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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S. C., AUG ST 16, 1879. 85. THE WIND AND STREAM. A brook came stealing fret" the ground, You soaroely saw its silvery gl am Among the herbs that hung around The borders of that winding stroam - A pretty stream, a placid stream, A softly gliding, bashful stream. A breeze came wandering from the sky, Light as the whispers of a dream.; He put the overhanging grasses by, And gaily stooped to kiss the stream. The pretty stream, the flattered stream, The shy, yet unroluotant stream. The water, as the wlnd passed o'er, Shot upward many a glancing beam, Dimpled and quivered more and more, And tripped along a livel er stream, The flattered stream, the simpering stream, The fond, delighted, silly stream. Away the airy wanderer flow To where t'ie Holds with blossoms toem, To sprkimg .aprings and rivers blue, And left alone that little stream, The flattered stream, the cheated stroam. The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. That careless wind no more camo Lack, le wanders yet the fields, I doom But On Its meilnholv track Complaining went that little stream, The cheated stream, the I f'uoloas stream, The over-murmuring, moaning streaw. - A Just Retribution, "I1 declare, that wats the handsomest man I ever saw I Do come and 'see, Etta lie Is going In at the Hampton's." "Oh, I may as well spare myself the un necessary trouble, Bert," lazily replied Ett, as you know any person who asso clates with such poor people can have nothing in mmiion with mo." "For shame, Etta! I think the ITamip tons are very nice people, anti I mean to. Invite them to the party, too. I do not see any reason for slighting them over than that they are poor, and perhaps you and1 many have the same fault sone tty; who knows?" "Indeed, I am doing no such thing I I ai very fond of May Hampton, and 1 fear, since your arrival, I have greatly slighted her." "Well, Bertie, we have discussed this same subject on various occasions, and as I see I cannot change your views in the least, I think we had better dropped it." The above conversation took place in a copy little morning room. The first speaker, a beautiful brunette, was at home, while the one whon she addressed as Et la was her most intimate friend, who had come fromt the South to spend the holidays, and renew the friendship which had begun at boarding-school. People wondered that two girls so entirely different in looks and disposition shoulI Wcome such warni friends; but they wen such, nevertheless. l~ia Mayfair was a lovely blonde to look upon, but that was all that could be said in her favor. She was one of those shilmlow minded girls who think they lower thei selves greatly if they are brought into con tact with poor people. Bertie Ray was to give a party during her friends stay, and, as we have seen, they disagreed as to whether th, Hamptons were to be invited. The days rolled on, an(d the long looked for evening came at last. Bertie and Etta were receiving their guests, looking lovely in evening toilets. "There comes the handsome stranger, Bert, and he acts as though this kind of a scene were no rarity with him. But I guess it is, or he would not associate with those Hamptons." "Now, Etta, why will you persist in picking at those people ?" But before they had time for more con versation May Hampton had made her way to them, and was saying "My cousins Mr. Lester, Miss Ray anti Miss Mayfair.' liertie received her friends cordhially, while Etta stared at them in a veryv rude maniner, which said as plainly as words, "You do not belong to our set." "Who is the handsome blonde ?" said Horace to May, as Bhertle andl her friend turned away to greet some ne0w arrivels. "She is a friend of Blertie's from the Mouth, But please watch your heart close hy, Horace, as I am sure she is not worthy of it." "Never fear, little cozi My hleart is fllrtproof." lHertie turned to them, presently saying "I anm so glad you came, May I I was afraidh you would no. "I like your parties too well to m1115 onle; but I had hlard work to persuade Horace to come." "Indeed, Mr. Lester! It would have been unkind in you to remnan wyadI am very glad you came." iwy n "I also am exceedingly glad, as I have made what I hope will prove to be a very pleasant acquaintance." Bertie blushed pretty, wile a scornful look passed over Etta's fair face. Uut her coldness could not hold out long against Horace, and she began chatting pleasantly with.h1dm, thinking, the while, "He is the handsomest maa I have seen since I came here, and I must addl his name to my list of victimse." . Bertie's brother* presently came to claim May'a hand for a waltz, and Etta said, ini an aside to Bertie "I am surprished at Al's asking that Hampton grl to waltz,. "Why, tta, I presume ho has a right to waltz with his fuitire wife, if lie sees fit. 1 thought you knew they were engaged." "Well, I did not, and I think it Is ridi culous I The idea of your parents allowing Albert to marry so much beneath him I" Bertie smiled, and returned "Albert is his own master, you know ; he is of ago." Mr, Lester here approached, and dlesired the pleasure of that waltz with Miss May fair; and Meftie's partner coming at thlat moment, theytwere both whirled away. As Horace and Etta floated throughl the roonia people were heard to remark what a very habdeolne couiple they were. "By the way, 1 wish you would warn thalt cousin of yours against Etta, said Al bert, as he and May were strolling through the conservatory after the waltz. '"fle does not need any arning, as he understands her perfectly," The next morning, as Biertla and.Etty were sippin their ocolate at a ver late breh~fat1~rie inquired " l)''to, hat iM your opinior of Mr. L~et -"Oli he will do," replied she. "If lie -were only rich, .1 think ~I would dd ny ut most to win his love; but as it is. he will make a very pleasant companion durini long winter evenings." "Now Etta, Is that the best you have t say for such a man ? You had better thini twice before you try to flirt with him." "Indeed, my mind is quite iade up, am I litend to make him propose before 1 re ti..'n home." rime rolled on. Dame Rumor had i that I1orace Lester and Et.ta Mayfair wer surely engaged ; but Horace also paid at tention to Bertie, and continued to divid his time equally between the two. Whi with Etta lie was very gay, and sometime a little sentimental; and she used to wondie why lie did not propose. Instead of III flirtation she at 1ihst intended, el ham given im the warmest love of Which he shallow nature wis capable. With Berti( he was always gentle and kind ; and by and-by she too began to care more for hill than she would have confessed. She fough against her love. thinking Ie was engagem to her friend. Affairs were in this state when an unex pected event cut the Gordian knot. The whole party were out horsebac riding. Horace, as usual, divided his atten tions pretty evenly between Etta and Ber tie. They were laughing merrily, whei suddenly Bertie's horse took fright at. qoii( object on tihe rearside, reared and the started on it mml gallop. llorace whippem up his horse, and endeavored to overtak her, but had not gone far before lie sav Bertie fall to the ground, where she la: perfectly still. Springing from his hoise lie took her In his arms. "0 Bertle! Speak to mcl Say you ar, not (lead I" She opened her eyes for a moient anl smiled at him, then relapsed into uncons clousness. By this time the remainder of the part: had come up, Etta loud in her profesioi of grief, May cried quietly. '"Oh, Horace, she is not dead, is ohe?, asked Albert. ''No, Ile is not dead, only stunned," re plied lie. "But we must get her hoime a Boon 11s possible. They succeeded in obtaining a convey aice from a neighboring house, and wei' soon on their way back. Mrs. Hay me them at the door, greatly alarmed, havin seen them advancing at a distance. The.) conveyed Bertie to her room and summone, a doctor, who said he would be quite wel in a few days. As Bertie was playing the invalid, nex morning, looking very lovely in her whit, wrapper, the bell rang, and the servant an nouncel Mir. Lester. As Horace euterce and saw her looking so pale, lie exclaimed "Oh, Bertic, my darling! If you lia been killed what should I have done?" Bertie looked surprised, and said "Really, Mr. Lester, this is strange ian guage for you to use to me." "'Bertie, Bertie I Don't you know I lovi you ?" "'Are you not engaged to Etta ? I wat under that impression." "Then let me say it was a false one Miss Etta is not a lady I would chose for i wife ; but you are my ideal of what a wo man should be, darling, and if you will b my wife I am sure you will never hav cause to regret it. Will you, Bertle?" She did not answer him in words, but hi read a favorable answer in her downeas face, and sealed their bethrot.hal with i kiss. At that noment Etta stood in the door way ; she turned very pale, -ind then wen away as silently as she came. The next morning she receivedi a tele graph to the effect that her father was no expected to live, and lie desired her pre sence Immediately. Of course every on wis very sorry for her, but they wer in their hearts glad that something calle< her away. When summer had lengthened i:ito Au tumn, and the heaves were gold and brown there was a double wedding in the lieasan little chuireh. Horace and Albert were th grooms, and Bertle andl May the Brides Bertie never, knew, until her wedding dafy that she was going to marry a rich main. In after years, wvhen Horace and Berti had grown gray in' love and harmony, time; recelvedl a letter from Etta; asking fo charity. Her father, on his dleathlbed, ham exacted a promise that she would marry friend of his who wans very wealthy, whic she did; and lie, speculating largely bot with her wealth and his own, had lost all and then (lied leaving her penilless amn friendless. llorace brought her to thel home, and both hie and Bertie treated hec as a sister until the end of her days, which indeed were niot many. It Was Muggins. I witnessed a scene a few evening ago which could be worked into a mer ry farce. A young mani well-dresse and wearing a large diamond was seam ed on a bench, his arm enehasping th~ supple waist of a beautiful female The pair comiversed in whispers, and took It for granted they were lover. perhaps engaged to be married. While the pair were whispering Born sweet nothings to each other, a couph of mIddle-aged ge ntlemien approaohed talking together in tisstyle. No. 1-"You say you want a whft Smith, old boy. I suppose it must be young one." (Digs his compaiiion I the ribs.) No. 2-(Who Is a wealthy B~osto pork paeker)-"Of course I do. I wis you had a daughter, Earl." No. 1-"I have, old boy, and if ye can win her she is yours, with m blessing. Evelyn seemis to be in los wIth Percy Marechmont, son of a Fift aventue banker, but I will euro her< that If you want her, Smith. Ab h them she is now (points to pair 'seated on bench); as I live, that rogue Maro1 mont is kissing her." No. 2-."Matrchmont I what do ye mean ?" No 1--"Why, this is Peroy Mar01 mont. a' very young gentleman, who sitting beside Evelyn." No. 2-(Shouts) "Mugginis I" The lover jumps to his feet, and upe seeing the pork packer, beats a -retrea A46 the young man Aails away, ,No ages: "lie is an employe of mntio,M obi ?4ingginm,s He has charge of th6 plakik zigs'. fest departynenit." Lady faint Tabis - Uhnined for Yors. Entering through tie wicket of the door of a prison on the island of Cyprus I found myself in a narrow courtyard, surrounded on three sides by gloomy stone walls, broken by heavily barred window, with here and there a strong wooden door. From under each door lazily ran a gutter of inexpressible foitor, the naked sewerage of the loathsome dungeon inside. I was at once surrounded by a horde of prisoners of villainous aspect, all or nearly all manacled in the most curiously diverse fashions. Some wore a heavy chain, one endof which was fastened to a clumsily massive shackle round the ankle, the other tied up round the waist. Others merely wore this grim anklet with a chain attached. Yet others had a huge link fastened to the anklet, which was worn against the outside of the leg, and fastened into position by a leathern garter. These were the "liberty" imen, to whom so much favor, by reason of long imprisonment, coupled with good conduct, is accorded, that they are not huddled into Lhfe dungeons; but are allowed to stand out in thocourtyard. A long, gloomy passage opened from one end of the courtyard, and this I entered, encompassed by the con course of villains, and with no other escort than the little bow-legged warden of the gate. Into this passage looked several barred windows, and behind the bars there glowered and strained the close-set faces of the more dangerous prisoners. What ruf fianly faces most of these were-face., the expressions of which, wolfish, ferocious, hungry for blood, sardonic, utterly d vilish, made the ilesh creep. With every move ment there was the clank of the chains, for every man wore fetters. The expression - "hugging his chains" I have hitherto re garded aS a mere allegorical figure of speech; but. now I was to see the literal t reality. The crowd around the window gave back, and there approached a tall, stalwart figure, somewhat bowed by some heavy burden that lie carried in hi1 arms. lie stopped and laid tIns burden (own, and then stood erect, a Hercules of a man, with a face out of which everything human, save the mere linCinents, was erased. And what think you was his burden i It con sisted of a mass of heavy iron links knotted ip into a great clump, and fastened to the man's ankle. Its weight was eighty okes, or about one cwt., and when he unravelled i it and stretclred it out on the ground, I saw that it was about fifteen feet, and resembled in the massiveness of its links the chain cable of a trading-schooner. What has been the man's crimei Murder. How long had he been in prison? Six and twen ty years. Had lie worn that chain all that i timef Yes. Great heavens? were not death infinitely to be preferred to such ia fate 1 Never to move, through all these long years, without hugging in his bosom that huge knot of iron. I passed on along this gallery of crime till the spectacles and the stenches sickened ie, and I had to es cape into purer air. The memory still haunts me of ghastly faces at the barred windows, of the clank of the trailing chains, of the indescribable fotor of the air In which a human being has clung to life for six and twenty years. The Brother's Hoturn. It was a stormy night. Farmer Gowland and his wife sat before their great tireplace together. The boys had gone out with the servant to see to the cattle, and husband and wife were alone. The farmer was a stout, sturdy, middle aged man, with a handsome face, which L one would have called merry ; but to-night . as he looked into the embers a change came over him, which only his wife knew, and be put out his hand to her as if for coi fort. "Elsie," he said, "you know how I suf fer when a storm like this breaks over the valley. If I live to be fifty years older ~than I am It will always be so. When Jack Swent away the wind moaned In the trees as it does now, and when ho opened the dloor the rain beat It and swept across the floor, and I saw the zigzag lightning darting over the black hills. Yes, he wvent away in a Sstorm, lass, andl I let him go-penniless and rafoot-in a storm like this. I should have remembered that lie was my younger brother ; that lie had not a penny, while all this place was mine. You were but a child then, a flaxen-haired lassie of twelve, and I was a man of five and twenty and lie nine teen. We were both in love with one r young woman, Nannie Conner. We quar r relhed about her. She was an arch coquette, an e son, laughing inher sleeve, and she betrothed to the rich squire's son all the wvhiile. But we brothers fought about her, and~ I saw him go out into thne storm. I know tihe poor lad was so helpless, so ill fitted to fight with life. We had not much educationi, andl my father bade me share all 5 with him on his (deathi-bed. I was the eld - eat son and .1 let him go. Lassie, I think j old Beau here knew it and hated mec for it - for years. Beau loved Jack so." -"But Beau lovesybu nowv," said the wife, "Here, Beau, here, como and speak to your 'master." [ At these words an old dog perfectly blind ,and weak with age, crawled from beneath a tall sdttee and felt his way to lisa master's a side. The farmer let his hand fall on his head, and the dog thrust lia nose into the great 'browmn paln. "Beau cannot live long now, wife," said , the farmer, sadly. "Hie Is a very old dlog a now. The oldest dog I ever knew ; and ht 1 is falling every day.' "Beau wvill not die yet, father," cried chicery voice at the door. "His hearing ii a good, though lisa sight Is gone ; but I've bi somiething to say. When wo wont dowr to the barn to see all safe, Will and Ned it and I, we found an old man lying there y upon the hay. He seems very Ill and fee. e ble, and lie begged that he would let hin h sleep there. But I knew you and imothei would not permit it, andlI asked him intc :the house ; and lie said in a way than e brought tears to my eyes : "No, lad, no; a not unless hie bids moe himself. I'll not eri -ter his house unless he takes me by th< hand, and says, "Come in." His house ii a hisa own, and I am only a por wanderer. Mo I came to you, father. "Right, laddie," said the farier. "Wife, 'we'ye always room at our table for another. |s eli? I'll comeo out and ask the old fehlot in." "Yes-yes, Robin," replied the wife, n and turned her attention to the hot suppel Just nwbeIn iished for the bnngry party g "No, Beu;l dorwn. It's no tramp~, but wel-ern fOhritian, odut di guau-was not to bealmed. Il a B. enided his way' to the door, andatood there with his ea hnt 4rn. nat~rba lat growls. Now he burst into i cry, plain tive and prolonged-the old cry he had been used to give long ago, when hisyoung master left the house. The farmer had so often told his wife of it that she recognized it at once. A superstitious thrill ran throtgh ,J her frame. i I But now steps were heard without. Tei farmer and his sons were coining and the atianger with them. The woman hospita bly irose to open the door, and no sooier 9 hat' she done so than the blind (log dalhid C thr o.uglh it at night. d ."Beau has gone wild," cried the girl. who was setting the table. "I1e never sets U foot out of doors. Ilear hit bark I le's set against the stranger I 1 fear ie's no I good one I Dogs know." .ti "It's a bark of welcomieA'ora," said he t( mistress of the house. "Tile dog seems to j ie to be beside himself, and not with b anger." But now the farmer entered, leading by the arm a sad and weary man, who sank a thankfully Into the chair to which lie as- 11 slated him. "You are very good," he faltered, as he ii did so. "I onily meant to lie mie down in your barn iuitil tio storm hhd passed. lBut d, you brought me in-you brought ic in I" is and his head sank upon his hand. Ir "Just in tine for dinner Atranger," saidN the farmer's wife- "And when you are well rested draw your chair up, for it Is a served." at "I thank you," said the stranger, hun- ft bly. But his eyes were roving about the ti kitchen now, taking note of all it held-of f its old beam-crossed ceiling, of its dark windows, of its great fire-place, and the farmer stood staring at him, with a strange look upon hils face. "Sit by, father," said the wife. "You must carve, you know. Hark I What is that ? You have shut poor' Ileau out in the storm. le is scratching at the door." s She ran to open it. The dog darted in, 01 andi ade his way straight to the chair V where the stranger sat, and groping with I his long nose, found his knee, and climbing tj up began to utter the long, low cry again, pi and at intervals to bark furiously. "Beau I Beau I You'll frighten the stranger !" cried the mother. "The dog is blind and toothless ; lie could hurt no one lie would," she added, "but lie so large, (e you might ivel nervous. Cone Beau I" "Let him stay," replied the old man, (1 caressing the (tog's head. ''Beau, Beau. tc Poor old Beau." a4 And now Beau changed his tone ; he be- ti gan to utter mad, glad barks, and to lick the stranger's face, and rub his nose against it. And still the farmer stood staring t at them both, turning whiter and wliter, ci and suddenly lie turned his face to the wall, T crying out : "Oh, imy God ! Beau kiew him first. tc Old Beau, a blind, old dog, knew my brother Jack before I did I" "-Jack I" cried the wife. "Your brother Jack !" I At the name, Beau barl. igain-wikly, si madly, gladly, and crouched down beside k his recovered master's knee. I a "I didn't mean to tell you who I was, Robin," said the stranger. "I nevermeait even to see you, but you came out and g brought ne In." Ile arose. The farier uncovered his face and it shone wet with tears in the red lire light. "Jack,' lie said, "how I have prayed to 11 see this day. Jack, there has been a curse g upon mei0 since yon left ie. All my bles- 1t sings could not banish it. The girl we a quarreled about married the 'squire's son, and lies dead in hisgrcattombinthechurch- b yard, and I have won a good wife, and long ago wondered at myself for caring for a sil ly flirt, but since you went there's beeni a curse, lad, there's b'.en a curse." He held out his arms. Jack held out his. n The brothers were weeping In each other's ti arms, and old Beau barking for joy and b leaping up to lick their faces. And thlen I the chleery voice of the farmer's wife uttered these word, blithely :~ "Drawv the curtains, Nora, and shut out the storm. We're all together at last, and please God to keep us so. For now you have conme back Robin will never let you leave us again, brother ; nior I neither." "Never, lad," cried Robin. "Tile curse Is lifted at last, bless the lord." 1 A Base Proposton, a a A Detroiter who lias the reputation of a being hard pay was waited on the other day ti by a man who began: "Mr. Blank, I hold( your. note for $75.a It Is long past due, anid I wvantedl to see what you would do about it." a " My note ?" Ah, yes ; yes, this Is my ( note. For value received I promise to pay, a and so forth. Have you been to the niote- b shavers. with thIsi " r " I have, but none of them would have n It.", " Wouldn't eli? And you tried the d banks?" " Yes, sir, but they wouldn't look. at it." q " Wouldn't ehi And I supp~0o you Wen~t 0 to a justice to see about it?9" a b" I did, but he said a judgment wouldn't beworth a dollar." " Did, ehi And now whlat. proposition do you wish t.o makei" " This is your note for $75. Give mie $5 C and you can hlave it." " Five dollars I No, sir I No, sir I I r have no money to throw away, sir." e " But it is your own tnote." " True, sir ; very true ; hut I'm not such an lidiot as to throw away money on worth less securities, no matter whlo signs them. ~ I deal only in first-class paper, sir, and t when that note has a negotiable value I willl S b~e p leased to discount it. Good dlay, sir- r looks like settled weather again." - Excellence of Oat-Meal. Liebig has chemically demonstrated thatK oat meal is almost as nutritions as the- very " best English beef, and that It is richer than ~ wheaten bread in the elements'to go to form bone and muscle. Professor Forbes,. of 1 Enbrduring -some twenty - years, 'j measured' the breadth and height,, and also 1 tested the strength of both armfs and loins, of the students of the Universitj--a very :numerotts class and of -varous nationalitIes, ~ drawn to Edinblirg by the fa'e of his teaching. He found that in height, btoadth1 of chest and shoulders and strength ofa 'arms and loins, the ~lans' were at the bottom of the-list ;a litte above thoem theo French ; very much higher,' the :Eliglsh ; and the highest of all, the Scotch and Scotch Irish,'from Ulster, who, like the natives of Beotl'and, are fed in their 'r~ty years at least one meal a day of good oatymeal' por The "Day efroro." "You bet I am !'' wis his hearty re ly, as he hitched along on the postof co steps. "I never sped a Fourth o uly ylt I didn't celebrate, an' I'm Jusl Peled for a boomin' ole time to-mor r. I've been savii' up coppers an lekels an' ditties an' quarters till 1'v< t $5, an' going to spend every blizzet nt of it if I never get to be Presi ent!". "Boy, can you tell ie how we cam o have the Fourth of .1 uly ?"I "Yes, I kin, but I haven't time now, want to go 'round the corner an' set lon 'cre Roman cantiles. I'm goin > buy a hull dozen, and I've engalget irce different, boys an' a dog to lot im Laze away at 'em . I calkerlate t nook the spots right ofl'n them boyk ' I'm goin' to kill that'ere dog at th< rat bliz!" "Do you know who George Wash Igton was?" I 'spect I do, but that ain't nutthin'-tc > with the torpeders 1'm goin' to buy 11 have both breeches pockets full an ore in my hat, an' I tell you I'm goin 1 be awful reckless throwin' 'eni ottll. I know of a boy on Wilkim reet %i ho'll let you hit him on his bart et alt times for one Jaw-breaker or to torpeders, an' that's awful clieai in for this time o' year.'' ' But why do we celebrate tle ly ?' "Because we feel like it, an' bocaus e want to go on a bust. TC you was e would you shoot off the siy-rockets the barn, where the other boys ean't e the funl, or would you blaze away it doors an' give 'et all a chance I ve kinder thoughtof both ways,but if fire 'em off out doors I'm goin' to bosE lo job mysell'. Can't io hired men or licenen or big boys make ine hold to candle while they (1o the bossing." "Did you ever hear of * the old bell hich rang out the clarion notes of lib ty. "4 1'pose I have, but that's nothin' t( ) with the big pistol 'm goin' to buy -morrer for seventy cents. It's anl tual pistol, and it shoots bullets, and ie boy is obleeged to sell it 'cause lite ther Is in poor- health and wnts to go a mineral spring to fatten up. I n1't hardly wait to begin shontin', ou itay talk about your Goorge aashingtons all day, but I'll bet you n to ono I'll kill seven oats afore to orrer. I'll stand utr nit' blaze, alt )u'll iear a cat keel over every time I re. I'm tryin' to hird a boy to let lme toot a orange off his head, but hIe' inder 'fraid I might miss the orangt Ci' kill his dog * "How did the Revolutionary war be. "It begun by a fight, I 'spose, but i Just it-hit' for to-morrer to sot inl. never ws ea big an' old before ot a ourth of July, al' I never had as mi chink e.aved up. I tell ye 1'i Din' to wade right in on cokernuts, monade, raisins, oranges, ice crean1 n' four kinds.o' cake, alt' the police '111 probably take me for a batik rob. Br. I spect to have its many as toi ghts, 'cause there can't nobody pusli te around ont sioh a day as that, alt' go tip to the races I'll bet you tee t< uthin' I bet ont the right hoss ant' cap. ir the pool-box. I don't purtena tc 0 no tarant ula or any of that sort, bul 'mn goin to git tup an' howl to-mnorrow~ 'it b'reaks every soap faictory in tow:i -and~ don't you forgit it." Anotont Hlistory in a cuave. A remarkable cave has been discov. red on the farm of D)avid Samuoe, 1( tiles from La Crosse, Minnesota. Tli wve is 80 feet long, 13 feet wide, and bout 8 feet high. Above the quarry mad, which has evidently (drifted ir ntd covered the floor to the depth of frorn iree to six feet, upon the walls, art ory rude carvings rep~resenting men, rms, animals, arms and Implements, nd~ some appear to be hieroglyphics, 'no picture represents men, with bowi ntd arrows, shooting animals, threm uffaloes and one rabbit. Another rep esents three animals, which, if large mast have been like the hippopotamus nother appears to represent a, masto. on ; otn another picture, a moose Ii ulte plainly delineated. There art ight representations that are canoes mtoh earvedi, or hammooks, which the3y tore resemble. One sketch of a mar ivery plain; the figure wears a kinc f chiaplet or crown, and was probably hief of his tribe or clan. Tniere are tany fragments of pictures, where tht ock had decomposed. The rock is oturso, soft white sandstone. On oni ide of the cave is a spaoe about 2 fee igh anid 2%~ In length, made into the rall. A bove are the fragments of pic ures, and below are lower fragment. howing that they were made when th< ook was entire. F.'om the depth t< vhich decompositions reached ini thii Iry and dark cavern, the inscriptioni aust be quite anclent. If the carvinj mentioned really represent. the masto on,the work must have been by mound ullders. The accumulated sand needi o be removed to get a full view, an' ossibly human remains may be found hle entrance to the cave had evidenta teen covered by a land-slide, there be. ng left open only a small hole, where raps have long been set for boone [le large number of these animals tha yere caught led to the belier that thi pace iaghabited by them must be large ,nd investigation led ,to the discover, >f the cave. Over; the entrance, sino he ian'd'slyle, a yoglar, 18 nched n di moter, hasa growqswhleth shows' on lusively that the cave has not .been oc upled by human.beings for lumre thal Tho Mocking Hird. This bird possesses faculties which ren der it one of the great objects of curiosit3 and admiration among the feathered tribe# Its natural notes are musical ani solemn, It likewise possesses the singular power o1 asuming the tone of other birds anc animais. This extraordinary bird is pecu liar to the new world, inhabiting warn cliinates. and a low country seems 11108 congenial to their nature; they are mor< numerous in the south than in the north. The berries of red cedar, myrtle, holly, gun-berries, and an abundance of others, with which the luxuriant swanipy thicketi of these regions abound, furnish them witi a perpetual feast. lie builds his neat ir different places, according to the latitude he resides in. A solitary thornbush, Orange, cedar or holly tree are favorLit spots. Always ready to defend, but nevei anxioIs to conceal his nest. During thc time the female is setting, neither cat or (leg, aninal or muan can approach the nest without being attacked. Ills whole Yen geance is directed against his natural nemy the black snake ; whenever this reptile if discovered, the male darts at it with the rapidity of al arrow, striking It violently and incessantly against the head ; the snakt soon becomes in)sensible, and the bird ro. doubles Ills exertions, lie seizes and lifts i1 from the ground, beating it with his wingf until the business is completed ; he retiurn to his nest and pours out a torrent of song in token of victory. Tile Mocking bird iN so called because it can iitate with the greatest ease, not only the songs of other birds, but the sounds and cries of animais. In coninement lie loses a little of the power and energy of lls song. [In his domesticatied state, when lie commences his career of Bong. it is impossible to stand by uninter este(d. ie whistles for the dog-Cosar starts up, wags his tail and runs to meet his master. lie squeaks out like a young chicken and the lien hurries about with outstretched wings and bristled feathers, clucking to protect her injured brood. Tha barking of a dog, the mewing of a cat, the creaking of a wheel-barrow, the grating of a grindstone and the rushing of a torrent of water, follow with great truth and rapidity. In regard to food we give the following: Take. twO6 old potatoes (never give then new ones) pare and boil them, also boil two good sized eggs, remove them from tie shell, Imash them fine with the potatoes, then put away In a cool place ; give a large spoonful every hour or so, feeding him by hand just as you would an infalt; In the month of August or September, a bit of P sweet apple may be occasionally added. A table spoonful of ants' eggs soaked and mixed with this food will prove beneficial. In the cage place plenty of river sand, sprinkling it freely on the boLtom ; also give them plenty of water to drink, and A bath once a day in the morning ; nVee allow the bath tub to remain long in the cage ; after the bird has bathed, remove it, as there is probable danger of the bird being drowned. Pennsylvania Dunkers. The Dunkers will not take an oath. and are not allowed to hold oillce; al. though where they comprise nearly all of the populathin of a settlement they perform agreeable duties like those ol an overseer of the poor. One of th< preachers naIvely suggested that the government did not miss the Dunkerf from its council fires, as Amerlcamu have not all got similar compunctioni against ofllceliolding. They do nol fight or engage In war. They do no sue or appeal to the courts for any sorl of legal settlements that can be arrang. ed by the church. If one brotherowe another and cannot pay, all the breth ren sustain equal shares of the debt and wipe it out. If a brother does no pay, but can do so, first one, then three then all the brethren labor with him and if lie is still stubborn they east hin out of the church. This seldom falls t< bring the sinner to his senses. The 5s111 course Is pursued when -lunker off'ends in any other way; bul sucuh cases are very rare, If a brothei fails or desires to start in business, al: Ithe brethreh club together and set hin 011 his feet. T[hey do this three times, If lie does not then succeed they core aider him 1no longer worthy of hielj and lie has to look out for himself Thiey are severe uponf liars and dishon. eet persons, and p~rofess to have hardly any in their ranks. TheIr condemrna tIon) falls upon outsiders, also, in this respect, and the tradesman who cheati the Dunker is shunned by all foreve. afterward, They are kind-hearted anm hospitable, and are cheertully obedieni to the law that comp~els them to lodg4 and feed and( olotho whoever calls 0r them for assistance. He Caught a Crab. She sat upon a rock, fishing for crabs, IShe had her dog with her-a skye terrier snch a one as a Broadway vender wouki charge you $10 for. His hair was loni and as soft as silk, blue ribbons hung fronr his cars, and-his neck was encircleci with meckle-plalted collar. But all that counted foi nothing, as against the fearful scene througi which he was about to pass. He lay cloe to the basket into which the Fifth avepud belie dropped the crabs as fast as she caugh them.- -He was no doubt dreaming of i happy home far away, where he was won to take his dlaily nap on a $1,000 sofa SNow and then a green-bottled fly skippet from ear to ear or lighted upon his back a where the purp couldn't reach him and a such times he whisked his tail wildly bl the Intruder went away. On one of thee special occasions, after whisking oft. the fly the little silken tail rested upon the edge o ' the crab buasket, and the eid of It droppot inside, latitude 47 longItude 62. Thi .feathery edge of it struck a crab in the eye y and the claws closed ots the -appehidag s.Is-iu-1-t-a-n-e-o-d-s-l-y I The dog, elh where was lie? A yelp, e howl, and thei In silvery tones the "ti yi," "ti yI," As th astonished pup sailed over the-.plain ap Sthrough the clover iwith 'a sting of oral connecting him) with the empty. boumidtn basket, and all their, .claws3 eutched on ~'with the other,-and for a niiniste there we a mixed scene of dog, gribs. basket, dui and flyltig gfately and 'the tail Wdtol' TIgere *aan rioinre rab fi d(fg that day ..-In the 8ou'ig *tsee the war ove i6 200,000 unegroels haVe joined the *othji mat Oharah FOOD FOR THOUGH1T. Have a good conscience and thou alt~i have joy, A good conscience is able to bear very much, and Is very oheerful in ad versity. A man's own good breeding .is the best security against other people's ill manners. Thank God ! our troubles come like rain, chiefly sideways; there Is always shelter. A bold fight against alsfQr~a ne will often enable a man t6 tide over a tight place and put ruin to flight. 'n Would we but- profit* by the. experi once of others we should haye the roy al road to the palace of wisdom. Philosophy triumphs easily etiough over past and future evils, but piesent evil triumph over philosolhy.' There are only two liealets-one above in glory, the other .below In the broken lival,. Nothing exasperates more than a con siderate, quiet hatred; t phAsionate hi tred does so far less.-" When soclety begins to profltI by a man's 1"mifortunes, his difliculties do not soon termInate. What we have to do In this world Is not to Inako our conditions, but to. make thu best of them. Virtue inaketh men on the oarth fa mous, in their'graves glorlous, and in heaven imnortal. Public opinion is produced -by the vagaries of ia4ter milns refiUo~ud fron the mnirror of multitudin da inanity. Those who have been duped are to He teared, as they are apt to consider man kind debtors for their own follies. We must not speak all that we know, that were folly ; biut what a man says should be what he thinks. dther'wise It is knavery. Faith dies when charity ceases to feed its filame, and strength decays hust In proporLion as cheerful hope falls to quicken the energies of the mind'. Some people never have a story t's tell, because of their quicksand nitures,from which every now wave washes out the old impression. If thele is atlything sporepolipanit, than.a body agonizing for want of bread It is a soul witich Is dying'of htinger ior light. A gentle person is like a river'flow ing calmly along; while a passionate man is like the sea, casting up. mire and dirt continually. Having a home that is all prea'phing and no pleasure-all duty and no fun is a dull old trade-mill which willdrive the children away sooner or lator, The force, the mass of -chartotor, mind, heart or soul, that a man 04n put into any work, is the most important factor in that work. Being sometimes asunder heightens friendship. Whe greatest cause of the frequent quarrels between rqlatives Is their being so much together.' Man Is in friendship what woman is In love, and the reverbe, namely, more covetous of the object than of the feel ing for It. W hen people have resolved to shut their eyes, or to look only on one side, it is of little consequence how -good i their eyes may be. That melancholy which is excited by objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes the heart instead of corroding it. Give a man such a heart as the Son of God describes in the beatitu'des, and a whole universe of sorrow cannot rob him of his blessedness. At all ages novelty hath charnAs in doed, but in mature life It is tinged with sadness, owing to the premonition that we are drawing on our last resotarces. T1here are some men in tiie-world so mean that they skim the milk 'At the top and then sigh because they ,can't turn it over and skim 'it at the bottom. The grass gets its dew nearly all the year round, and that is more thain ti e most men can say. However, some 01 us are very fortunate, for our just dues are exactly what we don't wenmt 'o have. Tihat things are not so ill with you and me as might have been Is half ow ing to the number who lived faithfully a hid~den lIfe, and rest in unvisited tombs. Life Is disciplinary, and those wvho are ground In tihe mill of adversity mnake better spiritual material -than those who are disciplined only by plenty and success. J f ama n be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shlows that lhe is a citizen of tihe world, and that his heart is no island cut off' from other hearts, but a continent that joins tllem. True joy is a serene and sober emo tion; and they are 'miserably out that take laughing for rejoicing ;' the'4eat of it Is within, and there is no cheerful ness like the resolution of a brave-mindi. It is a most important lesson, and too little thought off, that we learn how to enjoy ordinary life, 'and to be able to relish our being, without the tridsport of some p~assion. or the gratiiloation of some appetite. As the dress of one who ;has passed several hlours in a garden retaips some what of tihe perfume of $Q4e flowers, so a person who s pends naach 'time "fn the company of the good Avill inhale from his person the odor of' virtue.' Tihe river Jordan is . not . the. only pleasant water that emptie; its~ into a dead sea. Some~ 6t the" 'e ieetest currents" 'of our lives are fated toend there. Let us look to ,t that *64 are not borne thither on their'1impid pospom. You eannot make yo saltb9'e by simply resolying to b4 . o~tr some Stime'of other anyp mnere trmar can plough his field iy'fma 'ytdlrming It over in' his dwn mlid.1'.A gd reso Slution is aI ~~ qsparting poin ~ 1tt a' a terminus. it a~s pbvalue,. o S fter all, real .gea i44 'ce:alstso tubies more iniluential, thau i cdlture er of a iip ittAJo9pat rest~lik'hO'd rt~~ inlg in the'conversione t dlio Ine , 6 0ls , d reqar ~ ~ oet bso uasoj1u