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WINNSBORO, . C. NO.i4R, 1 * *-WEEKY .DITION, TIl-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S. d., NOVEMBER 18, 1880. VOL. IV.-NO. 139. DEAR GRANDNOTHRIL Grandmother paces with stately tread Forward and back through the quaint old room, Out of the firelight, dancing and red. Into the gathering dusk and gloom; Forward and back. In her silken dress * With it. taling-rufmes of froet-like lace ; 4 look of the doepeet tendernese In the faded'lines of her ne old faoe. Warm on her breast in his red night-gown Like a scarlet lily the baby lies, While softly the tired lige droop down Over the little sleepy eyes. Grandmother sings to hin'weet and low, And memories come wi.h the cradle-song Of the days when she sang It long ago, When her life was young and her heart was strong. Grandmother's children have left her now, ' he )sre old house is a shadowed plae; .ut. shilingp t in the ounset glow Of I (r life, like a star, comes the baby's He lies wi ere of cId his fatherlay; Fc tly she sings bit the esme aet of elin Till the !ers intetverIr p ere siept as ay, , And the joy of life's ir orning is I I r a $i Grandmother's gray head in t ending low Over the dear little downy one The steps of her pathway are few to go; The baby's journey Is just begun. Yet the rosy dawn or his childish love Brightens the evening that else were dim; And in after years from her home above, - The Aight of her blessing will rest on him. On The Heights. "I will stand up to shout," Bugh said. "Will you lean back agalns this hillf I will lay your cousin down with her head in your lap. bho is souid as a top. Now for itI" and standifig up -Hugh gave a shout with all the power of his lungs. There was a pause in the movement of the lanterns and then a shout. "Hallo-a-a!" Hugh shouted again; "this wayl" Rapidly the lanterns came flittering along the road till they were d-.wn in front of them. "Here we arel here are the ladiesl" Hugh shouted. "Any one hurtI" "Not much: but we can't get either up or down. You must let a rope down to us from above. Here we are, and Hugh struck a match and lighted a large piece of paper. "Have the party above got ropes?" There was shouting backward and for ward, but the party above had not got ropes. "Send back for them at once," Hugh shouted, "and be sure and tell the lady that no damage is done here." "How do you feel now?-I was going to say cousin Amy," lie laughed; "but I really haven't the pleasum of knowing your name?" "Amy Herbert." "How do you feel now. Miss Herbert?" "I feel weak, and rather headachy," she said; "but there is nothing really the mat. ter with me. What an escape I have hadi" "Yes, you had a narrow squeak of it," Hugh said frankly; "just another pound or two of impetus and you would have gone over the ledge." She was silent, and he went on. "Do you object to smoke? Because if you don t I should really like to light my ppe." "Not at all," Amy said. "There's something comfortable about a pipe," Hugh said. when it was fairly' alight; "somehow one can talk when ones gets i.pipe alight." "I think men can talk at all times," Amy said, with a flash of her usual spirits. "Mome mnen can," Hugh said. "I can talk with men ; but, do you know, some how I can't 'talk with women. I can talk .with you now because I don't soe you, 'and because I am smoking; but I should feel horribly uncomfortable if I met you in the morning." "I did not know any men were shy with women, nowadays," Amy said, "Shy?" Hugh repeated. "Well, yes, I suppose it is a sort of shyness with me. I never had any sisters,' and so, you see, 1 never got in the way of talking to girls. It is very annoyiug sometimes, and makes people think me a b"ear. I suppose you thought so. You must have done so." "Yes,'' Amy said. "I did think you rather a bear, I. am . not accustomed to shy young men, and snuply fancied you' * did not want to speak to strangers. And now, please tell me exactly what hap pened, because I shall have to te'd aunt, and I have only a confused idea of what has taken place." Again Hugh told her the facts. '-Then I owe my life to you," the girl said, when lie had finished. * "I really don't think you do," Hugh said, in a matter-of-fact way. "I quies tion very much if you .would have come roundiout of your taint before I could have brought help from Barmouth. How ever, of course, 1 acted for the best, and it avoided all risk. There was no danger in getting down to you; the little one and 1 shpped down as easily as possible. If I thought you were going to tell me e' to-morrow that you were very grateful, or anything of that sort, I give you my honor I should go right away by the coach to Carnarvon.' Trhe g ielt by the tone of Ihngh's voice, Ithat there was no affectation aot him; .that ho really meant what he said. "I may just say 'thank you,' now? " she asked quietly. "y Yes, just 'thank you, ' " he said light "If I were a man you would shako hand. over it?" the girl asked. "Yes," Hugh said.. "Please give me your hand." -He stooped down, and she put her hand mnto lisa "Thank you," in a deep, quiet, earnest voice. Then as lhe rose again, she wont on, in a Schanged voice. Nsow mind, it is a bargain. ,iWe have shaken hands on it. I am not to be grate ful, and you are not to be pfraid of me, but -are just to be as natural -withi me M with' "That is a bargain," Hugh said, with a laugh. "I don't think I shall tfeelshy with you in the future I nevet talk'ed so much with a woman in my life. I sup pose it's because I can't see your face." "I don't know whether to take that for a compliment or the reovers Amf laugh "The reverse, of course," Hugh said, laughing, too; "compliments are not In my line. Ab, her9 they are with the rope. They have beebl precious quick about it." And Ainy Hetbert felt there was a real compliment in the tones in which he spoke. "Now you must wake Ida. How soundly she sleepsi Now let me help you on to your feet. Even with the aid of the rova it was a work of considerable difficulty to get Amy Herbert up to thet op of the slope; for she was weak and shaken, and unable to do much to help herseilf. At last it was managed; and then she was helped down a steep path close by the road below, where a carriage from the hotel was waiting for them. "Will you come up and see my aunt?" Amy asked, as they stopped at the door. "Not to-night, thank you. I will come in the morning to see how you are after the shake; and, please," he said, "tell your aunt of our bargain. It would be awful to come up to be thanked." "(Good night," the girl said. I won't forget. Come early. - Now, Ida, come along you will soon be in bed." Two months later Mr. Herbert was walk ing up and down his breakfast-room In a towering passion. Amy was sitting in a great arm-chair. "It to monstrous, It is incredible," Mr. Herbert exclaimed. "Here you, for whom I have looked for a capital match, who re fused three of the very best men in the dis trict last year, are away for two months and a half. at this beggarly Welsh village, and you come back and deliberately tell me that you have engaged yourself to an artist, a follow I never heard of." "Dear old daddy," Amy sai quietly, "don't get angry about it. Come and sit down and talk it over reasonly, as you al ways do things with me." "No, no, Amy. I know what your reasonable talking means. I am not to be coaxed or wheedled or made a fool of. It's all very well when you want a pair of new ponies or anything of that kind you have set your nmind on, but there is a limat to everything." "Well, but we must talk the question over, daddy." "Not at all, not at all; no talk Is neces sary. You tell me you want to narry this fortune-hunting artist. I say at once I wOn't hear of It; that it's out of the ques tion that .1 will not hear a single word about such a ridiculo'us affair." "Now, why ehould you call him a for tune-hunter ?" Amy said, seizing at once upon the 'weak point. "He has not an Idea that there is any fortune in the case. He saw me staying In poky lodgings at Bartouth, and, beyond the fact that I live at Manchester, he knows nothing. le tells me that he has enough for us to live on very quietly, in addition to his profes sion. 8o, yo- sea he can't be called a tortune hunter." "Well, well, it makes no matter. The thing Is monstrous, and I wil not bear of "Well, daddy, I will do just as you like, and I won't say any more about it' now; but, of course,' to-morrow I must talk about It, because it is out of the question that I should break my word which I have given, and should make him unhappy, and be awfully unhappy myself. So I shall have to talk about him, and yoa will have to listen"-the father had sat down now "because thougb, as my papa, you have a perfect right to say, '1 will not condent to your marrying this man,' still you know, I must talk about a thing which is making me very unhappy. And it will be so much better *nd nicer, daddy," and she went over to him now'and sat herself down on his knee, with her arm around his neck, "if you give in at once. Because, you know, you can't keep in a naughty temper with me long; and besides. you would be very unhappy if I was unhappy; and at last., you know very well, you will have to give up being cruel and cross, and will tell me to be happy my own way.. "Amy," her fatiger'said, trying to look very ster-n, "I have spoiled you; I have allowed you to tyrannize over me. " "No, daddy, I can't allow that-cer tainly not tyrannize. I have lcd you for your own good, and you have been as happy as the day is long "And now," he continued, Ignoring the protest, "I am to reap the reward of my folly. That you should have mnarried a first-rate man of business I shougd have been &ontented. But an artistl" "Well, daddy, we wont talk any more about It to-day. Now I'll ~just sniooth those naughty wrinkles, and I'11 hIss you on each cheek and In the middle of your nose. There, now It looks like Itself. There I ten o'clock striking, and you not off I Mind I shall expect you up to lun checon." Bo Mr. Herbert went off shaking his 'head, and although still determIned, yet at heart very doubtful as to his power of re sistance. Amy went to her special sae turn, and wrote her first letter to Hugh. The following sentences show that she had no doubt whatever on tlie subject: "Daddy coes not take' quite- .kindly to the notion as yet. lie aloesn't know you, you see,and it has of course come up on him a little suddenly, but he is 'the very best and kindest of all the daddies in the world, and in a very few dlays lhe will see It in quite the right lght. It Is no use your writing or coining -to me here till lie is quite reasonable: but I expect by this day week to hasvt everything arranged. .1 w Ill let you know what train to. eine by, and will meet you at the station." It is to be presumed that Amy thorough ly understood her father; but at any rate, it was exactily that day week that Hugh Carson, havlng obeyed instructions, and got out at the station directed, five miles from Manchcater, was a little surprised and miuch disappointed at not seeing her upon the platform. "Your luggage, sirn Are you the gen tlemen for the Haewthorns? Very well, sir, I will send up~ the portnmanteau; Miss. Hier bert la in the~ pony-carriage." "Bless me, Amyi, Hugh said, after the first greeting, as they drove off, "yon~ used to talk about your pony-srap. buit this turn mt is jpretty enough to attract attention In th3 patk. Alny!' and he looked at he: with a puzzled glance, "you're not a swell, are yVou ?-because that would be dread. "Well, Hugh, If being a swell means having lets of money, I suppose I am one, for daddy has lots 11pon lots. lie's got cotton-mills, you know. But there's noth - ing dreadful in that." "You ought to have told me, Amy," Hugh said, a little gravely. "Paa si bets," the girl said. "In the Orst MlaAe It Ak nina to that yon toll in love with me without knowing whether I had a halfpennyt In the second place, youi would be very likely have run away it you had thought Iwasrich;and to know tellyou the truth, Master Hugh, I had no idea of lettim you run away. There, Hugh, there a the house; lan't .it pretty ?" . "It's almost a palace," Hugh said in dismay. "Yes; and there's papa at the door wait ing to greet you. Vow, look quite plea sant and bright, Hugh, for, of course, I want him to like you almost as nuch as I do, Fatal Duels. A noted duel occure at Paris in the winter of 1858-59, between Count Trepan. co, a Neapolitan nobleman, and the Mar quis do Pierrefonds. The Marquis had presented to a young woman of the demi monde a vase of cardenias of unique beauty. On the same evening he accompanied her to a ball, which, by the way, was given by the notorious Merope larucci. While dancing the lanciers with the girl, the Mlar quis noticed in the sanie set a handsome youth. lie wore a cardenia in his button hole. Ile questioned his partner, and was satisfied that she had given the flower to the Italian. He went straight to the Count and tore the flower fiom his breast. A challenged followed. Pistols were select ed. Twelve shots were excbanged, at a distance of twenty feet, without a result. The Italian insisted on continuing the duel, saying that he could not be an actor in a farce. At tbe thirtaenth shot he received a bullet in his heart, and expired. In his testamentary letter lie entreated, in case he should be killed,that the Marquis do Pierre fonds would place upon his cold heart the cardenia which had been the caue of the strife. Six months later Pierrefonds, wlto b r, was aid de-camp to General l'Espinasso, c was entering a village during the battle of Magenta. The first shot from the neigh boring houses struck him in the heart,mak Ing a wound identical to that received by the Italian Count. The dry icaves of a cardenial were found in an envelope above the dead Marquis' heart. A bouquet of violets was the cause of a fatal duel. The young Count de.Beignelay, attache to the French Legation at the Hague, was visiting Brussels. The youth- c ful diplomat had been desperately in love 8 with Diane do Chianceray, a beautiful we naa. One evening, as the Count was wit - nessing a performance at the Theater de ]a f Monnaie,he saw her, covered with diamonds and laces, in a box with - the Prince do * Klostercamp. The heart of the young lover beat violently. All the souvenirs of i his former happiness flashed before him. e Diane grew paler than the lace she wore. ( She leveled her opera glass at him, and t kept it fastened upon him for a long time. h Then she tore a bouquet of violets from c her bosom and began to kiss and bite them. They gazed at each other like Italian j lovers. As the performance was drawing I to a close she arose to depart. Beignelay r placed himself in the loyer at the foot of 9 the marble staircase. He requested a friend j who was acquainted with Prince Kloster camp to engage him In conversation for a e moment, so as to give him an opportunity r to exchange a few words with the lady. His friend Fervadyues did so. * Diane af ter kissing the violets thrust them beneath a the open vast of the young lover. Tho Prince, however, saw the action. Next i morning two of his friends called on the atacho with a challenge. :A duel fol'owed. r Swords were the weapons. Seignelay was , pierced through the heart after five assaults. and expimd in the arms of his friends, ut tering the name of Diane. le was buried in a cemetery near Brussels. Two years later the witer visited the cemetery and saw a bouquet of fresh violets on the stone that nirrked his grave. A Dathain the Dead Uea. Greatly relieved and -refreshed, we pur. sued our journey. As we canme in sight of< the Dead Sea we noticed that peculiar hazy I appearance of the atmosphere, reminding us of Indian summer in our own country, and we found ourselves subject to th~at< singular optiCal delusion sometimes pro-< duced by a very transparent and highly rarefied atmosphere, in which distant ob ject. appear quite near. At a certamn point, when we were, some five distant, it seemed as if we were within half a mile of 1 the shore. Reaching, at length, this most remarkable of all the seas and lakes on our globe, we prepared to take a bath-and i such a bath 1 can hardly expect ever to< take again. I haid previously bathed in numerous seas, lakes, and rivers, but never1 did I ejoy such a bath as this. 'rThe ape cine gravity of the water is such, from its holding in solution so large a proportion of i salts, (twenty-six and a half per cent.) I that one float.. upon the surface like a cork. At the time there was only a gentle ripple I upon the sea, and being a good swImmer I< at once struck out into dsep water. I soon fnund out that I could swim and float with< wonderful ease, and that I could actually .m walk in the water, siinking only to the arm- I pite, Discovering this fact, 1 made for theshore, and taking Dr. C., one of the< party, who could not swim, by the hand,i led him out into the sea where the water was many fathoms deep. At first he was quite reluctant to fellow me, but he soon gained confidence on fiuding there was no danger of sinking, and he enjoyed the nov el bath as much as If he had been an expert swimmer. shakek Danteies. Their diet is simple but sufficient. Pork is never eaten, and only a part of the Shaker people eat any meat at all. Many use no food produced by animals denying them. selves even' butter, milk and eggs. At Mcunt Lebanon, and in some of the other societies, -two tables are, set, the one with, the other without meat. They consume much fruit eating it at every meal ; and they have it always fine and extensive vegetable gardens and orchards. Father Evans (the Shakers call him Elder Evans, but we like father better), now about seventy years old, and at the head of one braach of the Shaker community at Leba non, has not caten flesh for neatly forty years. and he is halo and hearty, much more so than most men of his age; yet whon he commenced lia vegetable diet he was in a declining state of health; asho tells us, "a et.ndidate for consumption.'' THiE greatest gain from sheep hus bandry is in saying as much as yiossi ble or labor and loas in management of the dock, and much disappointment and discouragemenmt will fotiow early lambing of ewes if comfhortable quar tarsa nnd gooenar. are watit ung. A Remarkabte Drem. Two ladles, sisters, and been for several lays in attendance upon their brother, who was ill with a common sore throat-oevere kud protracted; but not considered as at. ended with any danger. At the same ime one of them had borrowed a watch rrom a female friend, in consequence of her >wn being under repair. The watch was one o which particular value was attached, on ccount of family associations; and some mailety was expressed that it might not neet with any injury. The sisters were fleeping together, in a rooga conimunicating with that of their brother, when the elder >f them awoke in a state of great agitation; mad having aroused the other, told her that the had a frightful dream. "I dream't," ihe'said, "that Mary's watch stopped; and hat, when I told you.of the circumstance, rou replied, 'Much worse than that has iappened. for James's breath has stopped lso!'" naming their* brother who was ill. l'o quiet her agitation, the younger slater minediately got up, and found the brother ileeping quietly; and the watch which had )cen carefully pat up in a drawer, going worrectly. The following night the same iream occurred, followed by similar agita ion, which was again composed in the ame manner; the brother be ng again found in a quiet leep, and the watch going well. On he following morning, soon after the family reakfasted, one of the sisters was sitting iy her brother, and the qther was writing note in the adjoining rogm. When her iote was ready for being' sealed, she was iroceeding to take out for this purpose the vatch above alluded to which had been >ut by in her writing-desk, when she was slonished to find it had stopped; and at lie same instant she heard a scream of in ense distress from her sister in the other oom. Their brother, whp had still been onsidered as going on favorably, had been eized with a sudden fit of suffocation and ad just breathed his last. SopiIte Fotoki. Sophie Potockle was born in Pera. Her arents were of Greek extraction, and losely allied to the distinguished families ,f Ghika and Maurokordatos. But they were then impoverished; and Sophie was arning a livelihood in a coffee house. Here lie attracted the attention of Boskanmp, he Polish ambassador. Some writers say hat Boakamup had received private orders rom Stanislaus Augustus to bring home vith him a beautiful Greek girl; others asert that it was his own conception s take her to Stanislaus, knowing well ow acceptable such a gift would be. How. ver that may be, he purchased the young Ireck girl of her parents for 1,500 plas ers-equivalent to $75-and started with or for Poland. For some reason he was ,11ged to leave Sophie in Chozim, a hon ler town, while he hurried to Warsaw. icr picture, however, he carried with im. Youtig men quickly learn of the ar. Ival in their neighborhood of a pretty Irl. De Witt, son of the commander of [aminenec, was among thQ first to visit the oung beauty. Their acquaintance ripen ned ifrto love, and led to a secret mar lsgc. The father of De Wittlearning of the mr. lago, hastened afterhis son,arrested him ud put him in irons, swearing he would ot release him until he had promised to lve up Sophie. Hereupon the young wife hrow herself at the feet of the angry father, rho, won by her looks and tears, finally elented. Sophie n-'w saught to fit herself or her new position in life. She became , good linguist, and accomplished in many rays. in Paris, which city she often visited vitli her husband, she wasgreatly admired, ounting among ler conquests the subse. uent King Louis XVII. At last her iusband became jealous and treated her with uch harshness and severity that she fled o Constantinople. After a tinme, however, reconcilation was brought about, and she onsented to return to Poland. There she >assed five or six uneventful years. In 788 she 'went with her husband to Varsaw. Years had only added to her harms. In Warsaw every one was intoxi ated with her beauty. Whenever she sp eared in society the guests mounted chairs ad tables to gaze upon her. She was ailed the ''Godess of Beauty" and the 'Grecian Venus." The intimacy between ter and Count Potocki dates from this visit. i'ehx Potocki was born in 1758; at Krys ynopol, one of the many estates of his ather. Ho grew up under the supervision f hIs mother and the instruction of the >anist. Wolff. in 1770 the Turks, then raging war in Europe, threatened to de troy Krystynopol. Felix, a lad of 17 ears, under the plea of a necessity for modily exercise, obtained permission of his athor to oversee the frontier guard. ils ~cuthful fancy had been caught by the mrtty face and graceful figure of the laughter o'f a neighboring Casteilan. The var, however, had interupted their inter ourse. His new military duty would hlow thae young man frequent opportuni. les of meeting this girl, and of arranging Ssecret marriage without the knowledge >t either parents. The CJastellan belonged o the middle order of nobility: conse luently, a marriage between the two fami tes could not but be regarded by the P'otokis as most derogatory to their )ride and position. Count Potocki ad also other views for hise son. A din iraguished lady, Castellanin Mnizech, had roposed a betrothal between her daughter, losephine, and time young count. When, few months later, Count Potocki learned >f the marriage of his eon his indignation moew no bounds. Threats of violence to iumself and his young wife led Felix, in a nonment of weakness, to consent to a sep. uration. He hoped thereby, to ward off a peater danger to his wife. His submis ion was, however, of no avail. Count Potoki ordered the Coseacks to make a aught assault on the house of the. Jastellan and carry off the daughter. I'ho young wife was torn from her bed at midnight, hurried into a sledge and driven towards Krystynopol. A long train of licavily-laden carts barred the way and ecimpelled a halt. The Cossacks, fearing heir prisoner's call for help would betray them, sought to suppress her cries by stifling them with wraps and cushions. When, finally, the road was cleAr and they luad removed the wrappings which they had wound about her head, the young wife was found to be dead. To remove all traces of their guilt the Cossack. cut a hole in the ice of a near stream, into which they thrust the body of their victim. The blow fell heavily on Felix. In the first moment of despair he sought to take his own life. Frustrated in this, he sank into a satet of nrofondr ,nelancholy. He never recovered entirely from the shock. His character changed. He grew moody, unsocial ano gloomy. He married the sme Josephine whom his father had chosen as a bride for him. This marriage entered Into with little love or inclination, proved far from happy. Josephine was gifted with bodily and mental charms, which kept her husband faithful to her for a time. She, however, was not equally faithful to him. Still their life was outwardly calm and peaceful until 1782, when political business drew Count Potocki toJassy. Here he again met Sophie, at that time a visitor of Potembin, and here matters came to a crisir. Although Potocki was over 40 years and the father of a large family,he became so infatuated with Sophie that he resolved for her sake, to seek a separation from his wife. Negotiations were entered into with De Witt, who readily consented, for a stipulation, to give up Sophia. Once more the bca utiful woman was sold. We are not this time made acquainted with the terms'of agreement. Apparendy the lovely Greek was not averse to an arrange ment which gave her for a husband one of the wealthiest noblemen of Poland. The marriage, howevei, was not consummated until the year following. The bishop dierakowski, influenced, It is is said, by bribes, dissolved the tie which bound him to Josephine. Sophie was likewise freed from obligations to her husband. The newly-married pair departed for Hamburg, where they renaiued several years. On his return to his native land Potocki de voted himseli to the creation of that bit of of fairy land, that lasting monument of lils infatuation for the beautiful woman, then his wife, that celebrated sp.t which bears her name, "Sofijowka." Out of a barren waste, upon which 10.000 laborers were employed,grew this beautiful country seat, which even to this day is the admiration of all visitors. The immense parks, the artificial lakes, rocks, streams and woods have often been described by travelers and immortalized by the Polish poet Trembecki in his poems entitled "Sonijowka.'t In this spot, apsoi'bed in his love for his wife, Potocki passed the last 10 years ol his life. Here his Nemesis met him. Potocki's eldest son, likewise called Felix, had been banished by the czar from St. Petersburg on account of his enormous debts. His father not only paid these debts amounting to two millions, but gave his son the con trol of two large estates. In return, Felix,, the younger, rewarded lils father by win. ning the affections of his stepmother. The connection between the two lasted many years. When at last discovered by Count Potocki it Is said to have hastened his death, which took place at Bolijowka in 1805. Sophie inherited one-half of her husband's estates and continued to live at Sofiljowka with her five children, leading an active, hospitable and apparently res pectable life. Her house was thronged with guests and admirers. She died in Berlin in 1828. "Contributive Negligence-~ The snow was falling fast, and Isaac Si) berstein was slowly making his way fhrough the pelting storm. His melodious cry of "Ece-chaw-glass-pud-in" sounded inugled, and he staggered under the weight f his trame of window-glass, which he had carried all the way from Bayard street. Patrick McGuire, one of the laborers on the Elevated Railroad, had been into Henry Knubel's saloon 'to warm his heart with a hot whisky, and emerging, crowbar in hand stepped on a large coal-grating In front of the door. Isaac also stepped oi the grating. In the next moment an in stantaneous change took place in the posi tion of the parties. Isaac lay prone on the snow,while on the other side of the grating Patrick floundered like a fish out of water, In their sudden fall the crow bar collided with the glass frame, and poor Isaac's stock in trade lay shattered around. The crowbar flying off at a tan gent made a Bodmne bull's-eye In the crown of Pat's rall hat. When they regained their feet, Isaac and Patrick looked wildly around and glared fiercely at each other. lesen ejaculated, "Mine Gott, my glass; fehr dollar, fehr dollar," and Patrick re Bpendent, "Bad luck attend ye; luk at my hat.'' An officer came up, and Isaac, said that Pat tripped him up ,with the crowbar. Pat was taken into custody, andi Isaac, carefully gathering up the fragments of glass, followed hin to Court to obtain his "fehr" dollars. Pat was all indignation, Isaac all suavity. "Will you swear," said the Court, "that be tripped you up with the crowbar?" "I bring a hundred thousand vitness,", answered I sane promptly. "Thin, why don't ye bring themi" said Patrick. "It's a lie lie's telling, lie shiipped on the gratin' and stumibled against me, and I fell with him. it was all his own fault, and he ought to pay me for me hat. "Conitrtbutiveneghgence is the defense," said the Court, "and I never knew any one obtain damages against a railroad coin pany when that defense was set up. This court cannot on the evidence furnmsh a precedent in so important a matter. Isaac, I don't bellieve Patrick tripped you up with the crowbar. Patrick, what county are you from? Patrick (promptly)- "County West meath, your hionor." The Court-"The finest wrestlers in Ire land. Isaac, ho would have used his foot instead of the crowbar. Sue him for dam ages. Pati ck you are discharged." Then they stood on the sidewalk, Patrick gazing at the hole in his hat, and Isaac contemplating sadly the wreck of matter and the crash of glass which Patrick's crowbar had created. indians. The whole number of Indians In the United States, except Alaska, is li.aced at 250,884, though it is obvious that the enu meration of the.savage tribes is guess work merely. The number of Indians who wear citizen's dress is given at 127,458. In 1808 the number of Indians who occupied houses was 8,048. In the decade this has been increased to 28.000. 'rho number of In dian schools Is 866, more than doulile the number of ten years ago, and .the pupils, increasing In like proportion, number 12, 122. The amount spent on ed~ucation is given as $858, 125. The number of In dIans who can read is given as 41,809. The church membership ladoludes 80,000. Pas toral and agricultural products have greatly increased within the decade. For instance, in 1888 the number of sheep owned was 7,910; in 1878, 894,574. The statistics t&ro drawrn oqiefly from the Indian Terri tory, though they profess to cover the entire Indian nonulation. Tattooed by Savages. Alonzo Hewitt, belonged to the crew of the ship Angellea, which went ashore during a severe gale on the Patagonian coast. The vessel was manned by thirteen men, all of whom were captured by the savages and taken into the interior. The men were separated from each other and alven to different native chiefs as slaves. Mr. Hewitt never knew what became of his shipmates. lie was taken by a savage named Minehoo, and compelled to carry heavy loads of provisions and hunting materials on long journeys. At night his hands would be tied behind his back, and one end of the leathern thong was fastened to tree, so that he could not run away. No knife or shaip instrument )f any kind was left within his reach, and he was as effectually a prisoner as though he had been locked up within strong walls. The whole story of his troubles and sufferings while in the hands of the savages would t fill a whole volume, but the most interest ing portion, which can be confined to the limits or newspaper account, is his ac- t count of the manner In which he was tat- I tooed by the Patagoians. Almost the entire surface of Mr. Hewitt's|4 body is covered with indellible representa- I tions of beasts, birds and reptiles. He I said that tho savages occupied over a month's time in making these unique pi. - tures. A preparation in many respects re sembling India ink, was used, and the method of producing the pictures was to t puncture the skin with the points of small fish bones, and then rub the ink upon the wound thus produced. The ink thus pro duced a dlicoloration of the skin that can never ne effaced. "What caused the Patagonlans to mark t yon in this manner?" inquired the report er. 1 "I presume, the chief who hold me cap tive wanted to disfigure me for the amuse ment of himself and his associates," was the reply. "'t hen you do not think the chief meant t to punah you?'" "Not especially. In my mind he wished a to display the artistic skill of one of his r young braves in the pictorial line. lie un doubtedly regarded my skin in much the e same light that a painter does the white canvas. I was a good groundwork for or- it namuentation." a "Was the chief proud of you after the t work was done?" b "He was, indeed. I was taken about among the people and exhibited to admir- v Ing eyes. The young men and maidens I would point at the pictures and then o look at each other and smile. Older savages would admire me by the a hour, and I was one of the greatest objects I of interest in Patagonia." n "Do you know the meaning of the plc- e tures?" "I only know that the pictures represent y beasts, birds an-l reptiles; but why they n were selected as subjects, bufles my com- t prehension. 1 suppose that I am a sort of r Patagonian obelisk and although unlike the Alexandrian monolith, I am not 8000 or 4000 years old, I perhaps represent relig- a Ious ideas and historical facls." The tattooed man brushed his locks of r shaggy hair back from his forehead, and u disc!osed a blue-and-yellowish representa tion of a bird. Although the bird hasout t stretched wings and beak and claws like e an eagle, it is far from being a good repro- y sentation of the glorious American bird of freedom. On either side of the man's face is a bird that looks more like a young a chicken than anything else. Lengthwise e on the nose is a tiny picture of a blue snake n with red eyes. A red snake with blue eyes encircles the man's neck. Rolhng ip his sleeves and baring lils arms, Mr. Hewitt exhibited pictorial representations of more than a dozen different kinds of animals. Sdome of them resembled goats, others 3she1p and foxes. There were animals with horns and others without horns. There was a singular looking creature that remInded. the reporter of a centaur, above the elbow of the right armb. There were more figures on the left arm than on the right one. Trho total number of distinct pictures on the man's body, he said, wasa 183. Only three colors are shown-rcd, '0 blue and yellow. The inks were obtained 'C by pressing the juIce from vegetables and milxing it with fine earthy pigments. Mr. Hewitt thinks that time inks were of a poisonous nature, because they caused the CI limbs to swell to twice their normal sIze while the pictures were beIng made. I A Daboon Dinner Episode. Bishop Colenso gives this incident in the early lite of a lsouth AmerIcan baboon. Thlere is somethhiig quaintly human about it: "It was a hot day and a number of a baboons were sunning themselves along i time b~ottomi of the i Donga. They lay upon r their backs with haif closed eyes, rubbing a their stonmachis in a state of placid enjoy- C mont. Two or three young baboons had wandered a little distance down the i 1 Donga, searching for scorpions from stone t to stone just below them. They were not C very successful, and it did not appear that ' their movements were of much concern to a their eld rs. Presently, however, one of the you dkones, turning up a stone, lit - upon a p~articlar fine and iat scorpion, wimch, with a furitive glance around at his elders, lie seized and put into his mouth, i havimg first pinched 01! the sting. He at once proceeded to turn the stone over again wita~ great assiduity, als though in further i unsuccessful search for scorpions. He had I not escaped notice,ii ->wever, for down the' guiiy in a sluggleal s ame a gretbaboon ' who seized tile young one by the muff of the neck, shaking hin vigorousiy until the plump morsel dropped from his pouch.1 Having gobbled this up, the elder baboon at once regained hisi lounge, and all went on as before in theosleepy holiow." The Number of Plants. In the Bible about 100 plants are alluded to; Hippocrates mentioned 288; Theo p~hrastu~s 500 and Pliny 800. From this lime thieie was little addition- until the llenaissance. In the beginning Qf the fif teenth century Oesner could only enumer ate 800 butat its close Bauhin described 6,000. Tournefort in 1894 recognized 10, 156 specIes ; but Linnmus, in the next cen tury working inore cautiously, defined only 7.294. In the beglaning of this century, iri 1805 Persoon described 25,000 species, comprising, however, numerous minute fungi. In 1819 Do Candolle estimated tihe known speeies at 80,000. Loudon in 1889~ gave 81,781 speoles; in 1848 Professor Lindley gave 80,88'7, but in 1858 these had inoroeed to 92,920. A t present the known nsiare. qstiiateat 1aM ana FOOD FOR TJIOUGHT. This single wood, this single object, The Cross, may sufflice to make Uhristians, and without it nothing sut loes. Take the good with the evil, for ye il are the pensioners of God. and none may choose or refuse the cup his wis low, mixeth. A man has right to occupy such ligh moral grounds that he to )onstantly so far above his follows that 1e can be of no earthly assistance to hem. - If you would be pungent, be brief; 'or It is with words as with sunbeame -he more they are condensed, the leeper they burn. The'proud have no friends; not in 3rosper ity, for then they know nobody; ind not in adversity, for no one kaows hem. It may serve as a comfort to us in all our calamities and afflictions that he hat lose. anything and gels wisdon by Slis a gainer by the loss. We think the poorest' way to obtain uch a Sabbath as we Deed, is to create he impression that all Christians have Piven up the desire for it. 1appiness is like a sunbeam, which he least shadow intercepts, while ad ersity is often as the rain of Spring. All errors spring up in the neighbor tood of some truth; they grow round bout it, and for the most part derive heir strength from such contiguity. It is only by labor that thought cn >* made healthy, and only by thought hat labor can be made happy, and he two cannot .S separated with Im unity. A smile is ever the most bright and eautiful with a tear upon it. What is he dawn without its dew? The tear s rendered by the smile precious above he smile itself. The best prayer at the beginning of he day is that we may not lose its mo nents; and tine best grace before meat the conseclousness that we have justly arned our dinner. There is atrue a holy triumph in the ieekness that takes the rebuffs of Satan nd lis agents,as in the shout by which lie Jerico o-walls to our enemy tum le into irretrievable ruins. Vain-glorious men are the scorn of Piee men, the admiration of fools, the lois of p-trasites and the slaves of their wn:vaunts. How many days of anxious care it rould save us, to remember that soon will not matter which way this latter, whatever it may be, Is do. Ided. A leading elocutionist once said to a oung preacher:-"I can do nothing iore for you. All that you need now ) make you a power is some greatsor Cow." Do not be miserable money-grabbers r sordid earth-wormia; do not be plea ure-hunters and novelty-seekers, do ot set your affection upon these child in's toys which will be so soon broken p. You have only one life of probation live and the magnitude of its value o mnortil o1n compute. If you are wise ru will refleem, the time with every osasibleelo .'. Affilitions are the medicine of the kind. If they are not toothsome let It Jiflle that, they are wholesome. It is ot required in physic that it should lease, but heal. The slanders of libellers may be com ared to tuller's earth, which though may seem dirt to you at first, only -aves you more pure and spotless when is rubbed oiF. What unthankfulniess it is to for'get ur consolations, and to luok only upon latters of grievance; to think so much pon two or three crosses as to forget a undred blessIngs. Thme sorrows of a noble mind are pring frosts which precede the sum aer ; those of a corrupt and contraoted ne are the autumn frosts which are allowed only by winter. Tile volume of antiquity,like medala, may very well serve to amuse the curl us;i but the works of the moderns, ke the current coin of a kingdom, are inch bettor for immediate use. If a man used the same energy to pay ack what he borrowed as lhe did to bor ow it, people would havena better opin >n of each other, and there would be sas paper goIng to protest, Be not diverted from your duty by ny idle reflections Lime silly world may' make upon you, for their censures are ot in your power and consequently hould not be any part of your con ern God walks with the simple; ho re eals himself to the lowly ; he gives nderstanding to the little ones ; -he iaoloses his meaning to pure minds, nd hides his grace from the curious nd proud. Swift's maxim in conversation was; * -Take as many half minutes as you' an get, but never talk more thas alt a minute without pausing and lying others an opportunity to strike n. The virtuous man is a lover of his ace, merciful and inclined to pardon, nd never bears ill-wall toward any . can whatever, but thinks it right to urpass in doing gooli rather than in uring. Prayer Is the comcentrating of all he energies of body, mind and soul in 'no struggle for the Gospel's rescue. to man offers that earnest prayer but ae finds Christ, and ho finds him peedily. Niever fail to speak kindly. If a nerchant, and you address your clerk; f an overseer, and you address your workman ; in any position where you ixeroise authority, you show yourself .o be a gentleman by your pleasant node of address. rrayer is the key to open the day, mnd the bolt to shut in the night. But is the clouds drop the early dew and he evening dew upon the grass, yet 1t would not spring and grow green by ~hat constant and double i alhing of the hew, unless some great shower at cer adn seasons did supply the rest; so the mastomnary devotion of prayer twice a iay, is the failing of the early and later ie w. But if you will increase and Sour sh in works of grace, and let thorm fall in a great shower of' prayer, choose iut seasons when p~rayor aball overdlow like Jordan lin time of huarvest,