed things up nice. Ex pected a booming trade. If I do sey it myself I had the nioe-t store in the county. The people came in to see me, bat wouldn't bay. The few that did buy anything would eye me suspickmatT and never come back. Couldn’t seU $5 worth of goods a day, sud bad to make aa assignment. And all this be- oenee guess it if you can." “Give it up.” “Because I were cuffs and a stand- up oollar. The man that wears such things eaa’t do basifless behind a counter out ht that country. They ae welfsa- with * write of irgely to in- Everybody mde nee. Everybody who had something to write about 1 was one#. A Montana man comes to the front woa!hrStand ia He miaht vc s n“? whisky seakaf a * *' ■ II mast beef* HHHHH 1 ... {HR t j 'I f CHAMOIS* aesMthtoc Aayet Mw Alptaw Aetotope, That chamoisWro capable of passing places that even a cat would hesitate alia well known to every one who has wandered mnek among (lie high Alps. A few months ngn 1 way in the wild and desolate region of Fiz Vatiml, where it overhangs the jm-it Grii.lutschGlaciec 4a the Canton ties GrhronT. From this glacier I traced chamois-tracks, high up over some very steep snow slopes,to nere the slopos ended, at an absolute ly vertical wall of rocK. This wall pro- like a butt res-, and was proba- y fifty or sixty feet broad, and 400 feet to its base, while nti ai ove was nothing but overhanging cliffs. On tie other side of tho buttress the *now-*loue was jontinuod, and here the traces recommenced exactly on n level with the other ones. How had Ute chamois passed that wall? That they had pass ed it was certain. If it was by a leap it most hare boon a terrific- one, and ip their flight they would have bad to de scribe a horizontal curve like a bow. Tho more likely explanation is they found cracks in the face of the rock, for their wonderful feet, though even with the aid of a good field-glass I waa nnablc to detect the presence of the slightest lodge in the precipice at that spot. In spite of their surefootedness, however, these animals do sometimes come to grief. Mr. Whymper, in bis “Ascent of the Matterhorn.” relates how he found a chamois in the neigh borhood of the Stockjo, at tho bead of the Zmntt Glacier. Tho animal bad slipped on tho upper rocks, rolled over and over, down a slope of debris, with out being able to regain its feet; and, its horns catching iu a notch in the rock, it was unable to free itself, and had starved to death. Recently 1 met a hunter with a cha mois of forty pounds over his back, toiling painfully down the lower slopes of the Aiguille Vert, near Chamonnix. He had been on the mountain for two days, the result being the one animal, which he had only recovered with great difficulty after he had shot it, as it had fallen over the precipice. This is a common occurrence, but it Is seldom a hunter will leave his quarry behind him. Throe years ago some German* mountaineering in the Berncae Obor- land found the decomposed body of a chamoij resting on a ledge of rock about fifty feet below them; and a few moments later they were horrified to observe the body of a man on a grass slope several hundred feet lower down. By making a detour they managed to reach the spot. The poor follow was lying on his back, his gun-barrel bent double, and the stock smashed to splin ters. His body was terribly mutilated, and tho face was decomposed beyond all recognition. His bony hand still graspeothe lock of his gun. The posi tion he was lying in, and the chamois up above, told their own story. He had shot the chamois. It had rolled over on to the ledge, and in endeavor ing to recover It he had lost his footing and most have been lying for many weeks where he was found. If onoe the sentinel buck of a herd of chamois catches sight of a man, all hope of coming np with them that day is at an end. Under such circumstan ces a hunter will often follow the tnoka over snow and ice all day, para the night in the shelter of some rock, takn up the trail again on the following morning, when possibly patience and perseverance may be rewarded. One of the number ia always in ad vance, and another one some little dis tance in the rear. These an the ad vance and rear guards. Occasionally they stop, sniff the air, and son* the mountains, and at the slightest indica tion of danger they give tne signal and the whole lot go bounding sway as if they had been caught up by n whirl wind. If they hmppen to be on a gla cier or snow-field when startled toey almost invariably make for the rook* This is probably the result of some stinct which teaches them that theta tawny color renders them less liable W be seen amongst the dark rocks than on the snow.—London Graphic. m • — The Bun of • Wonsan’s Lift. An occeeional personage ia society is the young woman who does not in the least care for the companionship of other women. To her an afternoon tea or a “hen lunch” is like soap with out salt It does not at all matter that the women may be bright. and clever, leaders of fashion or notables In a worldly way, after all they are bat wo men, and all the bright talk, all tha ready smiles, all the grace and charm of manner that are current coin at such gatherings, are but awful wastes of raw material. If she is a persofi lacking in refinement she does not nearly disguise her impatience, her ab solute weariness, her conviction that hoars spent with them are lost And even if she is tactfnl it is often appar ent that her mode and manner intend melons patronage, and the gentle en durance of a boredom that she cannot escape. When the men come ia it is like tho lighting of n theatre by elec tricity. All the dimly guessed at femi nine attractions flash into view. Than are smiles, langhter comes readily, re partee is aoick, and archness most arch. To this young woman the man is as a glass of champagne He is lit erally imd figuratively tne existence.—Afae Orica vaL _ Hanging Mskos *’ ban eem k—efoeUng t . Onrtaff n '.i&i mtHart “odd in tbc'&tod.** mishit “odd in the beeT marked al malatie it experttnsefl, eompealed bye slight tsesri Then ooaea a sea the heed, there is swsselng, a profess flow of tears, aa irritating a*d eoeiona discharge from the note. This Manns that the mnoons membrane ef the nose is inflamed, and if this spreads down the back of the throat, the snffnwr be comes hoars* The best way to treat this troublesome oomplatat is to take a “hot drink.” An orange siloed stad put into n large eap with e little snmr JK ■'%■ JcV * sprinkled over it,' and boiling poured upon it, and then-drank a* possible, is both pleasant and flciaL as hot The feet should be pot into hot water, with or without n little mustard. sTtbe wall T^ie foot-bath should be taken bed-aide; the patient ahonld bn wrapped np, and n blanket pit across his knees should be drawn side the bath, ao aa to eon fine steam. After keeping the feet in the water for from five to tea minutes, the C atient should lose no time in getting ito bed, where hs will probably derive great benefit from the general ieoUag of warmth, and from the flow of per spiration which has been induced. If possible, st this stag* the patient should remain in bed for two day*, with n fin in his room, which should be well made up at night, so ns to keep alight till morning. Bat keeping ia k> little a saewwe* no the will do good if the ] persists ia holding n newspaper book to read, for thereby he Is i era dangerously exposed to the cold than if he were np, dressed end going about as usual The main point Is to keep thoroughly wrapped up and constantly warm. Even an uncomfortable de gree of heat may be beneficial. A small piece of camphor shewed and sucked, is very good. So Is the inhalation of sulphurous acid gm ■* remedy which was found to be ia eem •tent use by the wee vers of Kirenhft, who had it among the materials of thdr work. Buy two ounce# ef sulphurous acid (dilute) from e chemist, and titan take out the cork end Inhale--- through the nostrils only, of course—the pum f eat gas which is given off. Some OSS errier’s snuff, and find bsneflt there from; but It must be need cautiously, as it contains a powerful drug—to-wit: morphia Ten or twehre grains ef Dover's powder taken ia gruel at bed time is good for an adult, bat ■fofH not be administered to ebUdrsu, as it contains opium, which ahonld nerar be given to them without n doctor's pre scription. To avoid an —* excoriation of the none tad during the coarse of n cold ia thev should be often washed thoroughly with soap and lukewarm water,- and n little ramline should be applied. If the throat feels sor* a chlorate of potash lozenge should be sucked oooasloaaihr. — The Family Doctor in HonetkUd Words. sun of her Timea-Demo- It Is strange how t little steady ore on the windpipe affects peopl course it chokes warn, but that is reason why they shouldn't bn able to move their limb* They seem to loo* all control ever their ttmedos and give right in. I remember a erne that on enrred In Brookvill* If*, when I was n young man. A woman, tho wife of a wealthy sen captain, threw n skein of yarn over the top of aa open dqonqao day mid sticking her head UuoUgfc *# tight that hung down dcubiad op her knees so her foot eeokl not tench and remained in that nooMoa until she choked to death. 0aa woekl nnlnrai toijSSfiliMaiuDitm mialV 1 *’ allow her foot to drop to tkf *-*“‘1 waa not the ' Honors to the Deed ia China. When a man dies, the first card of hta friends is to place at the doat of tho bouse a cup of cold water, s custom for which no satisfactory reason is nttign- ed. Then a suit of really'good elothns must bj burned, together with mo|t pf the deed man’s ward re ha Mi boots and shoe* bed pip* horssi haose* sedan any other possessions whisk to care to have with Mm, foth*' require all these things in tf world, and his meeptiott these considerably bettor if be | ‘ clothed than It would he appear in, beggarly want. Ik Is com subred that genuine articles DientihO sacrificed foe his ortginnl outfit, ‘ paper representations ai carious later. For ttt is most important that nil arrangements shmdd be tbe very that oaa be proofed; and the em-HNift often impoverish tboaselvse for to provide what is eonsidon burial The corpse must he new doth#* with a cap and (such a dress ai the ' have hired for the mg to attend a feast.)' The most he handsome and expensive. This, however, is so very important that pen- sons who sen possibly afford it ini' chaao thei* coAno during thrivlifo the moot acceptable gift which a ful son can offer to Ms parent* hi n solid set of *r they may have the intending the making and of their own coffins! In like the provident Chins man likes to his grave and that of bis family dnihqg his lifetime. So a geomaacer is amn ployed, at a high rate of pm, to lain at what spot tho Fungi favorable, and thera land hr ____ vaults are prepared, and • maun if ti the shape of a horseshoe is sOtaMt above each grave ft hr of the ettaOOt importance to secors a spot weft shlelA- ed from the baneful. Ugh tint of the north, but folly ■ijopftl to nil sweet infioenoes Jrom the tooth, tech a grave is so Vsll pleatiaff to thn Sat that tho prosportor of tho family hold- fog such ground Is Mtoota asmMd«« lit JtritSk Quarterly BMom. A romantic young waiter-girl hotel In Ontario,Can., oaota bear F her life tho ocher day by < experiment She hni hoa«i«i«U lag that any* girt ebteken’s heart raw W£ husband the first male in hands with, and,! attempted to swfftow l heart, but tailed, her throat wnd w* tray, <ow* or ap- __ by choking. ■toe wr- ■n ami" —Thni F*- v ’IvJ ^ ... TWt —At tmy* destroyed 1 —In tho tonto. Total, mall rfirna i -Al •my* sLup* zr* —Victor] -Ai V matt -la •*¥***» m IWM ftiM