Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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THE LEDGER: GAFFNEY, S. C., NOVEMBER 11, 1807. 3 THE “HEATHEN CHINEE.'* I MrJ Brot Hurte has n vived the •* Heathen C1 ‘' vC ln “ ,K ‘ W ^" > *' lI, ,n T h,! Hatch Man«- Id rly, witli Auiicr iJean, Biowu uf Calafuraa and Truthful Janiea, who hiiya: It wuh rriitiin up at Ariel’s We war tdttin rounu the l<ur, UiacuaKin of “Iroe silver" that was “goin aocu to par," And Ah Bin stood tl:a~ n-liatcain like a sin.pie, guileless child ?kat heats the angeia aingin—so dreamy lil.o he smiled. Brown of Calaveras, who had come “wait* ing up on hi*bike," demonstrated with Bryan- it* eloquence how the ratio of silver to gold should lie as 1U is to 1 ana drew out of his pocket a leap ot silver and laid it on the coun ter. “The heathen In his blindness bows down to wood and stone," Bald Brown, “but this poor heathen won’t bow to gold alone. So speak, my poor Mongolian, and show os your idee Of what we cull ‘free silver’ and what Is meant by ‘tree.’ " Swift was the entile that stolo across that heathen’s face. I grieve That swifter was the lund that swept those dollars up his sleeve. “Me shabbee ‘silver alleo same as Ileliean man,” says he, “Me shabbeo‘flee’means ‘b’longs to none.' Bo Chinaman catch he!" This action of Ah Bin was adjudged extreme, and Abner Dean proposed as punishment that Ah Bin should “strike the bimetallic balance on Mr. Brown’a new bike.” Ah Bin endeavors to adjust his equilibrium, but his pigtail is caught in the wheel, and he conics to grief. “My poor Mongolian friend,” said Dean, “it’s plain that iu your case Your center point of gravity don’t fall within your base. We'll tie the silver in a bag and hang it from your cue, And then, by scientific law, you'll keep your balauco truel'’ And hero I would remark how vain are nil de ceitful tricks— The boomerang wo throw comes back to give us its last licks— And that same weight on Ah Bin’s cue set him up straight and plumb. And he scooted past us down the grade and left us cold and dumb! • •••••• But not again we saw his face nor Brown his "silver free!" And 1 marvel in my simple mind howe’er these things can be. But I do not reproduce the speech of Brown, who saw him go. For my words are pure and simple, and 1 never yet was low. A BICYCLE ROMANCE. It was a wretched looking old bike, and lor antiquity would have taken first prize anywhere. My disappoint ment was intense, and tears of mortifi cation sprang to my eyes, but I forced them back as I noticed the look of anx iety on the face of the old man beside me, who inquired, with some emotion: “Have you got a cold, Kathie? Your ©yes are wet. ” “Yes, Uncle Thomas, ” I replied, “and summer colds are so hard to get rid of. But never mind my cold. Thank you so much for buying me the bicycle.” “Well, dearie,” he replied, “it’s not quite a new one, but 1 thought it would ;do for you to learn cu. ” Oh, how I did * wish he would go away and let me have 'a good cry, but as he hung about 1 had to mount and take a few turns round the garden, much to his delight, and he rubbed his hands, exclaiming: “Well done, little girl. You’ll be there before any of them, you bet. ” At last he went indoors, and hiding myself in the summer house I wept copiously. What should 1 doi* Get my prayer book and keep on repeating tko collect for rain? Stay iu bed tho next day and pre tend my cold was worse? No, neither of these resources would do, and even if it rained all night, which was not in tho least likely, 1 would have to put in an appearance on the morrow. Well, there was one spice of comfort left—tho roads were inches deep with fine, white dust I would start early and get a good covering of it over poor un cle's gift, and then, perhaps, some of its many deficiencies might be bid, and then, being naturally light hearted, l dried my tears and went in to prepare tea, that being a duty 1 did not allow our little maid to interfere with. My mother and 1 had lived alcne for many years, my father, who had tiled when I was 3 years old, being only a memory to me. He had been captain and owner of a merchantman, but had only been able to leave a very moderate independ ency for my mother, so we two had al ways lived very quietly, and it was quite an event iu our lives when a let ter cams from Frisco telling that my mother’s only relative was coming home after an absence of 40 years. I had nev er seen ray quiet mother so excited over anything He was her mother’s only brother, and she had only a very dim recollection of his going away. "I am afraid, Kuthio,’’ sho said, “that uncle is only a poor man, for al though he has corresiwuded with me at long intervals he has never mentioned his affairs. Ktill I am pleased to think he is coming.” Well, Uncle Thomas followed closely on tho letter, and, true enough, his affairs did not seem to have flourished, for his clothes were quite threadbare and his luggage of the scan tiest. Like most girls of the present day, my great ambition was to own a bicycle, but unfortunately the buying of one was quite out of the question, al though 1 could ride well enough, my comimnion. Florrie Floyd, the doctor’s only daughter, having let me learn on hers. So, after onco more discussing the matter over with mother, 1 had to re luctantly give up ail idea of joining tho picnic, and i had so longed to go for one thing. It was tho first time Sir Walter’s demesne had ever been accessible, and that itself made me more anxious to see the beautiful grounds that bail always been so jealously guarded from intru sion. Sir Walter had died six mouths before, and the heir that he hud never seen had given permission fur this spe cial party to hold their meet iu his demesne, and, by the way, he bail not 4eeu the place hiuiself, but was expect- «yl to arrive ut an early date. Perhaps 1 ought to have said that his agent had given the doctor’s party leave to sec tho grounds and not he. Well, after mother had succeeded ia convincintr me of her inability to get me even a secondhand mount Uncle Thomas hud unexpectedly chimed in by saying, "Well, Kathie, if you don’t mind hav ing a very first class bike, I’ll get yon one.” I was both astonished and de lighted and kissed the old man effusive ly and went to bed quite happy, and now, just before tho day of the meet, he had brought this monstrosity. Well, I must not be too hard on tho old mac, but I wished he had bought himself a new coat instead. The collect for rain was unanswered, so was my desire for sudden sickness. I never felt better iu my life, and the sky was cloudless, so there was nothing for it but to put a bold face ou tho inevitable and at the time appointed. I started, watched from the gate by my evidently admiring uncle. Creak, creak, went the old ramshackle. It was awful! What should I do when 1 joined tho others, every ouo of whom owned a first class mount? Should 1 turn back and pretend that I had a spill? Oh, there was no pretense required, for, giv ing an xtra groan, my mount col lapsed, and it and I rolled over in tho dust below When I picked myself up, I found the rim off and the spokes all twisted and broken. There was nothing for it but to drug the remains back to tho cottage and take up my daily duties, and while feeling sorry for uncle’s.dis- appoiutmeut I could not but rejoice at my escape from the criticisms of Florrie and her friends. Still, there was no use hurrying. The day was lovely. So, dragging my wheel to a shady bank, I sat dc ,vn and began to make a daisy chain and hud almost completed it when a gig drove rapidly around the corner. 1 was ou tho wrong side of the road and right iu its tracks. It took the driver all his time to pull up to escape driving over me, and jump ing quickly to my feet I tried to get my unfortunate bike out of the way, but it was useless; its ruin was complete. Quickly descending, tho driver show ed great couco.ru at what he called his stupidity, but I only laughed uud in formed him that be hud only completed tho wreck, and, almost before I knew what I was about, 1 told the wheel story of uncle’s gift and my disappointment He seemed quite amused ut the recital, and then told mo he himself was just going to Cliff' Court, Sir Walter’s de- mense, and would have great pleasure in driving mo there. I was not hard to persuade, and after he had helped mo to place the remuius of ray bicycle carefully behind the bodge off we start ed, passing ou the road the doctor and his guests. So after all it was 1 who got the first glimpse of the beautiful court and stood on the terrace among the strutting peacocks when the others arrived, “for all tho world," Florrie said, as thought 1 “owned tho place and was waiting to receive them us guests. ” 1 should say ny companion en route left mo on our arrival, saying his busi ness was with the agent, and just as the others arrived he returned, saying the agent had given him permission to take us not only over tho grounds, but through the Court itself. Such a thin had never been heard of before an caused great excitement among us. It would take me a week to tell of the beauties of ouo of the most stately of “tho stately homes of England. ” We all wandered at will through the magnificent picture galleries and superb reception rooms, and then to our in tense surprise found a choice lunch awaiting us in the great dining hull, where befrilled dames of hundreds of years ago looked down in haughty dis dain ou us, as though resenting our in trusion, uud ancient knights leaned ou their swords and seemed to look us through and through. But the day waued, and much to our regret the time for starting homeward came. It was only then that 1 began to wonder how I was to get there, but my knight of the morning again offered me a seat, and off we drove, leaving tho others to follow. The drive through tho fragrant country lanes was most enjoy able, and my companion was very enter taining, telling me of many foreign lands through which he had traveled, uud was describing a visit to tho ice palace at St Petersburg when we reached the eiiot where should have been the re mains of my poor bike. But search as we would wo could Uud no trace of them. 1 was greatly upset at this, but my companion said perhaps it was best so, and then my uncle would not feel griev ed at the slate of his gift Well, quite suddenly a feeling of great shyness came over me, and l begun to realize how free I bad been with a complete stran ger and wondered what mother would think of it ail. Bo 1 said 1 would not get into tho gig again, but would walk home uud make my explanations us best I could. My friend would have gladly accom panied me, but this 1 refused, and shyly holding out my baud said: “Goodby. You have been very good to me, and 1 thank you for helping mo today ” But he only laughed and said: “It must not be goodby, but only good day, lor I will be engaged with the agent at (Jliil Court for about a mouth, and 1 hope jrou will lot me call ou your mother and yourself." Ho watched me out of sight, and as 1 neared home 1 wondered how 1 could tell Uncle Thomas of the disaster to my bicycle, but there was no need of ex planations, for on reaching home 1 found poor uncle had met with a sad ac cident, having fallen from a ladder he had mounted in order to fasten a climb ing rose tree above 1)1% bedroom win dow. One of bis legs was badly broken and he bad received other serious in juries. Still, he managed to ask me if 1 bud bad “a happy day” when 1 stood ccying at his bedside. “Oh, yes, dear uncle,” I replied, “the happiest day in my life, 1 am sure,” on hearing which he smiled feebly uud then lapsed into unconsciousness. He was iu great danger for weeks, and when my knight of the picnic called I could only see him for a moment or two. He left his card for mother and the name ou it was “Mark Urquart. ” Well, it became a daily thing for him to call to inquire how our invalid : progressed, and sometimes I sat in the ! old summer house with him, but I did not understand the hold lie bad got on my heart till he told me he would be leaving in another week, his business with the agent being over. Oh, how my heart ached when I thought of him going away, and ho must have seen my grief in my face, for he told me he could not go unless I went with him. In vain I spoke of my uncle’s illness, my mother’s loneliness. He would insist ou speaking to my mother that very night, and after quite a prolonged interview my mother called me iu and, greatly to my surprise, told me she was quite willing for me to be married privately ou account of my uncle’s illness. She said Mark had quite satisfied her as to his ability to keep a wife. So the next week we were very quietly married iu a neighboring town and then went to tho Westmorland lakes for a week. We had arranged to stay with mother for another week before taking up a house for ourselves, but as we traveled homeward Mark asked mo if 1 knew that Sir Frederick, Sir Walter’s success or, was to arrive that night to take pos session of Cliff Court. I said no, and that it would be delightful for us to mix with the crowd that would be wait ing to welcome him before going ou to the cottage. So, Mark being agreeable, wo took a fly from the station and arrived as a light was being put to an immense bon fire on the lull. Mark said we would go in by the side gate and escape tho crush, and we reached the terrace with out difficulty The peacocks should have been gone to roost, bnt the noise had evidently roused them, and they were strutting about just as they had been that other day. Just as 1 was going to remind Mark of that time a great cheer went up, and a crowd ‘camo rushing around us crying “Long live Sir Fred erick!’’and Mark said: “Forgive me, Kathie darling, tor deceiving you. I am i Sir Frederick 1" Then before I could realize what he really meant Florrie came running up ami said: “Didn’t 1 say that other day that you were Just like tho owner re ceiving your guests? And now you aro really part owner. I wish you much happiuess. ” Oh, dear, it had all como to rno so unexpectedly that 1 felt faint, and asked Mark (for 1 could uot call him Fred erick) to take me to mother. Ho told me sho and uncle, who had improved very quickly, were waiting in tho Court for me, so 1 hastened in and found them iu a cozy, quiet moruing room. Mother clasped me iu her arms uud asked my forgiveness in aiding Mark, who had told her his real position tho night he proposed to mo. But whilo sho was speaking we heard Murk say: “Is it possible that you aro Uncle Thomas?” You see. owing to uncle’s accident he bad uot seou him beforo. My uucle laughed and raid: “I suppose my little game is up,” and while mother uud I looked from one to tho other for some explanation, Mark said: ”1 find that after all itia I who must introduce Uncle Thomas to you. We aro old friends and traveled together from Frisco. He is the famous Ameri can millionaire, Thomas Gilford Banka The latter name ho adopted some years ago. ” 4 So it turned out that Mark (whose name was Frederick Mark) had uot married a poor girl after all, though he thought ho had, for i am my uncle’s sole heiress, and ho gave me a bicycle worthy of a millionaire us a marriage present—Belfast News. M uni)room lutlmaclee. It is hard to preach distrust to young people, but it really seems uccessary to warn them against sudden friendships. Such intimacies almost invariably end in decided coolness, if not enmity. “ Fcs- tiua lento' is a bit of proverbial advice that is never more apposite than when applied to the formation uf familiar re lations in a new plaea Mrs B. calls upon her recently ar rived neighbor, Mrs. C. The latter is attracted at once by the frank, cordial manner which is so taking to a stranger iu a strange land, and an entente cor dial© is at once established between the two ladies. Mrs. C finds all too late that she is thereby thrown into the un desirable set of tho neighborhood from which it becomes almost impossible to extricate herself At watering places especially to the familiarity of daily intercourse are due many mushroom growths of so called friendships which are not only unde' sirable but productive of actual harm, tiome author bus said that “it takes u year to know a lover, but half a dozen to know a friend, ” a commentary which is very true, indeed, as many find to their cost.—New York Tribune. THE MAN WHO HID.' f A STORY OF THE TRYING TIMES BACK IN 1860. Neat hvaxlou. “Yea. Miss Agnes, those aro tho cus toms officers waiting for us. ” “And is it true that returning tour ists are only allowed ^100 worth of bag gage?" “It is too true The law is impera tive How much baggage have you. Miss Agues?" “Fully *l?. r > worth.” “And 1 have ” “Must I pay?" “There is—there is bn’: ouo way to avoid it Miss Agnes, dear Miss Agnes, let us share our lives—and our lug gage Be my wife I" “Why, Mr Littlcbuit. how you have startled me I" See I They aro locking this way! Quick, your answer! ’ ’ “How am I"—- “Here they como! Y’ca or no?” “Ye-es, but” — “Yes, Air. Inspector, it Is just tlCO apiece”—Cleveland 1’luiu Dealer. A Critical Period In the Lives of the Men on Cnclo Sarr/a Warship*—A Command er Who Had to tin Unusually Diplo matic tj Prevent Trouble. This is the story of a man who did. Thcro were men at that time who didn't, and they wero r.s honest in their actions, perhaps, as the others who did. It was more or loss a question of view point. But this one man might have turned the other way and been less blamable than many of his fellows. Uncle Sam turns out each year now, as he did 50 years ago, a lot of young fellows who swear allegiance to his service and then go forth on sea and plain to duties involving manliness, 1 courage and hardihood. To their glory, bo it said, there are no funkers. The service today is easier, however, than it was back in 1800, and there is uot the strain of sectional feeling among tho officers that disrupted many a mess in that other time. Tho worst that happens now is to get some priggish or unpop ular chap about who upsets equanimi- ! ties. But in 1800 feeling was so strong that even the quarterdeck was not free 1 from suspicions of a treason taint, and tho “old man”—as tho ship’s com mander is irreverently and affectionate ly called—was compelled to be diplo matic beyond custom to restrain the la tent fires. It happened that a slow old tub of a sloop of war lay iu a French harbor awaiting orders to sail iu some direc tion or other, and her officers and men were looking for the next mail to gath er news of what seemed to bo an inevi table conflict between tho north and south. The strain was rather a grave ouo, but tho firmness and policy of the old man kept tilings iu good form and outwardly politeness and brotherhood 1 reigned. The days came and went, and j one afternoon tho ship’s boat brought ' the mail bag aboard In a short time every man’s nose was buried in a news paper or a letter, and an hour after ward the fires were more thau smolder ing in every heart. That night the old nan—he died an admiral—took counsel of himself and decided that the most comfortable place for him and his was tho United States, so at daylight he ordered anchors up and all sail made for homo. Then began a long, slow, dreary voyage back, made almost unbearable to the officers and men because of what might be happen ing while they were dragging along, all unknowing, but the time went by as time has a sad habit of doing, and the ship slipped by tho banks and pointed for Boston harbor. A few hours later tho pilot flag flew ut the fore, and uot long after the pilot schooner was made out to windward. From that moment every man aboard was a restrained, almost sullen, animal. The pilot’s cockleshell boat was low ered and it made for Uucle Sam’s tub. The pilot made a grab at the ship's lad der, made it and began to clamber deck- ward. Onco on board theweather beaten guide found each man at his station, every officer ou deck and the whole crew carrying faces that were livid with sup pressed emotion. Slowly ho made his way to the old man, and, pulling off his cap, scraped the deck. With a deep clearing of his throat the captain said: “Well, pilot, what’s the news?” Your Boston pilot was iu no more oi a hurry in those days than he is now, and ho deliberated a moment before he answered: "Sumter’s fired on, and tho United States has gone to hell. ” Little by little the listening officers fell back and instinctively made two groups, the north and tho south. The break had come, but because of tho old man’s shrewdness it came at home and uot iu a foreign harbor With a very steady voice the captain said: “Mr. Pilot, put us into Boston as soon as you can. ” Then lifting his hat, he said: “The flag’s servant and your’s, gen tlemen,” and went to his cabin. The groups, now knowing the worst, whispered apart, and one by ouo the men disappeared. Late that night the anchor chains hurtling through the hawse holes chanted “Home again. ” In the early morning all the officers were called together and their captain said: “Gentlemen, it is the parting ot the ways Some of us will never meet again, uud some of us will die iu doing what we believe is right Uucle Sam has educated, fed and clothed us, and wo have sworn to stand by him. Y’et no oath can bind a man beyond the strength of his conscience, uud changed condi tions make a changed man On that ta ble 1 have written out tho uear old oatb of allegiance and signed it I stay by the flag. Let each one of you go to his cabin and think it over, then let him come back hero and sign below me, or —let him go his way. ” And then he went ou deck. One at a time the officers come back, until nine names stood under that oi the old man. The others were going tho other way. An hour later the captain went down to Ins cabin uud took the paper in his hands. As he did so he looked up and ouw the man who did. A young, tall, handsome midshipman from Maryland was this man who did, and the captain s voice trembled as he said: “Winnie, do you sign?" "Aye, aye, sir. Same flag and same Uucle Sum iu Maryland as iu Massu ebusetts. y' know ” “God bless you, my boy. Your fa ther and 1 fought side by side as lads iu 1812, and while there are some of us who are uot going away 1 prayed God your father’s sou would stick to us. ” This is tho story of Captain Winfield Scott Schley, the man who did stick to his flag And it's gospel truth.—Now York Sun. Oa iJ.e Wrong Side. There were special services in the church, and every night an old, feeble man was helped by his daughter to a chair just iu front of tho platform, where tho evangelist and tho pastor cat. He was evidently very deaf, but now and then some familiar text reached him, and his face lit up as ho nodded agreement. No doubt, be was getting (is much as the rest of tho congregation, for he watched the speaker's face close ly, and when the hymns were sung and the middle aged daughter had rather fussily found tho places for him he traced the words along tho lines with his shaking forefinger. On tho last night, at Hie close of tho meeting, tho evangelist said, “Now will every broth er and sister hero who can truly say ho or she is on the Lord’s side please rise?’’ The old man did uot catch the words— “Just as I Am” had been sung quickly, and he was still ou the last line—and when the daughter bent down and whis pered reprovingly to him ho apparently understood her to say he could sit still. As the congregation sat down, however, the meaning seemed to come to him, and a cloud settled on his face. When finally the benediction had been uttered and all were moving down tho aisles, his daughter was saying, “No matter, pa, no matter at all— everybody knows you. ” The gloom did uot lighten, and every neighbor ho passed he touched on the arm, saying, “I am getting a little hard of hearing— to think of me uot getting up. ” The daughter smiled deprecatiugly each time and kept up a steady stream of apology for his depression. “Tho idea of pa’s taking it so. He has no occasion to worry, has ho, Mr. Windom? Has ho, Mrs. Wells? Everybody knows where ho stands, don’t they?" In the vestibule au elder of the church passed him and stopped an instant. “Blessed meetings, weren’t they, Brother Morris?” he shputed. “Blessed meetings, I say, blessed, weren’t they?” “Did you see me not getting up?’’ the old man quav ered in reply. “Ale not standing ou tho Lord’s side?” “Oh, pa, you’ve no oc casion”— Tho words died away as they opened tho door and went down the steps. —Chicago Times-Herald. Cultivation of Punctuality. Habits of punctuality can be culti- : vated. Slow coaches can bo cured. ! Some one has said that tho only way to j catch a train is to start in time, and in this pithy sentence lies tho gist of the only cure of the habit of unpunctuali ty. Two rules grow out of it One is, “Always begin iu time to get ready,” and the other is, “When there are sev eral things to be done decide which is the most important uud do that first. ” Perhaps these rules aro best explained by illustration. No. 1 means that if you have an engagement for 5 o’clock and it takes you 30 minutes to get ready, start promptly at 4:80 and let no siren voice tempt you to delay begin ning until 4:35 Be resolute, be firm in this. But in No. 2, suppose you have to dress to go out by a certain hour and you have also a note to write. You do- j cide to write first; tho note lengthens into a letter, your pen runs rapidly away with the time; you add a post script for a very important item, and then you have barely time to dress, us- ! ing all speed, and as you begin in haste a button pops off, or you cannot find your gloves, uud after this unavoidable I delay (?) you hurry to your rendezvous to find your friends waiting. In spite of their gracious assurance “that it makes no matter” you know that it. does. But suppose you hod thought your engagement of paramount impor- | tance, you would have dressed first, ! mended tho button calmly, then writ ten the note without any lengthening of it, and neither your friend nor your correspondent would have suffered. Believe it, punctuality is a comfort able virtue iu a family, and entirely depeudent upon your will.—Philadel phia Ledger An African Thorn Forest. A bad thorn forest had to be passed through here, composed principally of tho Waacht eeu beetjo thorn trees, whoso hooked thorns, arranged in oppo site curves on the same branch, catch tho unhappy passerby in their toils whichever way ho moves. The instinct, when caught by a thorn, is to halt and loosen oneself carefully, and then try to avoid the repetition of tho occur rence. The Waacht con beetje, however, with diabolical accuracy, whenever it has “hooked" a passerby, renders such at tempts futile, for as soon as one has got free iu one place, the thorns set in the opposite direction on tho same branch invariably book into some fresh part of the clothing and at each move the neighboring prehensile branches, set in motion by the movement, seem to book on from above and below, until appa rently there is only one possible way out of the difficulty, and that is to wrench oneself free ut the expense of cue’s clothing ami a succession of very pronounced ami ugly scratches. Added to all this, the plant, with its light green foliage hiding tho vicious thorns iu its friendly appearing verdure, seems to invito tho touch by au outward display of attractiveness, never exposing on its exterior any sign of its disagree able nature Many a bard pressed giraffe or buck owes its life to the fneudly iu- torveutiou of the Waacht eeu beetje tree, past which the hunter, all unsus pecting, has brushed in the hurry of the chase, to he held fust whilo the game vanishes over the belt.—“Tho New Africa," by Dr Aurol Schulz. An Kosy Ou*. The country editor is a reliable ency clopedia. A subscriber sent bun ibis query recently: “What ails my Inns: Every moruing I find one or more of! them keeled over to rise no more.” The j reply was: “The fowls are dead. It i. au old complaint, uud nothing can be done except to bury them. ”—Lockhart (Mmu.) Fhuuogrupu. A NOTABLE APPARITION. Carlo Frn/.l, an Italian Senator, Appear ed to Hi* Brother Alter Death. Signor Falconer, in The Adriatico, recommends to the consideration of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Myers the following psychical experience which happened to Cavaliere Kebastian Fenzi: Signor Sebastian Fenzi'a brother, Sen ator Carlo Fenzi, a n.nit who had stud ied much at home and abroad and trav eled much, had such a strong antipathy for spiritualism that he Legged his brother never to mention the subject to him as he valued their mutual love and the family peace. But iu the early days of June, 1881, being with his brother at their father’s house at ist. Andrea, he held out his hand to him and said: “Look here. Bustiauo, I have something to say to you that will please you. Of Into I have turned my thoughts to spir itualism and am convinced that if I had investigated it thoroughly, as you have done, I should have arrived at the same conclusion as you about it. ” Signor Sebastian heard this with great joy. and, the tie between tho brothers having always been very close, he begged his brother, now that they were getting on in years, to promise that the one who should die first should try and give tho one loft behind a sure proof of life beyond the grave Carlo pressed his hand and said, “Y'es, I promise, with the greater pleasure that I feel 1 shall be tho first to go.” To this Sebastian said: ” Be that as God will. Don’t get melancholy ideas into your head." But Carlo added: “1 feel it so strongly that it must be true. Lis ten. 1 shall not live to the end of the year Before three months are gone I shall be dead and buried. ” Three mouths after this conversation. Sept. 2, 1881, Cavaliere Fenzi, father- in-law to Admiral Morin, commanding at Spezzia. was staying at Fortullino, his villa by the sea, ten miles from Leg horn. Cavaliere Fenzi was in good health and iu the cheerful company of his daughter Cristina and four grandchil dren, when he was overcome by an in explicable melancholy and a feeling at his heart that something serious was about to happen. He turned to bis daughter aud said: ”1 dou t know what terrible thing is happening to us at this moment, but 1 must rush away or in a minute I shall burst out crying before the children. ” So saying, he rushed out into the rain without a hat aud ran to a field, whence he could see some rooks, where ho expected to see his cous in, Giuseppe Fenzi, who had gone out some time before to “behold the fury of the elements, ” as he said, but at that moment be did uot see him. Instead, looking carefully, bo saw that his broth er, the Senator Carlo, was there, in a top hat and without an umbrella, mak ing his way down from rock to rock without heeding the deluge, the flashes of lightning shooting from all sides or the noise of the thunder. Now, at that day and that hour the senator was at Florence, ?U miles away from Villa Fortullino, so that Sebastian ut once thought this figure must be bal- luciuutivc, for if Carlo had suddenly ar rived at Fortullino he would certainly uot have got out of tho carriage to take a shower bath ou the rocks. He rubbed his eyes, but the figure remaiued aud looked so real that he shouted out Car lo's name aud waved his arms to him, but the phautom seemed uot to see him, for it jiassed behind a big rock without showing itself again, although Sebastian waited While waiting he observed his cousin, Giuseppe, on tho rocks, so that he said to himself, “Now, when he passes close to the big rock be will see Carlo aud will stop and speak to him.” However, Giuseppe saw nothing in passing behind the same rock, and ou joiuiug Sebastian in the field he said be had uot seeu Carlo and that uo one was them It wiys now 10:45 o'clock, and tho Senator Carlo Fenzi died exactly at that hour, ?0 miles away, calling ou his brother's name. Signor Sebastian's mel- ancir ly passed. He bud lunch aud was sitting reading a paper when a tele gram was brought to him saying: “Come at once to Florence Carlo very ill. ” No one at Fortullino knew that Senator Carlo was ill, the last letter from him said he was well. Ou arriv ing at Florence he heard from the doc tor that Curio had asked for his brother aud died at 10:45 with his name ou hit lips. Some days after tho death Siguor Se bastian was present at u seance of a psychical society that he had founded. There he received a message by raps, by which au intelligence announced it self as Carlo Fenzi, aud, addressing Cavaliere Sebastian, said, ”1 forced you to go out of tho house, us 1 did uot want to frighten Cristina's children.” What au unexpected proof of identity! —Light II* Wanted Ui* I’eitnion. “I wants ter see do president,” said an old colored man to the policeman at the door of tho White House. He gava his name as Nat Tyler, “born up in Spottsylvouia. but bin in dis towu since it wus started ” ‘1 wants my penshiou ’ said the old man. Ho was told to go to tho pension office. “No, sar; I dun bin dar Dey won’t douufllu. De president knows who 1 is. Ham t 1 dun talk ter him wen ho live up yander?" pointing m the direction of where tho president lived when in congress. “Did you know the president when he was in the war?” "Who say uuyt’ing bout knowing him in do war? 1 know he fit in dem buttles, i druv de amunatiou wagon in du 8ix corpse, but Mr Kinley knew me. he do, and he'll gib me dat |>eu- slnoii 1 jes' tolls yer, 1 wus iu so many battles dut 1 didn't count 'em. Du way dem t'iugs was rolling was awful. I joh' got under de aniuuution wagon and stay dar W'eu de war was over, 1 druv dem six mules baek to Washington and guv dem to du goverumeu' down in south Washington Dey didn’t guv me u t'ing, aud 1 wants my penshiou.’’— Now York Tribune