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Y I I T-WELEDTION. WINNS13OIZ0 S. C., FEBRUARY 2(6, 18.VO.I-N.'. QUIET HOURS. The morning will soon be here, For over the purple hill The daylight Is chasing the night away, With a foot that is noiseless and still, Oh, the night was so long, so long * As I sat by the window alone, Watching the moon as it qlowly rose Till above the trees it shono. It looked as it hung in the sky Like a poblet filled to the brim With wine of an amber, golden hue; lut now it is whito and dim, As if it had all been quaffed And only the glass remained. With the faintest palest shimmering tinge To show what it then contained, And once, when it fullest soomed, With the sparkling, glittering wine, A single star, like a flock of foam Of the precious juice of the vino, Wont drifilng, 6rifting off, As we sometime lose a day That, when the goblet of life Is full, silently floats away. But now the daylight is here, And the sad, vague thoughts of nil lit Have died away, as the sunboams fall Liko arrows of golden light. Ah, 'tie quiet hours like those, When we wistfully look above, And see the works of the great, good God, And think of his tonder love, That help us to braver be, And strengthen us on our way, Till the beautiful night of life at last Is merged in 'ternity's day. My Husband's Love. "Two letters for Mrs. Ayliner. There, take then, Annie, and read them, while I run over my correspondence." And with a tender smile, my husband he who only yesterday had borne ine from the altar a loveless bride-passed over to ine the letters he had just received from the hands of the conclerge of the Parisian hotel where we were staying on the first stage of our- honeymoon trip. It was the first time I had seen my mar ried name boldly inscribed upon an envel ope. and I think I only then fully re alized that I was Philip Ayinier's wedded wife, to have and to hold until death did ts part. Was it this thought, or the sudden. sight of a handwriting strangely familiar, which caused ine to shudder and grow paie. One of the letters was from miy mother. I knew what sie would say before I opened it-how she would tell me over again the old story of the nobility of the man 1 had married, and her joy that iy ship had rid den into such safe anchorage. The other-why was it thaf, as my fli' gers touched it, my husband raised his eyes to see the tell-tale flush their glance brought to my cheek? 'Good news, my darling?" he questioned tenderly. "I have not had time to find oht, " I -an swered curtly. "-I like to read my letters alone.1 A hurt look caine over Philip's face but he said nothing, and a half ho.tr later I was alone and had opened the letter from, the manl I loved. - I Yes, I was a wife-a bride, lit fact; but my heart had never been glve into,.. ly huabbud's keeping. I did not pause to think which of my gods was the more worthy. I only knew that Vane Marston's eyes nad burned, their way into my sout-aud yet. I was another uwin's wifel How did it all happen? I could hardly tell myself. 1 knew Vanhe oved me; he had told me, but lie .never asked me to be come his wife. And now I held his letter in my hand, and the conitenlt, which during these three quiet (lays had crep~t into my heart, vanished In a maelstrom of an guish. Thlus began the letter to me, an-1 other man's wife: "My Darling-They tell mc you are imrriedl. I canlnot, dare inot, believe it." Thud It ran, a series of mlad reproachies for iinconstancy andt faithlessness, unitil I could iio longer read, andl with tihe sheet crushed Il inlm hanld, fell bitterly sobbing, across the bed. I did not hear my husband enter tile room, I was scarcely conscious that lie took the letter from nmy hand, "Look at me," lie said. "I thought you were a pure innocent chlildi, whose heart was an open page before. Who is tis man~f that lie should write such wo~mds to:mny' wife? Coward! Curl" "IIe is. neither,'A Paiswered, stung to action by the wordsa. "lIe is tile manli I love. "'What, then, am I?" "The man I hate," I answered reckless ly, and buried my face on1ce more in the p~ilows. When I raised it I was alone. I did not ace iny hlusbanid until evening. Then h~e entered myl room. I hlad had time In all these hlours for re pentance, and springing to meet hunii, would have thlrownl myself In his armns, with my prayer for forgivenees, but lie hald me from him11 and spoke gravely andl stern ly. "I have been thinking since I left you, Annie, whatwas best to do. If we sepa rate now It will only give the world cause for scandal. I want to propose that we live togethler in the eyes of tile world, thiough I premise never to enforce a husband's claim uipon you. Will you accede to my pro posal?" "No, no, Philip!" I cried. "I will be your wife. .In time I wIll forget-In thne I will iearn to love you. F'orgive mie, aC cept me backi" "To forgive is easier than to forget," lie answered., "The gift yen offer is value less-a flower without its flagrance, a bird without its song. HeIateit help the husband whose wife offers him duity, whien in her heart ho thought was Written lovel"' With these words 116- torned anid left mue. My husband faithfully kept hIs iWord. We curtailed our wedding tour. It'seemed too. bitter a mockery to go from place to, piee both eryng this secret inl our breasts, anid I was t1do det backt in London. Iny &tions .were poured upon us5. In drawI6 oi tiall roona, my'husband was ever courteous and attentive; but as we drove to; or from some entertainment each would lean inca Vi o e ane In thlese months. ceouirs I 169ed Iinitil, sbli4 of thi hoeartlos kath' that, had so cruelly sepa rated uk -The Apt doubt which efous 'dl my mind on tlih score, caMie one day as I Bat at the head of my own table. We 1ad some few guests to dinner, when I ,aught these woris spoken by my husband: "The mnanl who tells a woman that ho oves her, yet does not ask her then and hre to become his wife ofirs her an in lt." My cheeks dyed crimson. He knew tiolhing, yet it wais 9s though he had laid ny heart bare. Oh how glad I was to say :ood night, and fly to my own room. A fortnight later, I went to a ball given n my honor. For the first, lime since my garriage I wore my wedding dress. The aicture the glass reflected was very fair. .o I told my self, without a single p)ilse of 'anity, as I turned away from it and ran Iown the stairs to meet my husband. Ilis ace grew deathly white as lie saw me. I know not why, but this caused me a iuick pang of pain, as I sat alonle In a jIuiet -orner of the gay scene, a lit tle lat er, watch ng him as his eye searched the Loom, perhaps looking for me, and I re Ilized something of the innate nobility of the 1aan whose heart. I had so ruthlessly train :led uponl. A voice aroused me--i voice whose hion- I lyed accents had oftei fallen on my car vitlh the same tenderness they now breath l, though lie now spoke to another. The window inl which I sat, concealed to from view. I could see the false, hand mome. face, with the girl's trustingly up. Aried. "No," he was saying. ''and I never oved before." "Whad not the beautiful Mrs. Aylmer?" fhe questioned Jealously. "By the way she a here to nighti" No tremor was in Vane Marston's voice ia he answered. "Indeedi And if so, what then? To le there is but one womnan in the room, in he world. Mrs. Aylmer and I had an lie, silly fllirtation which I thought it. best o run away f rom a little while, and in my blsence she married." Then they passed out of sight amid hear.. nig.II And this is the man I had lovedl ForI vhom I had forfeited my life and happi ess; and not minie alone, but that of the ioble heart I ha([ deceived and wronged le heart I loved! Yes, this was my secret. Too late I re ilized the treasture I had thrown away. I thought Philip shrank from me, as lie ianided me into the carriage, a few houirs iter. Iow strangely white his face looked! At last we reached home. I bade hinm ,oodnight at the door of his study, and uirned to mount the stairs, when lie threw t open and mtioined me to enter. "'I will not detain you ht a moment,'' ic said, "I thought it right to tell you that leave home to-morrow. If I staye(d here onger I should kill you or myself." m mad hope mingled with torture, thrill d me at his words. "Kilt me, if you will," I entreated, "but to not leave ie." '"henj sank upon my knees beside him, ausing. not for breath, until 1 told the vhole mjnserhbld story, even the last bitter iumillation of Vaie Marston's words. "But thdy did not even sting," I added. "I had learned his unworthiness long before -learned It in leariing what a noble man vas. Philip, I ond asked you to forgive no, and let. me. learn to love you-I ask ou now to forg1fe me because I love you Lnd because I cannot live without you." And then Philip''arms stooped low and Iro'w mo close-to his fast beating heart, and hough he' spoke no word, I nestled there obbingly contnt*, Death-Ioti of 1879. The death-roll in the United States for 879 embraces a number of conspicuous iames. Th le death of Madame Bonaparte, vhich occurred in Baltimor-e last spr-ing, )ccaslonedh prob~ably more wide-spread in crest andl comment than any other, except miember of the same family, Prince Louis Japoleoni, wvho was killed by the savages a Zul uland. Among thte other distinguish d Americans who (lied within theyear were saleb Cushing, Glen. John A. lDix, ex-Gov. Villiam Allen, William- Lloyd Gari-ison, Glihiu Buri'itt, Conmnodores Guest, Thomp ion ind Parker, Rear-Admhrals Parrott, slodon, Boarman, Kitty and Reynol, andl ions. Shields, Hooker,- Jeff. C. D~avis, hood andl "Dick" Taylor, all of them fine oldiers anti gallant men ; RI. H. Dana, the venerable poet ; Hoenry C. Carey, the p)o Itical economist-; W. M. Huht, the artist;' Dharles Rchlter, the actot-; :Johni S. Glit migs, of Baltimor&. Iour M]ishops died( luring tihe year'-Hishop Foley, of the Catholic Church.; Bishops Odenhleimer andl Wliittlnghiam, of the Episcopal Chuich; and Bishop Ames, of the Methodist Church. Abroad, the obituary r-ecordl Is also crowvd e(1 with conspienuous nitmes-among thonm the Anmeer of AfghanIstan, Baron Roths ohild, head of the great banking house of tothschilds ; Cardinals Antonucci and Guidi; Abdel-Kader, the famous Algerian hief; Espartere, the Spanish politician; Von Ilulow, the German statesman; Sir owland Hili, the great postal reformer; Vllemessant, the father of "piersonal" jour nalim In France ; ChevalIer, the French economist ; Bueckstone, the actor; Mi-s. Charles Dlck~cns and H~epWorthi Dixon, the author. A mng Stone. 'The largest stone quarried in 8,000i years was used In the construction of the obelisk to the memory of Major General Jolm Ellis Wool, which hass just been exposed to pub lie view In Troy, New York. General Wool was ~a dist~inguiished soldlier of the War of 1812, having been shot through both'ihighs at the storming of Quenstown and having covered himuelf with glory at the battle of Plattsburght, .w years later. Moreover, as second In commnand lie helped TIaylor at Buena Vista, and, after a dozen yc'ars of honorable servicoe. In the West fought throughout the R~ebellon. General Wool left $510, 000- for a mnfumerit to hi! wife and himalxlf. The late WillIam Cullen Bryant became Interested In the mionulnent ahemeo, an~d before hits death wrote the In spr~ptios , for it Thje stonen for thie 1m mens6oshiaft, weihing 500,003 pounds was utine~omVliglhven, op ltox~ sand, ~faib. It ~ri~iniotIon to Toy' dost aout $7000',I~'d~fhiiItdolti~ & laced by skllfuil engineerIng on a barge and towed Shro kh tempestuous waves to the Hudson. It ,i& feared quite often that the stone had .neht.as It no dtnds,'s ty- ye festis heIght, on the summit of gn omnuance, maily he seen for many tniles around 'I'roy. The Old Story. During the march of Gen. Merritt's coi mand from Milk River to White tive agency, they came upon the scene of th Mountain M(eadow Massacre, and the ro mains of a white man, wheni as the stor was told to a corresoident who was o [ho ground, a conversation, of which th rollowing is i report, occurred: "What have we hero?" asked one sol lier of a comrade. .'It looks like the body of a man; and i 5s." 'It's i white m1an, too." "To be sure it is, and terribly mangle< mid mutilated. The red devils have got it their work on some unfortunate fellow." Investigation revealed the fact that tho I)ody was that oi Isaac Goldstein, at Israelite, and whose proper name wa known to but. very few. Fortunately iere was one soldier in the command t< whom the old man 1111( confided the Secret >f his heart, and among others his gren seret, the history of his own life, which hoigh containing material for a volume miay be related here in a few words an< without marring this narrative, indeed a prol)erly a part of it. Old Isaac was be Lween fifty andsi xty years old, but helooke to be seventy. IHe was ever sad and 1un 0nnuunicative, seeming to bear about. hin 1 burden which, while it weighed hin lown, he did not care to share withothers, But becoming friendly with this soldier, s private in G4en. Merritt's ranks, he gradu illy confidcuA the story of his roinanthi mrccr to him. In his early manhood Isaam Joldstein had loved a fair daughter ol Israel as lie loved not his own life. The3 ived in an Eastern city, and a few nionthi promised to see them united as man an( wife. This young lady had a brother whi tad gone to California among the first wh< were attracted to the gold coast. At firs ie prospered, and was cheerful and hope ni it his letters. At last lie lost his health mud was low-spirited and despondent. H1i1 iister, whose name was Rebecca, d, .r nined at once to go to her brother to com ort, and, if possible, to cure him. Si tad an opportunity and did join the unfor ,unate party in its overland trip which pe. slied lit Mountain. Meadow at the liands o he Mormons and Inlians combincd. Isaa< xaited a long, long tinie for tidings of il ove. At Inst the sad news of the muas sacre came. He at once went West to in iestigate the matter, and has here remaine< mince. Ile was never convinced that hil .tebecca had been killed, but believed lici o have been made a captive by the Indians Io determined to seek her out, and foi nan1y, very many, long years lie had bee learching'and searching in vain for her, ,oing from tribe to tribe, and gaining th ,onildence of the Indians that lie might tih nore successfully prosecuto the search, l'liat the Utes, now of Colorado, took iar n the Mountain Meadow affair, is estali ished ahnost beyond dispute. And thus iccording to the story related by the sol 1ler over the remains of the long, gral mearded old man as they lay on tne har and stones of the bottom of Milk Rive Danon, lie came to be trading with Douglas indians. Tile few auditors who gathere< %round the surviving friend of the old ma Istened with interest and attention to thi iarrative. It was received with a sigh b il, and derision by none. A few monient more and the remains of the old man wer iddeii away ini a trench dug for the pur pose, and covered with earth, and the fol owing legeid appears on the siinple ston rrave mark: Isaac Goldstein, killed b: Indians, September 29, 1879. N. Mooey Around. Jacob Aihof had retired to the collar c us grocery store on Greenwich avenue, N YC., to bring up an extra supply of provhi ons on Saturday night, and lie naturall; ost his temper on his return when h ~aughit William Ahearn conming from be jind the counter. lie laid violent hand il the intruider, who, when handed over ti he p~olice, was fornd to have appropriate lie contents of a moniey-drawer-thirmty ieven cents. William looked quite fuil o 'emiorse when lie was arraigned In the Jef ersoni Market pollee court. Is hiono bought it iindicated his state of feeling, fo ie said: "It's a sadl thing to see a young man o four age fall into evil. llaven't you amily to look after you?'' "Oh, yes, lots of 'cem," said the prisoner "Aiid did you have amployiment?" "Oh, yes, lots o' that, too." "And you had prospects-hoped to ris In the world, I warrant?" "Ys,,l did kinder think I'd git al-nj lomehiow." "And now you've lost character, pros pects, everytinmg, and all for thirty-sevel sents?" Tlhme justice said this quite dolefully an< Lhe prisoner hastened to relieve his regret "'It wasn't lmy fault," lie said. "It wasni't, ehi?" "No, sir-ce. How was I to know ther Wvasn't ilo money around. I eleaned 01 ivory cent I found." A Kingly Challe~nge. History affords two or three examples< ehallelges to the duello having been intel changed by hot-headed monarchs, eager fight out the State quarrels in person.] has, however, been reserved for Bjorr sterne-Bjornson, the celebrated Swedia dIramatic author, to furnish amazed societ with a precedent for tihe defiance to miorti celnhit of a reglg soverign by one of hi own subjects, Ki rgOscar II, of Sweder is a hitorary man of' somie note in lis nativ counitry. lie writes ballads and sonneti tid ' 'ntributes elaborate criticisms of p eticar and dramatic works to a well-know bi-nmonthily review, published In his capita It appears that, a short time ago, he cut u one of Bjornson's plays somoewhat ruthlesi ly in this p~erlodlcal, whereupon the infur atedi poet wrote to him Iln good set term dlemaniding a publIc apology for the um wai-rantable onslaught commnitted upon ti offspring of his genius by the royal criti or personal satisfaction upon the field i honor, King Oscar, entering a strong o1 jection to either alternative, handed ov Bjernson's letter to the State prosecuto who straightway entered an action for trne son against the writer in the Stockhbh Criminal Court. This prosaic method dealing with his cartel caused Bornson quit Sweden in so promdt atn seciet manner that his most intimate friends we unaware of his departure until they recelvt letters front hdm, written at Vienna, infor lag the'i~ tha for urgent private reasons I had resolved to take tap hisa abode inm tI Austrian capital. It seems impohable th he will return to,3wcden for the present. L i inAn Ivilh .tele-chusell. aLanding at Queenstown, I was soon on r my way to Killarney. While waiting for 3a delayed train at Mallow, I observed the typical steeple-elmaser, corduroys, breeches, r leggings, all complete, with a servant in eharge of portmanteau and sporting para lphernalia. To be brief, 1 found him and my self sole occupants of a comparmnent in the train for Killarney, and soon after starting I was politely asked if I bad any objections; to his changing his clothes. As a st1ranger to the "custois," I, of course, requested hhn to do so, with a secret uneasy feeling either as to his sanity or a breach of local e t1hilqette on my part in not following his example. I held on, however, for further light. Discovering, as he removed his shirt, CO)ious blood stains and great difll culty in the movement of his arms, I, of course, gave him my assistanice and exam ined him for dislocations ind broken bones, and learned that lie had jut'driven in some ten miles after recovering from an insensi bility of several hours, the 'effects of a fail in a steeple-chase. lie earnestly explained that his horse was young and new to the business. lie would not have cared for the fall, however; but that the two succeed ing horses came on top of him. And then lie "went dreaming. " "But do you know this is an evening dress you are donning ?" 'Sure you would not have mue appear this evening at the Tralee ball in anything else ?" "Ball ! You mican a surgeon's oflice." "Bother the doctors, when for a partner I have the prettiest girl in Kerry for that same ball." "And where will you be to-morrow, stiff and laid ill) ?" "To morrow! Sure onough have you a time table?" "Yes." "All right ; I can dance until four in the morning and still take the train for Cork." "Cork !" said I; "yol had better at once see a good doctor." "Sure I haven't the cholera, neither the yellow fever," said he, with a puzzled look. "Besides, I will have two Ane horses at the fair to-morrow and I must look after thema." Hopeless of further expostulation, I asked him to settle a curious question that had by this time arisen in may mind. "Tell mc how much killing an Irishman can stand." "Faith, you can never tell. An Irishman is very uncertain. Floor him to-day and he is about again as usual to-morrow. For myself I would not agree to take the whole hu1nt atop Of me, but what's a horse more or less?" I was still further settled when later a friend joined him, who apologetically ex plained that lie had only carried off three prizes that day at an amateur athletic con test, not being, as lie said, 'in good form." Subsequently I learned that sure enough may steepl]e-chaser, with his an in a sling, was looking after his horses next day. 10o Not. r Do not stare around the room. Do not tease a dog or small child. Do not fidget with your cane or hat. Do not turn your back to one seated near you. iDo not touch the piano unless Invited to do so. Do not handle ornaments or furniture in the room. Do not make a display of consulting your watch. Do not remove the gloves when making a formal call. Do not continue the call when conversa tion begins to lag. Do not resume your seats after having risen to go, unless for Important reasons. ' Do not introduce polties, religion or weighty topics for conversation when making calls. Do not prolong the call if the room is crowded. Do uot tattle. Do not speak ill of your neighbors. Do not carry gossip from one fially to another. Do not take a strange gentlemun with you unless positively certamn that lia intro duction woumld be received with favor. Do not, If a gentleman, leave the hat in r. the hall when making mcly a formal call. .If the call Is extended into a visIt, it may then be0 set aside. Not Even a top. An editor recenitly received a wood-~cut of George Washington, and p)inned It to the wall near lis oillce dloor. One (lay while at work lis little girl came Into lia room, and, spying the picture, started the Sfollowing dlialoguec. "'Who Is that a picture of. papa 2" "WVashington." "Who/li was Washington?" "Father of this country." "Why was lie called father of his country, papa?" "Because he fought for its independence, and was a great andi good man. "Is he alive now, papa 2" t "No." "Whoa (lid lie die?" "December 14, 1709." "Who Is the father of this country now, papa ?" f "No one ; it's fatherless." The little girl wvas silenit a few moments, 0 and then Inquired ; t "Was lie the little boy who couldn't, toll ii "The same." Y "Well, thIs country will never have ii another, will it, papa?" la And the conversationi was concluided 4, with the emphatic remarK: eJ "Not even a step-father.", I-tkatinig. n L. Fold thme arms and throw the bodly for. p ward ; and since It Is forced over on the I- ouitside edge mueh mioro than with uis, It I- follows that the leg which Is not support 1, ing the body must be thrown ouit wide In I- order to preserve thme balance. The Eng .o lish prefer the upright body, hands close to 3, the side, and the pendant leg close to its f fellow. In thme "run,, of the Dutch peasant - the body is quite in front of the feet, the ir hands are freely worked and the knees do r, pendod on to a very ugly extent. But even amn English fon skater holds Its body erect n as at a dance and moves it missively 'to >f and fro, not oblli (4. HIIs~wodk Is there 0 fore donie nla'lf ythe hips, whfehi is thie a best aind most Elegant manner. Neither re does tiW position,. when acquired, Inter d fere'with speed in a "run,"- for we have -seen the skaters of LincolnshV kehalf me mile bursts at the' rate of thit ilosan me hour ; and wIth long "runners" 'td fair ~t wind behind them, seventy milga a day was not eensidered an extraordinary pie.. Tremnn011e14111 e rpnts. III a migide4t apartment Ii Brooklyn liv( two brothers, A. M. and Peter Carlsen. They ire young men, and were born in Of. odden, Norway, at the head of the West Fjord. on the northwestern coast of Norway. The eldur is a mechanic and Peter is a clerk. The room in which they live gave evidenet of the character of the inmates. On a latt occasion the elder Carisen said to a reportei i) the West Fjord and into the Ofodde:1 Fjord used to Come every year and they comIC nlow, sea, serpeis. It wvai not more than once in tenl years that they failed t( come; sometimes one and sometimes two. Tte people there say that they have known hree to be there at one time, but this is uncertain, for it was 'dillicult to say just how inny were in the water at one time. Certain it is that there was one serpeni that canie i) about the 1st of April every fear, and remained about four months-that is, during the warmi weather. 'T'lh first indica tion of the presence of the serpent was that the fIsh of all ki nds-cod, Iad(ock, and others--hegin to die, and floated to the shore. Then the people said that the ser pent had conie, and that lie had poisoned the water." "But did you ever see the serpent I" "Yes, inideed. I satw it once very plain ly. That I did not see it more thlin onc was because our house was back some two miles front the shore. Bit one night, about. 11 o'clock, I was with a party of friends filshing. It was p5erfectly light, for the Sin1 does not go dlown Rat all in that season of the year there, an( that night it was seem ingly Just about a foot above the water in the horizen, andl(] its red glare miade the waters of the fjord red Suddenly we heard to the northward a rushing noise like i heavy wil(, and(], looking in that direction, we saw something. Then we all stood up on the seats of the boat to see better, and soon we discerneI coming toward us the serpent. Evidently lie was puriuing a flock of Cider ducks that were flying directly in front of him. They cannot fly high, and the serpent seemet bent upon seizing them. His helad and neck reared aloft some fifty feet, and the noise wo heard was that naie by the water as he rushed through it. III front of him the water spurled uip as it (oes before a large and fast steamer. The ducks were flying straight toward us, and we feared that we should be overwhelmed by the serpent, when, seeing us, the (ncks turtied sharply of1 to the westward, and flew straight toward the Itn. - The serpent turn ed:(, too, but, whether unable to faco the sunR or not, or for some reasoni he dove forward into the sa; fold afttr fold of his great body appeared and went (own like great links where the head first diappeared, and the water was so agitated that our boat rock ed violently upon thie water, whieh was but a few moments before quite calm. That was my best sight at the sea serpent, and what I am telling you is very trile.'' "And how long did you tWink the serpent to ie. The young man smiled. "Ah, there is the difilculty. You will not believe ie, but I could bring you plenty of men whc would be quite willing tosiwear that lie was at the least four English miles long. Othere will say five or six miles long. I never heard any one say that the smallest serpent seen was less than 800 feet long. Of cour-se there is the difliculty of telling how long an aniial moving through the water is. There iiay be two, chasing each other. There may be more than two. . But I will tell you this: One evening when the water was very quiet, my brother Peter went. up oi the mountain and looked (own upon the fjord. The serpent lay perfectly motion less on the surface of the water, and my brother, judging from the (istances along the shore relatively to the serpent, says lie was at least flve miles long. It was a cur ions fashion the serpents had of lyig mot lonless upon the water for as nuch as three days at a time, then sinking out of sight and~ remaninintg unseen for days. I think this: that, they came upi in'the fjord to fill them-. selves wvith food, andh, bleing gorged, lay torpidl as (10 lanid snakes for a long time. I well remiembler 0one summer when the ser p~ent lay arounRl an island iup necar thle head of the fjord. The island was ablou~t two milies in circolnferencee, andl the resort of millions of sea fowl. Tlhe serplelnt lay comt pletely around~ tils island(, and1( in 50ome pilaces his wvhole thickness could be seen. I shiould juldge him to be nio less (lian twen ty feet in diameter in the spot where I saw him, for we took a boat, and~ iowed out over him. My father saidl that lie shouki( mnake a harpoon out of ani anchor, which lie could ver-y well (10, for lie was a blacksmith, anid try to captur-e the serpent ; but the author ities, hearing of bils plant, forbade It, for they asked w~hiat would lie (10 with himt af ter lie had caught him, and~ wvas there not danger thtat, beinig untable to dispose of the greait body, it milght float in the water, and, In decomfpostmg, poison1 the aIR' andi the wvat or, arnd thus br-ing sickness and perhaps aR p~estilencee to the people. Indeed, I have heard In my tr-avels, for I wtas in the whale fIsheries of the Nor-th Sea, that a serpent onCciyinig so poisone~d the we'' r and~ the air that the peoplle wer-e forced i , tow the( bodly out to sea." At this point In the wonderful narrative, which was given in the most, Rmatter--of -fact way and with evidlent sincerity, the youniger brother,. Peter, enlteredl the room. H~e svai a rosy-faced young fellow, with frank, bliu eyes. ils brothler Iitroduced the visitot ais a reporter seeking sea-serpenit lnformia tion. "Oh, yes! li e exclaimed, "and I have seen one mnynelf. Did you tell of the titme I went en the mlounltain ? I saw hin very plainly then, ant I think-indeed,1 am quite sure-that lie was a full Norweg Ian mile In length, and a Norwegian mile ii about seven English miles." "How far is it from Fulton Ferry to Gov. ernor's Islpnd?" asked the eldler brother. "Well, the ser-pt nt would easily reach fr-on1 'one place to other. Nine or ten years ag ther-e was an Investigation by the Govern. mont, or somie authorities, about the ser pent, to ascertain whether it was a mari eater or Riot. The investigation was held a' Stavanger, andi I well remember readinj about it in the newspapers. There waw muceh evidence from very many witnesses, all of whom testified as to the length, and( none of them conisider him as any less that1 two miles long. How do we judge? will show you,' and seiztng a piece of papei he drew a roughu map of the bay of whic11 he was speaking. "Here is the island spoke of, and here :is another. They att Aive' mies apart, and the serpent would reach fromono to the other. It- is nbout six miles across tfhe fjord hiere, but the ser: pent alwrays lay lesigthways of the fjord, ulj and down you ujpderstandl, .tnd'Iwbonlfc lays thus iie often obstriteted travel. Aeros here is a market town where peol.ge from this side In beats, and I have 9ne1 them to be delayed three or four days by the serpent as lie liy there on the water. IllS body di(d not lie perfectly straight, but in unl)dlalltions, so thatt portions were visiIleI and other parts under the water. hei peo ple dared not row over the hidden pairts, fearing that the boat iight touch him and then he would rise and overturn the boat. I never heard of his attacking anyone, but sometimes boats were Overturned by his rising under them. Otherwise lie wis not daigerous. "About the last of August or the first of September," coutinued the young Norweg lan. "the serpent decided to go away. Then turning, he would run out of the fjord at, great speed. I do indeed believe that he would go as fast as 100 miles an lhour. for the sound of the wiater, as he rushed through it, was like a great wind, and could be heard for miles around. The water arose in great waves on each Side of hill), s0 that when lhe was bet ween you and a boat wit I nmsts you could see the boat not at all for the high water." "Yes,'' sald Peter, "'the people all know when tile Serpent goes out simply by the noise. And on Sunday, when they come to the church, from nine or ten miles around, they say, 'Well, the serpent 1has8 gone out. Did you hevar him?' And oil the mountainls the Laps hear the noise, and the reindeer too, and they think a stori is comilig, 1111d look around to prepare themselves. This I know (iite well, for I have been there." Embr--tierv. 'I'he textile fabrics suitable for embroid cry are not very numerous, and, ,riti at very few exceptions, are exactly similar to those that were in use centuries ago. Modern in dustry luas not doue much for us, either by Oiscovering new materials, or by inventing novel modes of manufacturing the old ons. Linen is one of the oldest fabrics used for embroidery; it is well adapted for that pur pos an1d many kiids may be used. Hound toweling is all excellent material, especially for beginners and children, 1as it is easy to I work on and very eneap. Crash is used, I and does very Well for practice work, or unimportant plieces of embroidery. Very I beautiful white linen of a good width may I be had ; the warp and the w of should lhe of the 111110 t)icklness in linen ised for cm- I broidery. Fine white linen Is sometimes t used for silk embroidery, especially when the whole surface is to be covered, There i is also at twilled linen, very stout, and of a t narrow width, which is made expressly for borderings. In woolen fabrics, serge is an' t excellent, material for this purpose. There C is at serge which is twilled only on one si(ae, and which makes a capital firm grotund for needlework. Cloth is well adapted for ap- 1 plique work and Filk embroidery, but it does not do so well for crewel work as serge. t For wearing apparel, merinos and cashlimores are excellent, and may be embroidered In C silks for dresses, jackets, etc. Nearly all kinds of silks are suitable for embroidery, even thin sarsanets will look well when backed by holland and paper; the thin silks may be used for applique work with very good effect, for purposes where greatstrength is not required. The rep silks and diapered silks, thin and soft, should be used for ec clesiastical embroidery. Of all textile fa bries, however, there are none to compare with satin for beauty and effect, when em broidered with silk. Its surface, smiooth and111 lustrous lmll1ost ats pollied metal, re- 1 flect surrounding colors to a greater extent than other wovon material; while, frot Mke pecillarity of its texture, its highest lights are low and cri1), and the greater part of 6 its surface is therefore nearly always in half tint or shadow, and tile deep shadows of the large foldsr are themselves lighted up in innumerable relleotions. This shimmer of light and shad1e, tils changefulness, L serves to break into hariony the colors most, harshly opposed to each other, aind therein lies the explanation of th10fact that ladies may venltmle to wear saitinls of a color thalt in any other stufif wouild be, to ay the least, very trying to their comlplexions. Nevertheless, we would not counsel our I r'eadlers to embroider satinl withlout anyI re gardl to halrmfonious arranlgemlent of color, ami1( trus1t to its precise qualllities to set a things right, for them. Velvets receive eml- ' broider'y well ; they were also used onl apl p)11que1 work on serge, clothl, silk and~ vel vets of anothler color. The shorter the pile of velvet, and1( conlsequemliy tihe mlore4 costly, the better it is adap1tedi for needilework. Utrecht volvot looks very wvell ornlamlented 1 iln crewel work, and is especially silitale~ ~ for maniltel-piece hangings, wiall friezes, p~orticos and1( curtainls. Origin of i'la,,ta, Mad(der caime fromi the eat. Celery originaited ini GermanIlly. 'rie chestnut came from Italy. The onion originlatedl in t Egypt. Tobacco is a naltive of Virginia. The nettle is a native of Europe. The il citronl is a nlative of Greece. Trhe line is a .3 nlatIVe of America. The poppy originatedi 0 iln North A frica. Rye came originlally from Biberia. Barley was found in thle moun- 11 talns of Himalaya. Whleat is suplposedl to a hlave colle and to hlave growni almlta- a neouisly In Tfartary, northI of thie Hhimalaya I mountains. Parsley was first known ind Bardlinia. Bunflower wasn broughlt from Peru. The parsnip is a nlative of Arabia. The plotato is a native of Peru. Cabbage grows wildl in Bibeia. Buckwheat came I from BiberIa. Millet, was first known inr India. Thie apple aind pear are from Europe. a Spinach was first cultivated in Arabja. I Theo mulberry tree originated In Persia. I The horse chestnut is a niatiVe of Thibet. Theil cuicum~ber camell from thie East Indies-. The quince camne from the lsland1 of Crete.c 'rie radish Is a Dative or China and Japan.e Pears are supposed to be of Egyptian ori gml. Th~le gardlen cress is from Eypt and tile East. Horse radish camne from the soulth of Europe. The Zealand flax shows I its origin by its name. The coriandir grows wild near the Mediter-ranean. 'rhe Jeru-. salem artlehloke is a BrazIlian production. Hemp is a native of PersIa and the E'ast Ind(lcs. The tomato originated in South America, blut was '*known in England as early as 1587. Dodoeng, a Hollands agri. culturist, mentions the tomato: In 1058, "a vegetable, to be eaten with popper, salt,f and oil." Thue bean is a native of PersIa. ( The beet origInated in AfrIca and Asia. The cabbage came from England. Cayenne pepper came from the tf'oples; the beet varleties from the.West Indies. The sweet i potato came froem tropital iAmerncs, an4 was early introduced 1ato Eurdpe.,. "WRY do Eou ,#If18i48h 'sa cordd of oi e f' -abkda jhtle*i#o Ithe late Horace Gireely. "Because they are the sin news of thq spepot?" Was the renit. FOOL) FOR THOUGHT. Proud hearts and lofty mountain a tre always barren. Duties ftilillied are al ways pleasures ,o the memory. The reward of one duty is the pow )r to ftifill. another. Better be upright with poverty than Aicked with plenty. Virtue does not give talents, but it mtipplies their place. The trees that are most In the sun bear the sweetest fruit. Every Imlan whof has decision of char ictor will have oenmies. Be indu8tilous. Indolence, debt ad disease aro brothers. Justice is like glaiss which cannot be bent, but easily broken. Carl3'e says thait false modesty is the nio(st dleci-nt of falsehoods. It is in infancy that we lay the oundation of a good old age. Tito slanderer Is the devil's bellows ,o blow up contentions. It you converso by the way remeni )er there maiy be mn11 in tie grass. The 81111alest Perfect acievemnenlt is iobier than the grandest failure. Let your word be your bond. Good ,redlt is a fortune to begln with. A wise man can 1111 a thousand nouths, a fool cannot protect himself. There are enough fiue mottoes In the Vorld. What we need Is men to wear ,m111 )iIIned Onl the Ilappeis of their lsosielce. In auversity be spirited and firim, and viti equal prudence lessen your sall Wisdom is at pedestal from 'which ,mvy nor malice cannot hurl the occu lit. Be temperate. Liquor has made nore paupg-e thani all other vices coi tined. What Ii it to be resigned ? It is to mt God between ourselves and our orrows. The l0ont opens his mouth ; the ele Phant (the amblet of wisdom] shuts kis: shulyours. Great things are not accoinllished y idle dreamLs, but by years of pa tent study. You miiay be chaste as lee and pure s snow, but you shall not esoape cal ily. it ia as asdificult for a young woman o know she is ugly, as to be Ignorant f her beauty. In most discussions we love our elves bett'r than our cause; aid seek ess to have It valued than ourselves. A pound of energy with aun ounce of alent will achieve greater results han a pound of talent with an ounce >f energy. There is nothing more universally otumended than a fine day; the reason s, that people can commend it without In vy. One (lily there catne a man to the ,reat Themistoeles, and proposed to din an art of memory. lie answered ltterly, "Toach te the art of forgot. 'ulness. Love Is the sha.iow of the morning, vhich decreases as the day advances. rleindship is tle shadow of the even nig, which strengthens with the set Ilg sun of life. The mind is but a barren soil; a soil vhich1 is soon exhausted, and will pro luce no crop, or only one, unless It be ontinually fertilized and enriched vith foreign matter. Whoever slceerely endeavors to do 11 the good lie can will probably do luct llore than lie imagines, or will ver know till the day when the se rets of all hearts shall be manifest. When the cup of sensutal pleasure is rained to tile bottom, there is always. olson in1 thle dregs. Anacreon him elf, decclar'es that "the flowers swim t the top of the bowl. All useless mIsery is certain folly, nd( he th'at f'eels evils before they 1)me1, may be deservedly censured, yet utrely to dread the future Is m~ore caisonabie than to lament tihe past. Tlhley who are ignorantfy dIevoted to lie mere ceremonies of religion arc all1011into thliok darkness; butt they me in still thicker gloom, wh~o are oletly attached to fruitless siaenula bons. Know ledge can not be acqu Ired with )it pain11 and ap~plication, It is roublesomne, and like digging for paire vater; butt, when once you comne to he sprlig, it rises up to meet you. TVhe beginning of hardships Is like he first taste o1 bitter food--it Sceems or a mnomencat un bearable; yet, if there minothilugelse to satisfy your hiunger, 'ott take anlothier bite and find it possi >le to go on. 'Whatever faeilitates ,our worls Is bor ithatn an omen it'ts1 a cause of uIccess. Thlis Is one of those pleasing uIrrise whlich otteni hatppenl to actIve esolutions. Many things difficult to esign prove easy to perform. Th'le supreme Court of Iowa has do wded( thait s01hoo1 boards have no0 righlt o put lightning rods on 8011001 build.. ngs, except to replace old ones,'And tow It is to be called u pon~ to decide vhether they' have a rightto Ins ure lhe school buildings ' against de tructlin by lire. rure cloahliness, says a- foreign wri or, is a matter of minutio,'and adrmits f nto subterfuge. If dirt can find a rack, a ledge, or an absorben I sur ace wilhih cannot be reached by thte rdinary mfethlod of cleansing, there lIrt will accumulate;y and whore dirt stheore wlhldisease be also. TIhe durability ofoak may be known rean the fact tl at the t4ene of d..~~I vardl thle Conteso 1s88)0 yare old mo of the oaken-e i~ondti dh airs has been in the ~resent siWstlon In West, ninister Abbyaboy 54M0 years; 'and h#oldest wo~oden br dgo of whileh awe ave'ang add*unt, Is of oak--it Ie thiat amous for its adefence by Hforathts ecc0les anid. which existed 40gea~rstbo '0; Christ. ere 16 a modntnti p S i8witser ooIgif hie chh d iate lInoe of duty AVe ad Gf cnowedge that pghteoa