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