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I' 37 , Vyff TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S. C., JUNE 1-6p 1880. UGHTS AND BRADEB. The gloomiest day hat'i gloams of11 Abi, The darkest wave bath bright foam near it; And twinkles thtough the cloudiest night Some solitary star to cheer it. The gloomiest soul Is not all glooM, The sa Idest hour is not aU saduenss; And sweetly o'er the darkest doom There shines some lingering beams of sad ness.. Despair is never quite deipair, Nor life nor death the future , loses; And round the shadowy brow cf care Will hope and fanoy twine thor roses. Two Loyal Hearts. In a quiet street off one of the (uiet squares there is a tall, gloomy house, with narrow, dusty windows, and a wassive double door, that still bears a brass plato with the words "Gourlay Btothers" en graved thereon. The lower part of the house was used as an office, but the blinds were rarely drawn up, the door seldom swung back to the en getic push of:9customers, the long passage echoed no hurried footsteps, and Eli Hag gart, the-clerk, was, to all appearance, the idlest man in London, till one came to know his inas ers. The Gourlay Brothers were never any busier than their faithful old servant never hurried, flurried, or worried; never late and never early. Every morning at ten o'clock they entered their office to. gether, read their letters, glanced at the paper, loft instructions for possible callers, and then went to the city. They always took the same route; at eleven they might be seen passing along the sunny sble of Cannon street ; at. half-past one they en tered the same restaurant, and sat down for htncheou. Wet or dry, shade or shine, smunner or winter, every working-day for thirty years they had gone through the same routine, always excepting the month of September, when they took their annual holiday. They were elderly men-John tall, thin, ielancholy-looking, with light gray eyes, scanty gray hair and whiskers and a gen eral expression of drabness pervading his whole face and faultlessly neat attire. Roger was shorter, rounder, more cheerful and generally warmer In color. His per vading hue was brown, keen reddish eyes that must have been merry once, crisp auburn hair that time had not yet quito transmiuted to sliver, a clean-shaved, ruddy face and brown hands full of dents and dimples. John was the elder ; still he looked up to Roger with grave respect, con silted him on every subject, and never, either in our out of business, took any step without his advice and approval. And Roger was no less delerential. Without any profession of affection or display of feeling, the Gourley Brothers dwelt together in closest friendship and love. Their life was a long harmony, and during all the years of their partnership no shadow had fallen between them, and their public life was as harmonious at their private inter course. In business they were successful every speculation they made prospered everything they touched turned to gold ; and as their whole lives were spent in get. ting, not spending, they were believed, and with reason, to be immensely wealthy ' Cold, hard, stern, enterprising,'' men ca'led them, with an acuteness of vision and a steadiness of purpose, only to be ac quired by long and close application to business. Reserved in manner, simple in their tastes, economical in their habits, the (hourlay Brothers wvere the last men in the worldl to be suspectedl of sentiment, their lives the least likely to contain even the germs of romance. Aiid yet they had not been always mere business machines; the so)le aim and end of their existence had not always been money. In early years they had brighter dreams, nobler ambitions. At school John had (lhstinguished himi. self, and his brikf university carner gave promise of a brillhant future. Roger had b,een a bright, ardent boy, with a taste for music that was almost a passion, and a tab (lnt little short o1 genius. With his deep) earnestness, intense steadliness of purpose, and clear, vigorous intellect, John could scarcely have failed to make a distinguished lawyer. Ro'ger was a born artist, with a restless, lofty ambition. Life seemedl very bright for the brothers ; there wvas nothing to prevent, and everything to assist, each in followIng his inclination. But In the very dlawnl of their career thair father died, and they were suddenly rediuced from afflu. ence to actual poverty. Nothing remained from the wreck of a magnificent fortune but the bitter experience that always acconm panics such reverses. Fine friends failed them, flatterers looked coldly on their dis tress, ttIose who hind most freoly partaken of their lavish hospitality passed b)y on the sthmer side, Not a friend remained In their adversity but one, and ehec hiad indeed tihe wIll, but not the p)ower, to 1he11 them. Th'ie ioys left the college and turnedl their thoughits to business. It was hmopeless to attempt to follow uip their professions with ani inivalid miother and( idolized only sister depending on themi for support. Jolhn se lured a situation as clerk in a city ware house. .Roger accep)tedi a desk in the office of Bernard Russell, an 0old friend of his father's. They moved to cheap lodgings, and for several years plodded on waarily, lihe only gieami of sunshine in their altered home6 being the occasional visits of 'Alice Russell to' their sister. Maudo Gourlay and Alice had been selroolmates and friends; they usually spent their vacations together andi Alice felt the misifortumie that had fal hen on the family as if it had overtaken her own. But she could do nothing except pay them flying visits, send trifling gif'ts of a, fruit and flowers, and write pretty sympa- t( thetle notes to Mande. t A few years of hardship and poverty told u on Mrs. Gourlay'q always feeble frame, 1 still for her daughter's sake she clung to o1 life with a strange tenacity; but when n Maude's lover, who had gone to Australia oi to make his fortune, returned, not wealthy, but sulflclently so to claim his bride in her t< altered circumstances. Mrs. Gourlay r< seemed to have no other object to live for. f( Maude's marriago was hastened, and the at very day after the ceremony, the poor, t weary, broken hearted mother died. George e Leslie took his wife back with him to Syd- j ney, and John and Roger Gourlay were C literally alone in the world. As if in bitter mockery of their loss, and it loneliness, Injiediately after their mothel's t death the brothers inherited a small for tune. " 1yt it was too late for John to go C( back to his studies, too late for Rtoger to o1 return to his piano. They had fallen lIto the groove of business, and John at least a was seized with a feverish eagerness to turn a his amall fortune luto a larger one aut be- s( come wealthy. So they went into business t on their own account as Gourlay Brothers, u with the firm resolution of retrieving the R position their father had lost, and a very s1 few years saw them established in Whittier a street, and fairly on the high road to for. tune. 'hen one quiet summer evening, as they sat over their dessert, John opened his heart to his brother and told him of Ids i hopes, dreams and ambitions of his future. a " You will be surprised, and I trust a pleased, to hear, Roger, that I love Alice ai Russell," he said, laying his hand on his ti brot her's arn, "' I can hardly remeiber the w time when she was not dearer to me than all the world beside. The uItterest part of lJ our misfortune to me was that it separated it me from her ; the only thing that has sug- am tained me' through our long struggle was the hope of some day winning her; nothing4 j else can ever compensate me for the ruin a of all my hopes and glorious ambitions. I al once dreamed of being famous, Roger; for her sake put that behind me, and grubbed re for gold like a miser. We, Gtourliy Brothers, are on the high road to for- it tune; I may aspire to *the hand of Alice c< now! I "Surely, John," and the younger at brother's voice was husky, and his hand w shook as lie took up his glass.; "I drink to ti: your success." "Thank, brother. I should have told you all this before, I should have confided h in you. but I feared troubling you on my n acount, you would have seen a thousand shadows across my path, you would have de been more unhappy than I was myself. I And now I want you to promise that it a' shall inke no difference between us. We h shall be Gourlay Brothers still." p Id Roger stretched his hand aoross the table, o and John grasped it heartily. I "Gourlay Brothers to the end of the chapter, old fellow, and may you be as happy as you deserve. God bless you b John." R John's face became a sliade or two paler A with-emotion, and lie walked up aid (own the room a few minutes ; then lie stood be hind his brother's chair. P "Roger, y6u will think me very weak, very nervous, but I dare not speak to Alice c~ myself. I could not endutre a refusal from her. I hiave never even given her the imost b dlistant hint of my feelings. I have not the I slightest reason to suppose that she regardis me as othier than at mere acquaintance, at most as Maudle's brother. Roger, we haveh always been friends as wvell ais brothers stand by mc In this ; you are less shy and miore accustoma'd to women ;aee Alice for me, ask her to be my wifc." it!'John, you're miad ! You (1o not mean "1 (10; it is my only chance. Plead for my happiness, brother, as I 'would plead foir yours. I am a man of few words, h but I teeh deeply. A refuisal from her lips R would kill me ; I cuhi hiear it from you." g ''As you will, John1); I'll do miy best." b andtt Roger leaned his head on lisa hand and shmadiod his face from the lhght; "'I'll call on r< Alice to-mnorrowv." Th'le next day was the ionigest of John el Glourlay's life-a bright, warm, happy day, TI that madie pleople even in the city look glad ia and checerful. IIe went about lis business hi as usual, ate his luncheon, and walked home rc leisurely. Rogemr was standlig at the win- li dowv watching for him, and lie kept, lis back ti to him wvhen lie entered the room. -9 "Well,'' Johni said, gently ; '"well, ~ Rlogeri, have ycou seen her ?" d "4Yes I've seen her," andi Roger faced 0 around suddenly. ''Jelhn, old1 fellow, it's no use." ''Brother I" and lhe lifted his hand ias if to wardl off a b,lowv. '"It's no use," Roger wvent "n in a hard voice. "She (lees not love you ; she loves t< somne one else. Be a man, John, and hiear og it, for there's no haope.'' One low, stifled groan, and then .John i Gourlay wrung his brother's hmandt amid walked steadlily out of the room. Wht lie a suffer'ed in the hours that followed no one sl ever knew, and1 when lie appearefl at the (dinnier table lhe was calm anid self-possesse8d, j but somethmng had either come into his face I or gone out of it that altered him. But of E the two, Roger looked the most unhappy. h 'l'e bilow had really fallen most most heav. J Ily on hIm. "Jack, old fellow, we're Gourlay Bro. titer's now to.thte end of the chapter," lie .saidl, huskily. "I know you'll never mar ry, and nelither will I," and somehow John felt that Roger meant what he said , Twenty five years passed by, and a quar ter of a century of changes and chan-es, id still the 0ourlay Brothers held the even inor of their way. They were rich beyond keir wishes or desires, and not altogether ahappy in their solitary friendship. Alice ussell seemed to have drifted completely it of their lives; her name was never ientioned, and whether she was married dead they did not know. One morning about the middle of Sep -mber they were walking along the King's )ad at Brighton, whither they had gone )r their annual holiday. Roger entered a top to purchase something, and John ood outside looking dreamily at the pass sby. Suddenly he -,-dvanced a step as a dy in an Invalid chair was wheeled by. haneing to look up, she met his glance Ith a smile of recognition, "Mr. Gourlay, surely is, it. must be you. I am so glad see you !" "And I to meet you," John said, with a )urteous bow. 11 have not the pleasure knowinr-" "My name---i am Alice 'Russell still," ke said frankly. At that moment- Roger )peared. For an Instant the *blood for iok his rudy face, while a hot crimson lash rose to Alice's pale cheek as she tried > stammer out some words ot greeting. oger was no less confused, and the expres on of both faces was a revelation to John ourlay. lie felt as if the world had sud 3ily drifted away from hiu and he was ft solitary In some unknown, infinate )ace. But there was'nothing of that in is voice as lie asked Alice for her address, id permission to call upon her in the ternoon. Then taking his brother by the ni ie led himt away, and they continued ieir wnl without exchanging a single ord abont the strange encounter. in the afternoon John called at Miss ussell's hotel, and in a few moments lie >un111d himself seated beside her In a pleas it sitting room, overlo:king the sea. "Alice,'' lie said, plunging into the sRb -ct at once, "do you remember a conver. tion you had with my brother a long time t;o ?'' "Yes, I remember, Mr. Gourlay," she plied sadly, "He1o imade a request for ie theii which was not in your power to grant ; I am me to make a siilar one for himl now. oger loves you, Alice. He has loved you I these long, weary years, though you Ill at least believe I did not know it lei. " "Poor Roger I" Alice said, softly. "You care about him I You will make it happy. even at this late hour ? Tell ic, Alice, that you love my brother I " " Yes, Mr. Gourlay, I do. Why should I )ny it? I have loved him always, though did not know that lie cared about me, id if the little life that is left me can make m happier, I will devote it to him gladly, roudly-poor Roger I You see I am too d for pretenses, Mr. Gourlay, and I fear am dying ; therefore, I tell you all." "Dying, Alice? No, no! yoli will live tany years yet, I hope, to make my dea r .other happy-brave, loyal, great-hearted oger. Let me send him to you now, and lice, for my old and long affection's sake ake him happy. He deserves it, and iat. is the only way I can ever help to re ly the devotion of his life.'' "II love hini, " Alice replied, simny ; "I mnnot ( any more." - In their lodgings John Gourlay found his other pacing restlessly uip and down. "Roger, I've found out your secret and 3r's," he said, laying both hands on his. coulders ; "'loyal, faithfuid friend, go to 3r; she loves you, she Is waiting for you." "Poor Alice ! how she must have suf redi ?" "hlow we all hav'e suffered ! lbut it's arly over now, Roger-the grief, pain, gret. It's clear and bright. Roger, dear lenid, can you lorgive me ?" "Forgive youu, John ? Say rathier can u forgive me ?" '"True to the last," John mnurmiured, as wrung his brother's hiand. "'Now oger, go to hor'; she is waitIng for youi. lie loves you-loves you,' Roger ! U >odl r'e, and miay you both bie happy !" Late that evening, when Roger Gour-lay turned home, full of deep, quiet gladness. s found his b)rother sitting in an easy lair near the wvinidow, ap)parenitly aslheep. lie futll nioon shone down on his Pale ace, and( shiowedl a smile on his lips ; his indsI wer-e clasped on an open boo0k that Wstedl on his knee. The attit,ude was life ko, but at the very first glance Roger felt lit his brother was dlead-. The doctors 11id he had died of disease of the heart. erhaps they were right. , More. people ie of that malady than the world knows Freinetay. As Monsieur IIenri de Chiarville, a gential asistant, at the Maison D)oree, San FrancIs >, was saunitering up Market street near ,e Palhace the oilher miorning, on his way where his short gingham jacket hangs a a peg behind the (door, lie spied a i-ace of female kids1 with hair-banged fore. cnds and black stockings, in charge of a amsel, the roacaic haue of whose cheeks, to quiet, gray of whoso skirts, the dheleouls 'lhiess of whose cap and alpron-.In iort, the comphleteness of whose Parisian get-upl'' lbrought I4mn back to the Blouhe urdls, the Champs Elysee, the Jardin (les 'lantes, amid all the rest of themi. D)ollng Is hat, with hisa politest bow, as was lis ont in his home of his boyhood, ho saluted [ademoisello thusaly: "Boil jour, m'mselle. e suis enchanto (10 vous voir ce matin." [ademolselle looked at himn a minute, anid men in thme choicest Parisian, repiedt: F"wat do yez take me furr, anyhow? 1Do ez think I'm a Choiinay ?" -T'here are 796,000 paupers in l-ng.. --Boston was incorporated as a city ai 1822. The Ronanoo of Hotel Keeping. "Having staid too long In the bath at Long Branch recently, I lost the train to the horse-race, and Col. Presbury, of the %I est End Hotel, a gallant old beau, of flue worldly style, offered to take me out. He was about to give away $1,000, as It proved, to George Lorillard, and had only time to sue that stake run kor and the fol lowing two miles and a.quarter. As we went along the road I said: 'You were the first big hotel man I ever saw, and I have been afraid of you for ab6ut twenty years. How did you start?' said tl1 straight, mil Itary-like old nin. '1 came fron Balti more. My mother was a. Howard. I was cashier of the Bank of Maryland, and' also Af the Bank of Louisville.; I had put by mine money, and one! day Air. Billings came to me and said, 'Colonel, there Is a big hotel to be orceted in Philadelphia, called the Girard House. If you will let ine have some money to furnish it, I think L can get it.' I was banking then in St. Louis. I went on with M1liungs to see the liotel, and as it cost a large sum to furnish It, $V,000, I was compelled to be a part. ner. Weo leased the hotel. Billings made 1100,000, which I paid to hin. lie wasn't equal to so much luck, and is dead. My inside steward was named Darling. I got Iim from the Tremont House, Boston, and paid $2,500 a year. lie was so efficient with tie that lie got the new Battle House at Mobile, uiade money and was unabled to take the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York. There he became the wealth. lest American hotel iuan, and is worth $3, D00,000. If I had begun busines with as good a inan as my present partner, Ifil :lredth, I would have been as rich as Dar l4ng.' " 'How cane you to go to Washington D'ity during the war?' " 'I had to give up the Girard IIouse af er running it four years, on account of the lIoggishlnes of those who owned it. I asked for a reduction of rent on the ground that the Continental Ilotel, a much liner struel ire, wiis going up right opposite me. They iaid that was a reason for raising my rent.' 'Very well,' said 1, '1 will sell out the fur Uiture and close the Girard House for a rear, and you will never make money out >t it again. They never have. I went to 3altimore and the war broke oul, and Lthe irst thing I knew Simon Cameron, Secre ary of War, telegraphed ie to come to Washington. I went down there and he )pened the conversation: ''resbury, I want you to taie Wil ard's Hotel. It will be the Ulion head :uarters. I want a man In control there vhom I know P 'Gen. Cameron,' 1 ro Aied, '1'n -hardly your man. While I ,hink our people are foolish to talk about caving the 'Union, ny%ympathics are with lie State of Maryland whatever she does.' '0, pahaw I' lie said, 'You goand (ake that otel. Willard is scared, ajd you can get t cheap.' I called on thie Aillards, They ffered ine the hotel for $100,000, furniture Ind lease. had the pioffer written out md signed. I rented it without looking at t, seeing there were six hundred guests. When I went next Monday to take the lotel, Willard said, 'Presbury., we don't want to give this up. What will you take :o give the prope:ty up ? We'll give y3u 150,000 for your bargain.' Sald 1, '0en lemon, I will take $100,000.' I got the 20tol and miade $1o5,00 the first year. I heu sold the lease to my partners for $140,. 100, which they paid in full, except $20, )00. In the West End Hotel here I have nvested with Mr. Hildreth $250,000, and 1pent $100,000 on the property, and we get M10,000 a year out of it." A Mysterious ,ta,ber. Considerable excitement has been aroused ovithin tie last few days at btrasburg by the extraordInary proceedings of a myster ious stranger, who makes his appearance regularly at nightfall In one or the other of hei less frequented thoroughfares, armed with a sharp, double-edged polnard, andl, 1s soon as lie p)receives an ''unprotected [oemale," saunters up to her In a leisurely way and strikes her on the right breast with is weapon), Inflicting a slight wound( of from half to threcquarters of an Inch deep. Since thme 18th uilt., lie hias succeed: d in italbing no fewer than fifteen women and girls In this manner, upon each occasion taking t) flight as soon as he hind made his coup, and before lis panic stricken victims had sufficiently recovered from their terror to raise an alarm. The ImperIal p)olice smthorities have made search for this cecentric miisdlemeanant--describedl by those who have felt the point of lisa dagger is young. slight in build, and well dressed In all thme hotels, Iun, andl lodging houses of the veneralhe cathedral city, but as yet to no purpose. TIhecy have placarded the town ith ollcial warnings addressed to heads of families, urging thoni not to p)ermlit their wives and daughters to traverse t he streets alone after dark, and( exhorting the miale population of Strasburg to assist the police in discovering and arresting this mnale-factor. Thme lacfards In question were pubilishied early one Sunday evening. Three hours later two young ulrls were stabbed, both in the r y J breast, while returnig home from vespers through mtrcets by no means voh(l of pedertrians at that time the resp)ective assaults wecre coin mit ted. A large reward ls now ofrered by the Government for the seizure of the dexterous bravo, whoe hias rendlered the gloaming so terrible to 8trasburg's fair laughiters. WY hat WaN In Efier. It was nearly a year ago wvhen L,eadville was first showing what was in her. There were several newly madle bonanza kings about Denver then, and among them was a mian who had1( prob~ably never hiad $20) ini his p)ocket at one time p)revious~ to his strike. To hiiii the posses.sioni of a watch was the natuiral evIence of a competence, andi as lie mad(e miore than a competence, he felt that the fact should be indicated by th' p)urchmase of several watches. These he( had1( deposIted In Grand Central hotel ramfe. One night he caume Into the oflice ver~ munch the worse for liquor, lurched to thm( lhar and hiIe-ooughmed out to the clerk, "GOimme a watch." A timepIece was palssed to lis unastead) hands, but endeavering to thrust it into hu trousers pocket lie left it slip and fall upot0 the floor. Without casting a glance at thc fallen watch he lurched againist thme counte: again, reached out lis shakIng hand, nius terod all his faculties to thme task of speak lag and then bhuited out I", "Glmmo 'nuther l'' Can the Indifference of afiluence go be yond thin9 00oeornionr Oyeionee. Every oue shot.ld know what a cyclone is, but the general ideas of the subject are rather vague. Take a small butter-pot, and set it (own on your largest map of the world at about 20 degrees North Latitude, anywhere in the Atlantic between two continents, say cast of the West Indies. Then, with a piece of whalebone twice as long as from the butter-pot to the North Pole, bent Into a parabola, with one end at the Pole, the other at the butterpot, ma I out thus the cyclone. The apex of the bent whalebone will be somewhere in the Western United States. Imagine your butter-pot to be revolving In its own centre In the direction on the hands of a watch, at the rate of a hundred miles an hour. Its northwestern edge will be the dangerous storm-rim, blowing a hurricane, lashing the seas, and precipitating the rain ; the other edges"will be' br cezy, but n't so stormy, ;A they contain less moist air. The centre will be the low barometer and calm area, because here the air has less weight and is flowing upward. Now move your butter. pot slowly along the parabo!a, still suppos. ing it to be turning. By the time you reach the centre of the United States ex. change the pot for a saucer, with the same supposed coalitions, only by this time, if wintry, a snow-storim will take the place of the rain. Keep it moving circularly, and northwards also along the parabola, and abput Hudson's Bay change to a break last-pllate, and In Greenland to a dinner plate, and about the 80th degree North, before the storm reaches the size of a bug gy. wheel, it breake up. Thus you see the space over which the storms travel enlarges as it passes North, the winds blow around its ritm, and the ealineentre moves with it. Mariners now carry what is called a horn-card, transparent piece of litt cow's horn, with a circle on it, inside which are several smaller circles, with arrows point ing a1s a WatCh's hails travel. Whenever the barometer changes, and clouds scud by, this horn-card Is placed on the chart. at the ship's )osition. Knowing the wInd's direc tion and the weight of the air, the horn cards tells whereabouts in the cyclone the ship is, and from this is reasoned -how to sail to avoid the cyclone ; or, If unavolda ble, how to manage in it. Not many de cades ago, ships were driven thousands of miles from their course by not having inas Zers possessed of this knowledge. Now. idays, meteorological information is as necessary IA) the navigator is his sextant. In outh Latit tides storms pass in the same way toward the South Pole, by way of a western bend, only the circular motion is reversed, and the southwestern is the stormy edge. At the Dopot. A ludicrous scene occurred at a depot re cently. The train which gos up the Creek backs down to the depot, then uncouples, and the locomotive and a couple of cars go over Centre street to allow a car from the Valley train to be switched in. As the picee ot train moved off, a person oil the 1tatiottnary car yelled "There goes the train!" and 9tarted in purstilt. Iis x ampoi was contagious. Everybody believed that the train was leaving them1, and rushel widly out of the car. Two men tumbled over the railings in their haste and fell in the mud. A fat woman with a basket of purchases rushed out of the car door, slip ped, and bounced down the steps on to the platform, like a bag of lard io'lig down stairs. And when she struck in a pool of water ont tie boards, it soutided like slap ping a griddle cake :n to tie iron. Then she yelled murder and called for the police. A fat old gentleman got stuck in the (door way, until the crowd pushing from behind suddenly loosened him, when he shot out of the door and off to the end of the car Into thte armnsof the braketman, with a speed which confused the old man into the belief that he had collided with the locomotive. A nervous man followed and attempted to jutmp over the fat lady, who hadi not yet arisen. LIis toe caught in her waterfall, and he phmitgedl head-first into the stomach of a man whio was rushing to assist the lady, doubling him up on the ground, while a yard of false hair Iluttered from the nervous mtan's toes for a moment as he waved them in the air, lookitng lhke a well worn rag on the end of a black stick. Two men who had gained the train just at, Syciamre street, said to the btrakeman, ''Well, we caught it."'' Yes, you caught it, thotugh what in thlundler you run hmke.. that for wvhen we're going to back up) again is more than I can tell." Tlhe two men got right oil amnd stood looking into each oilher's faces for five mlinuIte.s withouit Speak ing. Thlen said onie, ''is there anything st rong entough fotr us tin dIrinkc in this town?'' Matters were fitnally arranged at tihe plat form. Th'ie fat old gentleman was assistedi into thme cars again and1( two mn helped up the 01k1 lady and( her puirchiases ; proctured a portion of her waterfidl--a dog had run off with the other panrt--nd lby telling hter that nobody hadl beent hurt by the collision, pcrsuiaded her to take her scat in the car once more. The nervons gentlemnl was discovered trymg to p)ull a ptlug hat off from his htead and shoulders, while in tihe face of tihe man p)rolpped up ini one corner of the deplot, wvith both hand(s over h:s stomach, could be discerned the feature of himt who broke thme nervous gentlemada fall. Unen~, of WiaIte Papier. A writer says that few housekeepers are aware of thme many uses to which wvaste pa per nmay he put. After a stove has beena hblackedl, it can b)e kept lookintg Svell for a long timne by rubbing It, with paper every morning. Rtubbing it withi paper is a muich nicer way of keeping thme oIutsideC of a tea kettle clean thtan the old way of washing it in sudls. Rubbing them with paper is also the best way of polishing knives andl tin wnre after scouring them. If a little. soap be held on the paper inl ruibbing tin ware ait' spoomis, they shine like new silver. F"or polishinig mirrors, windows, lamp chimneys, etc., pape,r is better than dry cloth. h,cee.s e.aid p)ickles keep much better if brown paper instead of cloth is tied over the Jar. Cannted liruit is not apt to mould if a piece of writing paper cut to fit each can, is laid directly upon the fruit. Paper is much better to put under carpets than straw. It is thininer, warmer and makes less noise whten one walks over it. Two thicknesses of paper placed between the other coverings on a Lted arc as warm as a quilt. If it is necessary to ste p upon a chair, always lay a Paper upon it, and and thus save the paIut and wood-work .trom damna. C40p Living. For cheap living, the Island of St. Mich al, the pearl of tie Azores group, is abou the best place in the world. The climate is soft and agreeable, the scenery lovely, aid the people noted for their simplicity and kindness. Labor is very cheap, anc consequently the roads leading from th town of St. Michael are of the finest char, acter. The streets are kept marvelously clean. The island Is about thirty iniles square and picturesque. One can buy five eggs for two cents, a chicken for twelve and a-half cents, beef for three cents a pound, and hire a good house for $7 a month. You can live well for $ti00 a year and handsomely of $700, and live in supert style, keeping carriage and horses for $1, OU0. The gardens are beautiful features of the island. In one garden there are 4,OO plants of different varieties. The land Is owned by a few rich people, and rents very high. A quarter of an acre brings $15 it year. The peasants or laboring people go barefooted, and live very economically. Probably $100 a year mupports a small family. The fashions In dr-ess have net changed within a hundred years, and this applies to the best society. 'T'l women wear copakeF, a garment reaching from the neck to the feet, and bearing soic resen blance to the "il8ter" which the ladies of this country wear. The head covering is ,ailed a "capilla," and is like one of the Ald-fashioned New England bonnets, but it s attached same way to the copake. A girl, seeing a stranger approaching, coi .eals her face with the capilla. The native y!ople recognize their friends by their feet. A Tigu Adventiure. Captain 11aul Boytonl, the renowned ;winimer during a recent interview said: "The Tagus is perhaps the most remark. ble river I ever navigated. I left Toledo, ii Spain, and paddled (down through that ,outntry and Portugal to the Atlanti e Ocean t distance of 850 miles. For over seven miudred miles it is not navigable for ves t-Is, but winds in an erratic and-to me innoying ianner through the most weird cenery that Spain posseses. Between 'oledo and the ocean its descent is 3,000 eet. At its source and for a short distance town the shores are lined with luxuriant rees and grasses, but soon these utterly hiappear, giving way to arld and stoney )anks, which in turn grow into precipitois nountains sides. For the first three days [ paddled along satisfactorily, but as the iunber of days since I began my Journey nereased my troubles augmented. Then ny course wound through a continued ser es of canyons, whose gloomy walls were In )lace8 so high antd steep that they almost not and nearly hid the sunlight from the yawning chasm benethi,. Towards night t required no great stretch of fancy for me to imagine that I was being swiftly carried ilong through a mysterious subterranean passage. The river was studded with boulders, hurled fon the mountain tops by fearful storms, and often as I was bowled flong under the pressure of the roaring wiud and rushing current 1 was thrown igainst one of these obstacles and my senses mcarly shaken from ite. "To Increase my peril the river was fu1ll f falls amiI rapids of utnuisual violence, in laces a shalldw eurrent would dart toward lie rocky imotintain-side and then turn at a liarp angle an([ merge into a deep and Waceful shoot of water. I blessed those iavens, for they afforded ie a chance of nking much-needed rest. Looking into hcir clear depths I could see the hideous Ish darting about, but the bottom was a 1athoiless pit. Words are wanting to ple ure the loneliless of my situation. For en (lays I saw not a shrub, not a blade of .rass, not a single sign of man's abode. MIy diet was nauseating and I felt with ilarm thiat I was gradlually losinig my itrength. "One day, it was the twelfth of my lourney, as I was floating on the bosomi of 1 sort of lake, suddenly I wvas pi)ngedl head. Irat over a fall and struck with such force igainst the p)rechiis wvall of the canyon thiat I lost consuis~iness. llapipihy my rubber suit saved me from what would have been otherwise a certain (death.I recovered my senses after an interval, 1 know not how long, and, with a prayer on my lips, was about to resume iiy voyage, when to my norror I found that miy tender was lost I It had been sucked into a whirl pool1 probably, and the current was rapily bearing me away mrom the scene. I was nearly frantic. My tender was gone, my hopes0 wvere blasted, my life was not worth a straw I The contents of the lit tle float were at that moment as precious to ie as all the wealth that a king could bestow. "I paddled on for severail hours, trusting to findf a way out of the river, If I could only find ai shepherd generous enough to share with me lisa frugal meal I was savedl. But my hopes were vain. Encumbered by my rublber armor, with waning strength and1( tremulous nmovemnents I made maniy futile attemplts to clambe.'r the slippery mnounmtaim sidles but in every ease I t:inbledl back into the river exhiaustedi. For thmrebi (lays I was urged on, I know not ho9w, b)y the impetuo)us waters. I was ravenous with hunger, my limbs quivered like as p)ens, a chill sweat oozedi all over my body, and my brain was delirious. I swvore like a madlman. heaped imaledictions upon the Ta'gus, and at times sang wild snatches of s<mig. Tok ftis (liy I cannlmot aiccount for the supe)rnIaturail strength giving ime during those seventy-two hours of agony. Theli howlinig of wolves andt the hooting of owvl during the nights heightened tihe eombire current of my reflections. On thme morning of the thIrd dlay, Just after dlaylight, I en. tered the canyon of C'asaras. I swallowedi a pint or t.wo o,f water and stoodi upr)ight ii my rublber suit. I listened for the tinking of a b)ell, or some sound that wouldi givl token of a hiabittin. Nothing broke th< silent hut the disant fall of waters. As I sank( back in the river, in dlespair, to m11 Joy I thought I saw a thin veil of smok< coming over the edlge of the high plateau andt falling on the water. My heart beal rapidly as I paddled on for five minutes it the tdirectlon of the smnok'e. At last I es the bluish haze rising from behind a gigan tIc rock. With acceleratedl steps I'left thn river andl clambered along the rocky bank Several times I slipped and fell, rceivinf numerous bruises. "I was compelled to make many dhetour to reach the plateau, but finally reached it, almost dead freim fatigue. I peered arot the edge of thme large rock that I had ob served andi saw the fire whIch caused thn smoke. A large pot was suspended fron a tripod over a fire kindled with sticks ant matted grass. The pot contained what: now bolieve to have been a mess hardly fi for dogs, but which I then judged from the greasy odor to be hardly second to the dish of the gods. Two men, In active oonver sation, stood near the fire, with their backs towards me, and one of them stirred the savory mess while he talked. They were dressed in the garb of mountaineers, and were most probably shepherds. . Both were clothed.in faded garments, but all the colors of the rainbow were there, more or less ob scured by the dirt of years. My hunger was keen, so I introduced myself without the tediousceremonialsso highly appreciated in Spanish society. I Inflated my dress, and, standing forth in full view, let my paddle fall to the ground. Startled by the noise, the men tuined about and gazed at me In superstitious terror. With shrieks of fear they swiftly turned about and scampered off at the top of their speed. Then I went over to the pot and ravenously devoured its half-cooked contents, scorcf - Ing my throat and spilling half of.the food. I never saw my impromptu ho-ta after, nor did I care to see them, In fact. After my repast I disrobed my armor, and, stretch ing at full leng:th on the award, -was soon slumbering. When I awoke I hid my rub ber covering and walked for a few miles, when I came to a farm house and managed to buy another lot of greasy bread and in digestible hard-tack. From this point to its niouth the river was navigable and I never more was troubled about food. Ont the eighteenth day I arrived at my journey's end. I was met by the Governor of Casa ras, his sauite and many ladies and gentle men who had anxiously been expecting tuo. The whole party rode on gayly caparl soned niules to the castle of the Governor where I received a royal welcome and' rested for a fortnight. Thus ended my navigation of the Tagus, the first and only tinie that a mnan had ever descended that terrible river from its source to to its mouth. Perhaps, after many days, the story will be told In whispers aniong the Spanish peasantry of how, once upon a time, while two inoun taincers of Casaras were cooking their morning imeal, the devil appeared to thein in a horrible form, horns, hoof and tail, surrounded by tire, and caused them to fle for their lives.'' Limnburger Chjeese, One of the marked successes of our dairy men, ha been the production of a variety of Lniburger cheese, that is said to be a decided improvement upon the original, and which has dirven the Imported article almost entirely out of the market. Thou sands of tons of Limburger are now pro duced every season-mostly in the States of New York and Wisconsin-at a cost of less than half the Imported article. It finds its market and Is consumed mostly by our Ameri -an and German population. It is more profitable to the farmer and maker than any other kind of cheese; first because from a given quantity of milk more weight is obtained, owing to the mode of making and curing; also because the price it brings Is usually from 10 to 40 per cent higher than that obtumod for the standard Ameri can cheese. In neighborhoods where its manuifactutre has been commenced it usually spreads to the exclusion of other kinds. Even the fastidious and shrowd Yankee, with his everlasting eye to the main chance, has found that the odor, so execrable at first, smells somehow of greenbacks. The cheese is made in factories capable of work ing the milk from 100 to 400 cows, rarely exceeding the lattdr number, as m:>re would re(uire a larger area of country than would be desirable, as the milk Is hauled and choese made t ice a day usually. The nakers generally buy the milk from the farmer at a p ic 3 r g -oed uprn for the Peason for six months, beginning about the 1st, of May. Tho process of manufacture In its first atages does not differ from the usual way, except that a lower temperature is kept wile tile curd Is forming, the amlmal heat alone in summer being often high enough--Great care is taken to use pure milk, free from taint or filth, anld cleanli ness is requisite In every stage of the making. Upon the curd being formed It is slowly and carefully cut into -square, pieces the size of dice, low temperature and careful handling being necessary to avoid breaking the butter globules,upon whioh the richness of cheese depends. It is slightly scalded and stirred, most of the whey drawn off, and, without being salted tihe curd is dipped out into perforated wvooden boxes or molds, about five inches square, and left to drain without 'imy pies sure being applied. In a few hours the p)ackages are carried into the curing,.collar, and placed edgeways on shelves, like bricks se', to diry. Every day thereafter they are roiled in salt, and replaced when they have absorbed enough salt. Thdy are turned alnost every day, and the slimy moisture which exudes is rubbed with the hand evenly over the surface, which serves the dlouble purpose of keeping the cheese moist andl to elose all cracks Into which files might lay thir eggs. Tis outside mots ture decomnposes while chleese ripens, and being mostly composed of albumen, like fresh meats, eggs, etc., the same results follow the decomposition, and in this case the Limb)urger odor Is dleveloped, which never forsakes it. After eight or ten weeks it is p)acked in pap)er and tin foil, and Is readly for market. In consistence, contents andl nourishment it is; the richest cheese thlat can be m1ade, but, to tihe uninitiated a, malicious andi premleditated outrego upon tile organs of smell. Ileavy, old-fashioned- English cut glass is coming again into fashion, but the favor it,e glass of the oay is clear and thmn and ~_ b)eautifully engravedi. Tis should all match-goblets, wine glasses of vjarlous sorts, dlecanters, carafes, ice-cream sets and fliger bowls. At fashlionable dinner parties, where hair a dlozen or more different wines are served, the glasses are by no means an lnconailerable feature of the service. The tine-honored castor In tile centre of the table is decidedly oldl-fashoned ; the mode nowv is one, two, thrnee, or four small cantors, according to tihe length of their table. More stylish still are Individual sets-silvyr pepper and salts, in quaint de signs; solemn-looking owls wit ii ruby eyes, Englisha pug dogs andI even toads. Where those are used, small pitchlers of Venetian glass hold vinegar, and the mustard pots two of which are a set-are of artistio cliina, either matching the dinner service or of sufficient beauty to stand alone. Thle tail orgnes, once so much admired, are bought no longer. People who possess J very elegant ones use them, but the prefer ence is for ornaments and centre-pleeee, which do not hinder conversation yolh. structig the view of one's vis -e M table,