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-*ee . -. . se4 . ...=. .............. -DI T I O N . --N N SO -S -- -- -, - TIWELEDTO-WINNSBORO, S. 0., OCTOBER 14, 1880. VOL. IY.-NO. 124. XT OLD FRIEND, You've a manner all so mellow. My old friend, That it ohoors and warms a follow, My old friend, Just to meet and greet vou, and Fool the pressure of a hand That one may understand, My old friend! Though dimmed in youthful splendor, My old friend, Your smiles are still as tender, My old friend; And your eyes as true a blue As your childhood ever knew, And your laugh as merry, too, My old friend. For though your hair is faded, My old friend, For your body bent and jaded, My old friend, .Old Time, with all his lures In the trophies he secures, Leaves young that heart of yours, My old friend. And so it is you cheer me, My old friend ; And to know you still so near me. My old friend, Makes my hopes of clearer light, And my faith of surer sight, And my soul a purer white, My old friend. Bachelor's Luck. "Who is living in Swan's house f I se it is occupied," said Mr. Tartuffe to hi servant. "A Mr. Ernest Simpson, and his wif and mother. He is just married, I believe, was the reply. "Strange," he muttered, "that I shouh come home to find them here, or all place in the world. I knew this morning tha Slie young follow mu-t be in sonic wa3 connected with Ernest Simpsop. The like ness is unmistakable. There comes a wo man now. I wonder if it can be his moth er?" A large woman with.a fresh-colored fac and with a bundle on her arm entered thi gate and hurried ip the walk with the ali of one very much at home. "Yes, it must be she; yet who coulk have believed that Sophie Marlyn wouh become such a great, blowsy creature Twenty-five years work great changes" The fact was, it was Mrs, Sinipson' dsess; but how was Mr Tartuffe to knov that? For five years lie had been travel ing after a fashion of his own. Five year had wrought great changes. Of his oh friends and associates sonic were (lead others moved away, and the rest were a< immersed in business, so interested in thei own particular pursuits,that they had littl time or thought to spare for him. -'Tis like coming back from the dead t< find one's place filled and one's self forgot ten," lie said sadly. And now to all th rest was added the unewelcoie discover3 that the wife and son of Ernest Simpson the man who had done him a cruel wron and marred his life, were living next doo to him. Somic time lie stood at the windo drumming softly upon the pane anti look mug idly out; suddenly his face lighte ip. "That's an idea; I'll do it. Forsyth wil jump at the chance, I've no doubt." Whatever the idea was, he inimediatel' proceeded to put it into execution. A fev iinues later he left the house and took h way down town. "Why, good moring, Tartuffe. Glad ti see you; sit down; I'd be at leisure in a fem umintites." When the busy lawyer was at last abl te pay some attention to his visitors, Mr Tartuffe began without preliminary "Forsyth, I have been thinking over wha yen said yesterday, a d have a propositio to make. Suppose we make an exchange. "Make an exchange ?" repeated the puz zied lawyer. "Yes; you can take my house and I taki yours, for a year. Your family are dlesir ouis of coming to town, and I want to leav< It. Take the house as they stand. It wil tave the bother of my nioving." ."Well," mused Mr. Forsyth, ''that's ai idlea, certainhy,and it strikes me favorably but I must consult my wifes first, of conic Why da you wish to leave town, though ? you ye just got here. You ought to ge married, and settle down quietly." "Get married!" repeated the other, with an expression of scorn; "what wvomai would L~ave an old man like me, except fo lisa money?" "Old man, indeedl" exclaimed Mr. For syth: "why, you're just in the prinie o life, and theire isn't a youing man in th< city who can boast a n:ore splendid phys Ique. Blesides,yout need not marry a school girl, you know. I know just thme woma1 for you, about your own age, a widow with one son." "The idea of my marrying a widlow I' ejaculated Mr. Tartuile in silent wrath a lie took his way homeward. As lie ascended the steps, the red-face dressmaker seated by the window In Mrs Simpson's room, exclaimed: "There goei Mr. TartuffelI" "What did you say his name was ?" sail Mrs. Simpson rather eagerly. "Simon 'ar'uffe. lie's a rich old bach You had better set your cap at him. Bum l'm afraid 'twouildn't do no goodl, for the; do say lie's a woman-hater." Mrs. Simpson made no reply,but resumel her work with a thoughtful face. "Moti or, here is a letter f or you," cabd Ernest's wife, enter.ng the room. -Mr's Simpson read the few lines it cont ained an< then said: Aunt Elizabeth is ill; an attac1 similar to the one she had three years ago and. she wants nie to coime and stay wil her." "Oh, dear. how sorry I am I" exclaime: Jennie, "I don't know what we shall d without yout. One afternoon, a fornighit later, Mr. Tar tuffe alighted from the train at Brierdal station, and without stopping, took hi way up the village street to his new home For the next few day lie fairly lived out o doors, exploring the country for mile round, walking, driving, ishing and boat ing. One afternoon, toward sunset, as hi lay stretched at full length under a tree a the brink of the river, the sound of oar attracted his attention, and looking uip h saw a small boat coming rapidly towar< him, it was propelled by two ladies, onm of them evidently a young girl yet in lhe teeuns; the other, a splendidly develope and still very handsome woman. "Trhere comes Bob in his wherry, consi Lizzle; let's have a race I" exclaiied the younger of the two. Mr. Tartuffe raised hiself upon hi el bow as he caught sight of it. "Strangel" he muttered, "but I could swear I had seen that face before sone where or some tinie;yet it is like a dream." Mr. Tartuffe rose and walked homeward. "That's the sort of a woman I thought Sophie would make, and. In fact, there is something in her face that reminds me very much of her." The next bunday Mr. Tartuffe went to church and occupied t'ie Forsyth. pew. In front of him were three ladies and two geintlemen. Two of the ladies were young and pretty, and in one them lie recognized the Katie of the boat. The third was elder ly, and as plainly the mother of the two. "And that must be Bob and the father," said Mr. Tartuffe to himself; "and now where Is cousin Lizzie?' The que3tlon was ,o sooner asked than It was answered by the appearance of that lady. She en tored a new just across the aisle and oppo site to the family party that Mr. Tartuffe had been so closely observing. He studied the sweet face and the costume, so simple in its appointments, yet perfect in taste. At the close of the service the gentlemen whom Mr. Tartuffe had taken to be the paterfamilias came up and introduced him self as a neighbor and old friend of the Forsyths. "I do not know whether you have ever heard Forsyth speak of Emory Taylor." "Indeed I have, and in the highest terms," responded Mr. Tartuffe, cordially shaking the proffered hand. "I am exceed ingly happy to make your acquaintance." "I must make you acquainted with my family," Mr. Taylor said, as h-s wife and children joined him, and then followed an Introduction to the different members. "Where is Cousin Lizzier" 'asked Mr. Taylor, looking around. "She was in haste to get home, for fear her aunt might need her; there she goes 3 now," poiting up the street, where a - stately figure was fast disappearing from r view. "Our roads lie in the same direction;may I have the pleasure of accompanying you?" saidi Mr. Tartuffe to Katie. "If you will make yourself very agree able,and not expect to be entertained in re. turn," she said, flashing a saucy glance at i him. A fortnight ago Mr. Tartuffe would have I considered the whole thing an unmitigated bore, but the last few days had wrought a wondrful change in him. He exerted him self to be entertaining, and succeeded ad mirably. When they reached the gate, Katie said: "And now for your reward. Do you like croquet?" "I have always detested it hitherto," lie said coolly, "but with you for a partner, I do not doubt I shal soon become a com plete votary of it." "Very pretty, but you cannot impose upon me with your gallant speeches. How ever, I am to have a small croquet party to-morrow aftei noon,and wish ynu to make one of the number. Cousin Lizzie Simpson shall.be your opponent, and, I assure you, you will find her 'a foeman worthy oi your steel.' She is the lady who'sat opposite to us in church. "Yes, I saw her with you in a boat the oth er afternoon," lie said, quietly. The croquet parry was a success, and Mr. Tartuffe proved no despicable player after all. "That was a very close game; Ccusin Lizzle, you must look or you will lose your laureis. Another stroke would have fiu Islhed you," exclaimed Bob. "I should count it no dishonor to be beaten by such a foe," she answered, smiling. Here tea was announced, and the guests turned their tootsteps toward the house. Mr. Tartuffe found himsetf walking along with Katie and her cousn Lizzie. "Miss Simpson, do you excel in every' thing you undertake?" he beganm. "Why, no, certainly not," she said, opening her eyes in surp~rise. Here Katie glided away from them to the rest of the party. Hush Katie!" she said, softly, laying her fhigers on her hip. "lHe thinks Cousin Lizzie is unnmarriedl; dlon't you enlighten him for your lives." "But do you think it qjuit~e right ?" re nmonstrated Katie's ahster, Greta. "Of course It is, so long as her husband -is dead." One bright afternoon,some months later, Lizzie Siupson stood by time window in her room looking out with a troubled face. "It has gone on too long already. I must tell imi thme truth and take the conscquences Just t.hen a carriage rolled up to the front of the house, and Mr. TartuYe alightedl. Hastily tying a veil over her face, Mrs. 3Simpson wenit (down to'me~et hin. It wvas with a very lower-like air that lie assisted her into time carriage, and his manner causedh her to shrink with a premonition of what, was coming. A little anie crept Into the corners of his niouth, and at length, layinmg his hand upon hers, lie said, tquietly, "it is of no use, I ami not to be diverted from my purpose, Lizzie; I love you with a love which I believed nothing couldl create in imy heart again. I want you. Will you comne " She trembled like a leaf, and for a mo mont strove to speak in vain; then she said: "Mr. Tartuffe, I have a confession to make which may alter your feelings towards me. I have been a widow for fifteen years." HeI looked at her kindly for a moment; she resumced hurriedly: "I thought you know, of course, at first,, andl then It grew rat her hard for me to toll Iyou; andl I kept hoping you would Ilnd out your mislake. Indeced, I had not the Ishlihet Intention of deceiving you." lie smiled and~ dIrew her closely to him "Is that all ?" ''lo ; it is only thme smallest part of m'y confession, 8imon," she cried vehmently; I'se it possible that 3 Oiu have neover recognized "Sophie I" lie exclahuied. "Ernest Simpson's wife!" Is face was pale, but h le only tightened lis clasp,whmile lie looked i nto her eyes as If ho woui read her very soul. She continuea, with choked voice: "For ten years I believed you false and treacherous, It was not until he lay on his d (ying bed that lie confessed thme truth to tme, and I kniew how cruelly you had been wronged." 3"I absolved you from all blame years Iago. As soon as I heard of Ernest's mar 3riage the truth Ilashed across me at once 'that he loved you himself, and had been Ithe sole cause of our estrangement. 1 cuitsed myself for a blind fool when I realiz~ed that I had been but an uinsuspeting tool In his hat: ds. Can you wouder that I had hated him. and with a bitterness that--" "tenemoer that he is dead, and that he was but hunian after all," she interrup ted. " Let the dead past bury its dead." le bowed his head silently, and, after a pause, with a rther mischlievous look, he said: "Do yon know why I left the city and came to Brierdale ?" "No," she replied, wonderingly. "I was running away fron you. But you have not answered my question yet; Is this Mrs.Tartuffe that I hold in my arms?" suiting the action to the words, and drop ping the reins as he (lid so. Fortunately the horse was well trained. "If you wish it." was the *low reply. When the rare June days came with their rose-scuted breath and dazzling skies, Mr. 'artuffe took his bride home. Together they stood at night upon the verandah and watched the moon as it rose, flooding the whole earth with its silver. "What can be more beautiful on earth V' Lizzie said softly. "Are you satisfied with your home-our home?" lie asked, looking town upon her lovingly, "Perfcctly ; and you ?" "I came to Brierdale, anticipating one .happy year, instead of which I have ob tained blims for a lifetime." Vineyards In switzrlaund. Did you ever see then build vineyards in Switzerland? The operation is a curious one, and would, we fancy, make an Illinois farmer open his eyes. We had for some time been amused by watching the medus operandi from a window, well knowing that we could never see anything of the kind again. The locality was originally the slope of a ravine, through which a vi vacious little torrent leaps fron the moun tains: and is, even now, so steep that we looked apprehensively to see the adventur ous workmen tumbleoff. When we saw the men clearing away the debris of years, and inaugurate the undertaking by a new line of stone wall alongside the frisky little stream, we could not imagnie their object, The next step was a series of these same walls, built at right angles with the firt, and finally, one parallel with it, which also served as a defence against the publi -, being built close against the roadside. By this time the affair presented the aplpear aince of a new work of stone, forming an acute inclined plane. After several weeks of steady work-these people never hurry -our curiosity had reached its highest pitch, and wb were divided between two ideas-the one being that of a playground for the neighboring school-boys, ant the other that. it was the foundation of a new marine pension-when one morning our attention was attracted to a squad of men, each carrying a panier of earth on his back, who were slowly approaching the scene of action. The mystery was solved, and this was the way they built vineyards In Buissel Day after day, and week after week, did this apparently hopeless task continue. To judge by the long intervals between the arrivals, the soil must have been brougnt from a great distance but at length the task was finished and the walls were quite covered. They are intended for keeping the prospective vineyards from sliding down into the ravine; and now it only remained to grade it. This delicate operation was completed by men who laid flat against the stee) face of this novel ar rangement, and smoothed and graded it their leisure, afterward planting the vine slips in the same calin and equable manner, under circumstances which others would consider unfavorale. New aid Stale Bread. The nature of the difference between new and stale bread is far from being known. It is only lately that the celebrated French ch. nist, Boussingault, instituted an in quiry into It, from whicui it results that the difference is not the consequence of dessi cation, but solely of the cooling of the breadl. If we take fresh bread into tile cel lar or in any place where It cannot dry, the imner part of the loaf, is truie, is found to he criumbly, but tile crust is no longem brit tie, if stale bread is taken Into the oven again It assumes all the qualities of fresh baked bread, although in the hot ovet, it mulst undoubteoly have lost part of Its mnois'tiure. MI. Boussingault, has madle a fresh loaf of bread the subject, of minute livestigation, andi tile results are anything but uninterestIng. New bread, in its smallest p~arts, is so soft, clammy my, flexible and glutinous, (in consequence of the starch (luring the process of ferment ing and baking boing changed into mulcila ginous dextrine) that by mastication it Is with greater dif leculty separatedl and reduced to smallest p~arts is less uander the influence of the saliva and digestive juices. It coin sequlently forms itself mnto hard balls by careless and hasty mastication and (leg luitition, becomes coated over by saliva and slime, andI in tIs state enters tihe stomach. The gastric juice being uable to penetrate such hard masses, and being scarcely able even to act uponi the surface of them, they frequently remain in the stomach un changed, andI, like foreign bodies, irritate and incommode it, inducing every species of suffering-oppression of thme stonmach, pain ini chest, disaturbed circulation of the blood.. congestions and p~ains in tihe head irritation of the brain, andi inflaimmnation, ap~oplep~tic attacks, cramp and delirium The flagdad Date Mark. Bagdad is notedi for a curious and~ mys ieriouis malady, which affects everybotry In the city, whether 110 be a ciriAen or a stra" gei. It is a sore called a "date mark," bec cause after It has healedI I- leaves an ndeli ble mark about tile size andl shiaple of a date. ft generally makes its aptpearace upon01 the face, lasts a year and~ then disappears. The check of neamly every man and woman in Bagdad shows the inevitable nmark. Sometines it settles upon the nose and then the disfigurement us great, sometinies on the eyelid whein blindness is the result. Strangers are atacked even after a brief residence; but forunately, if they are adults the sore is more apt to come on the arm. In every case tihe attack runs its course for one year. No treatment, no ointment, nor medicine has the alightest effect upon it. Ounce the sore appearing the sufferer knows what to expect, and may as wvell resign himself to his fate. The Arabs say that every one that goes to Bagdlad imist, get, the "date mark" or if lie does not get, it while in the city, lie will be followed by ite-have It sooner or later, he must, Dr. Thomn, of tile American Mission, states that lhe has examined the ulcer microscopi cally, and fcuind it to be composed of a fungold growth; hut nothing that lie hand ever' tried hiad nroved reamdhunt Lessons in Wooderart. 1. Notes of the barred owl and loon in dicate rain within twelve hours. In the fall wet weather follows the cry of the tree-frog. 2. Bark grows thickest on the north side of trees. Girdle a tree if you wish to tell which is north. 3. The center of rotten stumops affords dry stuff for kindling fire in drenching rain. 4. A torch which will last many hours Is made from half-inch strips of cedar bark bound together in faggota two feet long or more 5. To hold a boat in a swift current, set the pole, oar or paddle oi the botton at an oblique angle with the side of the boat resting against it. Very little strength will be required. U. To mend a birch canoe cut a patch of bark large enough to cover the fracture; sew it on with an awl and stout cord of hemlock roots; then apply a piece of natural spruce gum to the seans or joints with a glowi ig brand used its a soldering iron Is used. 7. To carry a fish of two pounds weight and upward, place it between hemlock boughs of the proper length, tied together at both ends and in the middle, with bark, roots, or cord. It will keep fresh and sweet a long time, is easily cured, and will not soil what it touches. 8. To mend a broken oar or paddle, bevel the fractured parts so as to make a neat joint, pass a wooden plug through both, and serve neatli with tiwine to cover the joint. Or, having niade a joint, as above, bore two gilet holes two inches apart ; double four feet of wire so that the ends'will pass through the holes in the same direction ; then whip or serve neatly with the w ire, and finish with a service of twine. 9. For night shootinr, chalk the gun harrels lengthwise from breech to muzzle; or, make a foresight by lashing a V shaped stick to the muzzle. By bringing the object within the V. a good bead caii be drawn. 10. When a tree brushes off wisps of hay from a load, the hay falls on that side of the tree toward which the cart is going. In summer hay is carted from the field to the barn, unless stacked when cut. In winter it is carted out from the barn to stock employed in cutting logs, wood, etc. Balt oi wild hay is most generally stacked. It can be distinguished from field hay by the taste and smell. 11. An excellent moccasin, nearly watel proof, is n.ade front the lund leg of a moose, cut above and below the hock, the hock forming the heel. It is wholly with out scam, except where sewed up at the toe. If tanned with the hair on it, it is very warm when worn in dry enow. 12. A table is easily constructed by taking a turn with a rope amniid each trunk of three or more trees or saplings conveniently near together; haul taut, maike fast, and lay boards on top. The Popes. Eighty of the Popes are saints, thirty one martyrs aad forty-three confessors. St. Agatho, was the only Pope who lived to be a ceatennarian, as lie is also the only one, after St. Peter, who may be honored with the title of miracle worker, St. Agatho (lied at the age of 107 years, in 082, having resigned three years six mont hs and fifteen days. Gregory IX. (ied at the age of 98 years. Celestine III. and Gre gory XlI., (lied at the age of' 92: John XXII. at the age of 110; Clem ent XII. at the age or 88 years, and Clement X and Pins IX, at the age of 86. The Popes have been drawn from all classes of society. Nineteen were sons of near relatives of princes; an equal number caine from illustrious families. Many were nobles in rank, or of great wealth. Others sprang from obscurity. Sixtus VI. was the son of a flsherman, Alexander V. was the son of poor, unknown parents, and passed his first year in begging from door to door. Adrian IV., the only English Pope, was abanidonied by his father and had to aubsist on charity, until going to France, he entered a convenit ais a servant, where, b~y his ielligence and is virtues, he was afterward dleimed worthy to be recei vedl into religion. Sixtus V. had for his father a poor laborer, for mother, a servant, and for a sister, a laundress. St. Celestine V. wvas the son of a simplle farmer. Benedict XII. was the child of a baker. Urban lV. had1( a carpenter for a father, as also had Gregory Vii. Five of the Popes had studied medicine before taking the holy orders. Benedict, XI. was the child of a notary. Julius III. was the descendant of a famous juriscon sult. Pelagius I. was the son of a vicar of the prefect of lis province Paul V. had for his father a pa'rician of Bienna, and Eugene IV., Gregory XII. and Alex ander Vil, belonged to pantrician families of Venice. With~out Furter Objection. A man with a grip sack in lis hand halted before a Jefferson aveume fruit standtc, Detroit, and priced a choice variety of peaches. When told that they were twenty cents a dozen, he whistled to him self, walked softly aroundI, and( finally asked: "Ate you a Biaptist?" "Hardly." "Neither am J. I dlid'nt know b~ut tht if we both belongedi to the same dlenomiina tion you'dl throw off a little. Do you lean to the Methodists?" "Can't say that 1 (do." "That's may case. I never did( take much stock in thme MethodIsts. Twenty cenits a diozen is an awful price for those p~eachtes, considering how tight money is. I expect you are a Universalist,, li?" "'No.'' "Neither am I. Can't you say fifteen cents for a diozen of these ?" 'ihardtly. " "Aren't you an Episcopalain ?" "No, sir." "Neither sim I, butt I was afraid you were. I've been sort o' looking you over, and( 1 shouldn't wonder if you trained with the United B~re;hren. Conie, now, own "I never attend~ that churchi," was the steady reply. "Nor I, either. May, what are you any how?" "I'm a hard baked old sinner." "iNolt Whoop I That's my case to a (lot I I sin called the wickedest man in Washte naw County I I 'tnew there was a bond of sympathy between us if we could only find it out I Now, do you say fifteen cents for a dozen ?" The fruit dealer counted themn 'Nut with 01,1 futher ohjection. The Fatal Enicounter. It was toward the end of April, a seiason whose arrival the dillttanti in Paris always witness with dismay, for then the first ar tists and cantratices of the metropolis leave to reap a golden harvest in the provincial towns. The avenue leading to the theatre of Pergola was crowded with a long file of brilliant equipages. A considerable crowd, which had not been able to find places within the house, already filled by the wealthy and privileged classes, vented their indignation in loud words near the principal entrance. A riot even was ex pected, so much dissatisfaction was there manifested In the language and gestures of the multitude. But fortunately, the in. flammable crowd was at last pacified. Madame P. was to appear that night in the opera of Norma for the last time. The audience that assembled to greet her on the occasion was composed of the clite of Flor ent ne society. Never was a more bril limt dress circle to be seen. in one of the side boxes sat the young Count Bach croni and his friends. This nobleman, well known for his liberal principles, was regarded as oiu of the chiefs of the repub lican party of Florence and Italy. Indeed, whether from motives of ambition cr dis. interestidness, the Count had always been found arrayed in opposition to the ancient nobility of Tuscny, and had always shown himself an ardent and prompt defender of the menaced liberties of the peoplie. The people, who are never ungrateful when a man devotes himself to the Interests of the country, seeing in hiiu an intrepid protector, cherished for him a kind of worship ap proacning the reverence of a son for his father. Although gifted with a good edu cation and a rare intelligence, the Count partook of the opinions of the vulgar with regard to stage-players, and was imbued with the same prejudices. In this view an actress was entitled to no respec, and a singer was of less consideration than the lowest of the populace. Ensnared by the graces and beauty of Madaine P., lie had made that celebrated vocalist offers, the most muniiiceit and brilliant, but they were met with contin. ned repulses. hie evening of the depar ture of the actress was arrived, and the Count was no further advanced in her good graces. Irritated by her indifference, and inflamed with anger, lie entered the theatre with the fixed intention of bantering the re b. lious cantatrice into compliance with his wishes. Madame P. was i the midLst of a scene with the tenor singer Zorelli, who person ated the part of "Palcone," when the Count, from his position near the stage, hazarded some pieasantries at first gay amt satirical, then gross and injurious, while his friends applauded andt laughed at lis sallies. Zorelli approached near the box of the Count and listened attentively. 80 absorbed did lie become that lie lost his cue and forgot. his part, while Bacheroni, perceiving that he watched him began to his'. In this lie showed himself less in dulgent than any of the audience, who had pardoned the actor his momentary distrac tion. Zorelli leveled an angry glance at the Count and resumed his part. Bacher oni continued his annoying remarks until lie fall of the curtain. They were yet laughing in the box of the Count, when the door opened andit a man appeared upon the threshold. It was the singer Zorelli. His face was pale and his brow contractet with emotion. "Sir Count," he said, advancing, "you have traducci and injured a female when she was without protection against your in sults, and who had given you no cause ex cept the rejection of your dishonorable pro posals. That female I regard as a sister. I am the only protector she has in the world, and I come to demand satisfaction from you for the i% rong you have done her. ''Faith, y'ou arc not over fastidious ini your selection,'' replied the Count, with a phlegmatic air, and with lisa hand wavedl Zoreill away, as beneath lis notice: "'If, in order to contend wvith you, sir, it is necessary that I should bec of noble birth, I will prove that my family is of a rank equal, if not superior to your own; but in the first, place, swecar that you will render mae satisf action," "You nobtel" interrupted Bachieronm, "away, away? What would he thought of me, were I to cross swords with a stroller -a-'' The Count. was stopped in thme miidst af his remarks by a blow from the hand of Zorelli. Bacheroni rushed~ towvardl his adversary, butt his friends lntercepted hiim andt held him back; The actor remialined standing necar tihe door, with his arms folded upon lia breast. The Co0unt, having beeii calm edl downi, approachied him, and said in a whisper, "I consent." "Name your place, hour andi weapon," saidl Zorelli. "At the Ban-Gallo gate at muidniighit, with swords; they will make less distuir bance than fire-arms--the light of the moon will be enough--there muist be no witness es., "Agreed," said Zorelh, and lhe went to resunme his l'art in the opera. ie sang til the close without manifesting the slightest alteration in ia voice, and with out betraying the least emotion. Madame P. having evince:l sorme curiosity as to the causie of his absence, he quieted her' ap prehiensins by the coolness and self-pos session of his manner. The Count retired from his box shortly after the encounter with Zorelli and did not re-appeer there the rest of the eveui lng. In interrogating his conscience Zorelli sat tisfied himself that lie had acted as b~ecamne him towardl lia adlversary. le hadl owedl such a debt of gratitude to the nob~le can tatrice, that, lie would have proved himself a recreant and an ingrate if Ibe had suffered lier to be0 outragedl with impunity. Born of a noble family of Trieste, Zorelli had, from his youth maniifested a remarkable talent for music, and his father had p or miittedl himi to pursue lia favorite Studly, under any circumtnces so natural In Italy, without forsecinig how far It would lead him. At an age when the imagination of a younmg meni is easily Inflamed and responds readily to the beautiful, lie heard Madiaine P., and from that time resolved to dlevote himself to the theatre. Glifted with a sonorous voice, andl of elegant manners, he easily obtained an engagement and his debuts were highly successful. More lately lis talent displayed itself with such brilliant eclut that he found himself ap plauded by the side of the most admirable songstressof ialy. It was to thme well-direct ed lessons of Madame P. that lhe had vowed a gratitude without bounds. At midnight Zorelli enveloped himself in his cloak, took a sword under his arm, and directed hit stops toward the spot do signated by the Count. The moon shone sutliciently bright for the distinguishing of surrounding objects. On reaching the ground he perceived a man pacing slowly to and fro, his head reclined upon his breast. lie approached him. It was the Count. "Sir Count," said Zorelli, "consent to retract your abusive remarks to-morrow in the presence of witnesses and all will be forgotten." "On guard!" exclalined Bacheronl, lev eling his sword. As these words were pronounced, Zorelli saw issue from the shade, two men whom he had not before remarked. At the same instant he mortally wounded the Count, who fell, exclaimig: "In the name of heaven, do not kill him. I slandered But, the poniard of the assassins had already transfixed the ill-fated Zoreill. The sword dropped from his hand, his knees gave way beneath him, and he fell by the side of his late adversary. "Pierced to the heart!" said one of the men, as he examined the wounds of Zorelli. "lie will not. revive. And his excellency breathes no more!" Tihe assassins who were none otner than two domestics of the Count, took away the body of their mnaster, and left that of Zo relli. The same night Italian liberty had lost her strongest defender, her most devoted chamnpion, music her most worthy and skillful interpreter. The next morning the populace, among whom the servants of the Count had spread the report that their master had been asassinated by 'orelli, rushed upon the unburied remains of the actor and tore them into fragments. Thw Aetrient MP11ain Mn1mutri. Sonic I hue ago, a number of men eligaged in iron nining about three miles froin Dry Branch, a station on the St. Louis and Sante Fe Railroad. At a depth of eighteen ier below the surface the miners uncover. ed it lutnan skull, with portions of the ribs, vertebral column, and collar bone. With them were found two flint, arrow Ieads of the most priniitive type, iinper feet in shape and barbed. A few pieces of charcoal were also found at the same time and place. Dr. Booth was fully aware of the importance of the discovery and tried to preserve everything found, but upon touch ing tWe skull it crimbled to dust, and sonic of the other Ionles broke into siall pieces and partly crumbled away, but enough was preserved to fully establish tile fact that they are humian bones. Sone fifteen or twenty days subsequent to the first Iindcling, at a depth of twenty.four feet below the surface, other bones were found-a thigh bone and a portion of the vertebra. and several pieces of charred wood, the bones apparently belonging to the firat found skeleton. In both cases the bones rested on a fibrous stratum, suspected at, time to be a fragment of coarse matting. This lay upon i floor of soft, but solid iron ore, which retained the imlrint of the 11 bers. Overlying the last found bonies was a stratumt of what ip)eared to be loan or hod front two and it ai:lf to thiree inches thick, below which was a deposit of soft red hemat itu, iron ore, lying upon two large bowlders of hard ore staining onl edge standing at an angle of about -l> degrees, the tipper ends leaning against each other, thus forning a considerable cavity, which wits filled with blue specular and hard red ore and cay, lying upon it floor of solid red hematite. It was in this cavity, that the bones, imatting, and charred wood were found, intermixed with ore. The ini cations are that the filled cavity had origi nally been a sort of cive, and tliit the sup posed~ imattinig wits more probablly a layer of twigs, rushes or weeds, which the in habitatnts of thie cave hlad used as at bed, as the fiber marks cross each other irregumlarhy. T1he ore betd in which the remains were found, antd part otf which seems to have formed atfter the period of hiuman occuipa tion of the cave, lies in the secondt (or sace charoidal) sandcstone of the Lower Si lurhan. A IlarcutbIu,'~aamuiy. There was a little shooting scrape at a little town in the interior of Tlexas unot long ago, and it, wits not long before a reporter wias on the spot interviewing one of the principals. ''So you are going to write it uip,'' said the survivor. "hse, I want the facts.'' "1 don't care a cenit what you saty about, the shooting, but I have one little favor to ask." Tlhe reporter said he woultd grant it cheerfully if tecould "Well said the shootiat, "'J want you to put down that my grandfathur wias one of pilrates Lafitte's, anid the worst cutthroat of thaegang." Th'le reporter statredl a little, but the shootist went on to bay: "PIlease plut in that one of amy tncies was hung by the Vigilance Committee in San Francisco, andc two more of thenm are making shios in the Illinois penitentiary: that another one of them is practicing law in New York, andi miy only sister ran away from home with the clown of a circus; that as far as you can learni, there is not a mom ber ot the family that, has not done some thingdisgraceful," "hwhat (do you want all that in the paperC for?"' "'Becatuso I am sick of readilng in the pa pers that every fellow who has a little shooting scrape belongs to one of the most respectable families in the country. .Just, put, it down, for once, that one of the parties to tihe unfortunate auffair belongs to a highly~dmsreputatble family. If yot dion't pnt it that way, yotu wIll wish yout had.'' lienting Oities. A comlpanmy with a capital of $1,000,000 is being organized at Oincinnitti to supply steam for heating purposes to that city at an estimate cost, to consumers of 20 to 80 per cent. less than they ,now have to pay for their own fires. The company propose to erect twelve immense steam boilers on the bank of a river, and to run pipes from them under all the principal streeots. Each house desiring a supply of steam for heat ing anti cooking purposes will secure it by making connection with the street main; this will give it connection with the steam reservoirs and supply it with all the heat it requires, FOOD FOR THOUGHT. No books are so legible as the lives of' men; no character so plain as their moral conduct. h'lat writer does the most who gives his reader the most knowledge and takes from him the least tinie. An author usually has two charac. ters-the one belonging to his Imagin ation, the other to iis experience. A mean, grovelling spirit takes all the dignity out of t'lie figure and all the charaeter out of the countenance. Scandal, like the Nile, Is fed by in numerable streams; but it Is exceed bigly dillicult to trace It to its source. Our distinctions do not lie In the places whici we occupy, but in the grace and dignity with which we fill them. Self love is at once the most tenacious of our sontiments-a mere nothing wounds it, but nothing on earth will kill it. Plato will have disciples, but Socra tes will have adorers; because If the one knew how to hink, the other knew how to tile. Ignorance, when it is voluntary, Is criminal, and he may properly be charged with evil who refused to learn how Ile might prevent It. How narrow our souls become when absorbed in any present good or Ill I It 18 only the thourht of the future that makes them great. The per fection of' conversation is not to play a regular sonata, but like the 'olian harp, to await the inspiration oi the passing oreeze, Those who, without knowing us, think or speak evil of' us, do us no harm; it is not us they attack, but the pliantoin of their own imagination. A l skill ought to be exerted for unti versal good; every man has owed iucieh to others and oulight to repay the kindness that lie has received. A man has no right to occupy such high moral grounds that lie is constail thy so far above his felows that lie can be of no eardiy assistance to them. Iolilteness may prevent the want of wit and talents fron being observed ; but wit maid talent cannot prevent the discovery of the want of pollteneas. No man has come to true greatness who has not felt in some degree that his life belongs to his race, and that what God gives hini, lie gives him for man11kind. Kt-el) close to your friends and far away from your enenies, and you will never have to ilidulge lin tile luxury of a quarrel. The disesteem and contempt of others 14 iseperable I roin pride. It is hardly possible for as to overvalue ourselves but by undervaluing others. Stick to one thing until it Is dono, ntid done well. The man who chases two hares not only leaves one of them, but, is pretty sure to lose the other also. The ordinary employment of artifiee is the mark of a pretty mind; and it Al ways happens that lie who uses it to cover himself in one place uncovers hiniel in another. Avarice almost always mistakes itself; there is no passion which more often deprives I sell of its object, nor on which the presentexercises so much power to prejudlice of the future. The devil runs an immense ina.tufac tory of excuses. They are of all sizes and shapes, suilted to every possible occasion, and such Is the demand for tim that it is impossible to overstock tile market. 'The h 1jappiess of your lite depends upon the quality of your thoughts; therefore guard yourself accordingly, and take care thlat yon entertain no notions unsultable to virtue and urn realsonaible to nature. D~uty is tihe little blue sky over every heart and soul-over every life -large enough for a star to look between the ciluds, and for the skylark happiness to see heaven ward through' and sing in. Life has many Ills, but the mind that viewvs every object in tihe most cheer ing aspect and every doubtful dispen sation as replete with latent goodl, bears within itself a powerfull and per petual antidote. A man who makes his money at the expenIse of his health and his honor, pays too much ; lie who gets his money by lucky hits pays too little. . if lie payss too much lie cheats himself'. It' lhe pays too little lie cheats mankind. If you wiint to know what to think of a inuan, ask him what he thinks of' his neighbiors. If lhe sees their best sidle, you can trust him; if lhe discour ses of their bad side, make him pay * casah or get his goods some where else. Napoteon I. said lie recognized the superiority of a mani by the degree of uleverniess whlch lie showed in the art of lying. One of his uncles told hIm whuen a boy that hie would govern the world, because lhe was a habitual liar. A man must have either great men or great objects before him, othierw Ise his powers degenerate, as the masgneth do wheni it has ilin for a long time without being tunrned tobvaurd the righ corner's of the world. hlumility is every where preached and. p~ruid practised ; they persuade othuers to labor for hieaven, and fall out about earth themselves, their lives are con tratry to their doctrines, and theIr doc tr'mies one to another. Always add, always walk, always proc'eed; neither stand still, nor go bo k, nor deviate; lie that standeth still proceedoth nzot.; hie goeth b ick that continuoth nor ; lhe that dovlateth revoltethi; he goethi better that creep et~h In is way, than lie that moveth', -ur of his way. Conversationi is a virtue, and lie can lxe of iio good nature that (100s not proe T f'er Is before all other enjoyments what soever. Company whets and adorns our good parts, the most exalted en. dowmnents gro'ving dull without is, Men acquire color and perfume from '" .hle qualities of their associates, and ' the coniversation of good personasis contagious. He who makes the nm st of himself, of his health, his faculties, his~ post tion, his opportunities, Is a benef actor, A full cistern in a dry timo will glad. deon a household, and a well-ripenedl ear of corn will contribute to the wealt of nations. So one who has resolirons is always wanrted to diminish the~-' world's penu'ry.