Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION- WINNSBORO,'S. C., DECEMBER 7,1880 SHADOWS. Airily swing the willows over, Airily to and fro ; DreatPily flows the quiet water Over the rooks below ; Flows in many a sunny rimple, In and out in curve and dimple, Itound about the rooks below. Where tIhe willows bend and -quiver, Long dark shadow, shift and shiver, Shiver to and fro. Gray-board Time, his soythe forgettig, Toys with rosy June, Loath to part, with stop niu*lllng, Slowly creeps toward noon ; Humming--bird from blossom sipping, Brown bees into clover slipping, Fill the air with drowsy croon ; But the willows tossing, blowing, O'er the waters smoothly flowing. Evermore their shadows throwing, Break the lull of noon. Twilight gathering in the valley, Kunset on the height ; Clouds above the mountain breaking Into rifts of light. Darkness now upon the meadows, Higher, higher climb the shadows, Nearer comes the night. Curving, dimpling flows the river, With the willows drooping over, But no shadow's fitful quiver Stirs the hush, of night, Patience and Pride. It does look strange I'll admit. But, at the same time, I insist that nothing is wrong. Nothing can be wrong where Louis Merrivale is concerned.". The gentle, womanly tones were earnest and enthusiastic, and the round smooth cheeks grew flushed while she spoke. "Pshaw, Millie ; you are too innocent yourself to believe that guilt can exist in another. And then your partiality for Mr. Mbrrivale prevents an unprejudiced opin ion. "No; I am not Iaterested in him to a sufficient. extent to permit ine to regard him as a master piece of perfection; but I (1o admit that Mr. Merrivate is too thoroughly a gentleman ann a Christian to do anything absolutely wrong. I, for one, utterly re fuse to believe it word of this scandal. Millie Thorne had dropped the fine work In her lap, but now took it up again, as if to end the subject under discussion. lit the tall, handsome woman at the other win dow was not thus easily silenced. "ut, Mitile, admitting that since you ceased to be engaged to Lu Merrivale you care nothing for hl"-and here Isabel Wild's keen blacit eyes sparkled and lashed as she noted a little spasm of agony flit across the sweet face bent over the work "and sccording you duo credit for your feelings, why, in the face of such positive evidence, do you refuse to regard hii, as others do " "Isabel, you are cruel, you are harsh to me. Still, I will speak on this subject further. You ask me to regard him as others (o. Who do you mean by 'others " "Why, everybody, of course. You know as well as , Millie Thorne, that LuI Merrivale's crime is on every person's lips in the town. Go ask thit six year old boy out yonder"-and she pointed to a little fellow dragging his toy cart after him "and he will toll you that Mr. Merrivale stole five hundred dollars in the city, and ran off with it." A faint rosy tinge suffused Millie's cheeks while Isabel was talking. "I am aware of that," she returned. "But his friends firmly deny the statement. 1 am one of them. You ought to be." "Why, let me ask, should I be? "You took him away from me, Isabel; you wear his ring; you have promised to marry him." "I took his ring off when I heard the news," was the heartless response; "he is nothing to 11e nOW, more than to you." H1er cold, bitter words seemed to stab Millie, and she tossed her work ou a has sock beside hter, as she sprang to her feet, and walked ever to Isabel. "What have you (lone, then? You came between us, and I made no complaint, be cause, if Lu Merrivalo loved you, I never was the woman to desire to be called his' wife. Then, Isabel Wild, after you had taken my all from me, you wound me afresh by cruelly deserting him in the hour of need-the time when you, of all women, should stand ready to clear his namie, and vindicate his honor I" Pale and tearless she stood before Isabel Wild, In all the commanding glory of her noble womianhood. Miss Wild's low, metallic laugh came ringing in her ears. "You are welcome to do it yourself, Mil lie. Besides, I accepted George H~alliday tils morning I" A cry burst from Millie Thorne's lips. "Heartless-ruel I Poor Lu 1" Isabel Wild arose, with freezing court cay. "After such unparalleled politeness, I could not presume to annoy you longer with my unwelcome presence. Good morn ing, Miss Thorne." Millie bowed, as in a waking dream, and Miss Wild departed. -A fortnight before, the Inhabitants of the quiet town of 'Croydoti, wherein dwelt thme characters'nlfitenied, had been petrified by the news of Louis Merrivalo's sudden dis appearance from the city; horrified and grief-stricken to learn that the sum of five hundred dollars had been sImultaneously missed from the safe of Merand & Merand, the great mercantile firm in the city, for whom Louis Merrivale was confidental clerk and head bookkeeper. le alone, besides the proprietors, possessed -a key to the safe: consequently, lie alone could have opened it. Circumstances thickly combined, went. far to prove hIs guilt, among wich the two most telling were, that, -fIrst, lie had' been alone in the counting-house from nine, the evening previous to his departure, un til after midnight, which had oftLen been the ease befordi and had inever execited the least suspicion until it was proven as such. Further, a note had been found in his city lodgings that read as followe: "Teoll Messrs. Moraind for .me that pur sumt Is useless. Tell -them I have served them well for seven years, and they canm afford to lose the paltry suim 1 have taken. Tiehb I. W. that when it blows over~, she may expect to hear from mie. "L. M." Everybody In Croydon had learned the contents of that note, for it had been pub lished in the papers; everybody, save a few firm friends, haad rmade up their minds that Mr. Merrivale was a rogue. One of the former class was Isabel Wild, who, her pride quiQkly up in arms, loudly de clared shq would never marry a man upon whose name even a shadow of a doubt had ever rebted. Two hours later a gentleman called to se. her. He was a fine looking man, this Georg4 Halliday, with black eyes, beard, and hair, with a complexion as fair as Isabel's own. And yet, after one had pronounced him handsome, they would steal a second look, and decide that there was something hid den under this manly exterior that was evil, unprincipled. He seemed to be well off ; and although comparatively a stranger, was known to, and aquainted with, every family of im portance in the town. Isabel Wild had attracted his attentions months before, and when she had noticed his admiration had sneered. "I marry George Halliday? Never, while such a maL as Lows Merrivale lives." But now, after Mr. Halliday had come into the fortune lett him, and the decora tions of his new mansion were belig com pleted; now, when her lover had clouded his reputation for ever, Isabel listened to Halliday's overtures; and when he went from her house that morning, and she has tened to Millie Thorne's, she wore a glit tering diamond ring that had been Ilaced theme as a seal of their betrothal. Incensed and Inflamed by Millie's enthus iasm, Isabel returned to her own home thoroughly satisfied thkt Millie Thore still loved Louis Merrivale, despite her faith lessness, despite his mysterious conduct. "And I? Millie spoke truly when she said he needed a friend in this dark hour." A pale, haggared tinge was on her face as she ascended the steps of her residence, telling of the struggle within. "But the bluir-the stain I Can I ever bear a name that has been sung through Lite country, and published in no honorable way in. the papers? Can I bear it, and the cold taunts it will bring me, for love's sake? Can I endure it for his sake ?" she paced the floor In her restless indeci sion. "George Halliday is rich; I shall be mistress of his splendid house, envied by. balf the women in town, and above all, I shall bear a name pure and unsullied." The gleaming of the diamonds In their shining splendor caught her eye, and on the trifling delight they occasioned .she based her decision-a choice she learned to bitterly regret. "Frm henceforth I shall give to Louis HIerrivale no thought, if I can help it. I shall regard myself as belonging to my ifflanced husband, and let Mildred Thorne icorn or reprove as she will. Perhaps she vill turn comforter in chief to her faithles over." A bitter, bitter heart pang-one yearn ng longing for her loved one, then it died; >r raither, in a momnot. Isabel Wild burned idivo the love of her life. Day after day passed by. brinaine thek share of joys and heart-achings, and' stil Uouis Merrivale never came; the affair had :eased to be a seven days' wonder, and oeople had forgotten about it, save when hey saw his aged mother, bowed and in Irm, leaning on Millie Thorne's strong foung arm, as they walked through the streets of Croydon. Millie had grown more beautiful during hese weeks of trial; and the aged mother >f the missing young man had many an )ccasion to bless the loving, trusting girl. The days wore on, bringing to Millie, in ier patient waiting and hoping against lope, to Isabel, is her overwhelming pride, ,he glad autumnal days. To one it brought i bridal, and George Halliday took his wife o their handsome home. The setting October sun was flinging its -osy banner over the brown woodland, vhen Millie Thorne entered the house .vhere her tender ministratilons h~ad made ier an angel of sympathy. Mrs. Merrivale met her half-way to the loor, her eyes streammng with tears, her ace all alight with an overpowering joy. "Millhe-oh, Millie, my prayers are ans ,vered i IGod has been so merciful to mte, msd to you, my Millie. 8ee, it's from She handed a letter from her bosonm to Hlhle, who, iii a tremor of agitation, had lamed the door, and was leaning 'agaiust tihe wall, unable for a moment to speak. "Come in, child, and let uie thank God ogethier I Conic, Millie, while I tell you ny boy he alive, is well, and-oh, Millie, :lidn't we say it ?-is innoceent I" Millie neither spoke nor moved ; she 1either laughed nor cried. She only nmur niuredi a wordless prayer In her heart. "Let me tell you, my dear child, all ibout It, and then let me tell you time mes sage he sent to you." "A message to me? Tell me, what Is t?" said Millie, eagerly. "Hie lhas written it to you on a slip of paper, and In his letter tells nip to read it. imd then give It to you. Isn't that just my Laouis over agamn?" She handed MillIe the pteclous treasure, who read, with greedy eyes: "To-day, for the first time since my re Sovery-l've been near unto the stream of loath, illie-I ani abld to write ; first to ainy mother, then to the only woman in the wv arld besides that I care for-t6 you, Millie l'horne. To-day I have given up Isabel Wild, because I love you, because I have always loved you ; because I care nothing for her, or she for nie. I know all, Millie, fny p~recious, patient darling I I have startling news when 1 con~e ' back ; and then, when I am reinstated in the public confidence, even though I break a proud heart, andl uncover a foul one in the act, you will be mine, nm.ne, umy own MIllie ?" S"At last-oh, .mothprm, ,at last I" ox claimed the o~6rjoyed Millie. "Shall I read you hsis letter, or shall I tell yon? Or will you read it, Milliei" "Lot mue read it. is dear handwriting alone will be a feast." A week after, Louis Merrivale canme home, pale, haggard, but handsome as ever. TIhsen the news caime out ; then the in nocent was rIghted, the guilty rewarded. It was a thrilling story. Ilow George Halliday had way aid Louis Merrivalo while returning froms the countIng-house to his oity lodgings; how lie had stolen the money from Is perseon-money that Merri vale hiad taken, perhaps haprudebtly, for the purpose of paying a number of bills before he went to the office the following day; how he had previously pyepared the forged note; and how, after drugging hi. victim, he had him' conveyed to a sailing vessel, and registered him as a sick friend, who dlesired to' return to his home In the West Indies. Sicknss had followed the drugging; and, in a atrange place, among strangers, Louis Merrivale had waited till returning strength brought back memory and the ability to act. Steps were taken to prove Mr. Merri vale's accusation. The bank-notes were finally traced to Halliday. Thus disgraced and dishonored, he left his proud, heart broken wife to the maroy of an indignant circle of relatives. The elegant mansion was deserted, and was purchaied by Merand & Merand, who insisted on Merrivale's acceptance of it as his wedding present; and in that mansion Louis and Millie now reside, as happy as mortals ever can be, while both daily bless the trusting patience that wrought their happiness. . A Prinoiy Boy. In the palace of a small Gerninat capital a German duchess, distinguished for her good sense and kindness of heart, was celebrating her birthday. The court congratulations were over, and the lady had retired from the scene of fes tivity to the %eclusion of her private room. Presently she heard light foot-steps coi ing up the stairs. "Ah," she said, "there are my two lit tle grandsons coining to congratulate me." The rosy lads of tea or eleven years of age came in, one named Albert and the other Earnest. They affectionately greeted the duchess, who gave them the customary present of ten louis d'or (about forty-eight dollars) and related to thein the following suggestive anecdote: "There once lived an emperor in Rome who used to say that no one should g away sorrowful from an interview with a Prince. lie was always doing good and caring for his people, and when, one even ing at supper, he remembered that he had not done an act of kindness to any one dur ing the day, he exclaimed, with regret and Borrow, 'My friends, I have lost a day.' My children, take this emperor for your model, and live in a princely way, like him." The boys went down the stairs delight ed. At the palace gate they met a poor woman, wrinkled and old, and bowed down with trouble. "Ah, my good young gentlemen," said she, "bestow a trifiron an aged creature. My cottage is going to be sold for debt, and I shall not have anywhere to lay my head. My goat, the only means of support I had, has been seized, pity an old'woman, and be charitable." Earnest assured her that he had no change, and so passed on. But Albeit hlisi tated. He thought a moment of her pitia ble situation, was touched by her pleading looks, and tears came to his eyes. The story of the Roman emperor caie into his mind. He took foin his purse the whole of the ten louis d'or and gave them to the woman. ' urnaig away with a heart light and satisfied, he leit the old wonan weep ing for joy. The hny wao Pohpa Alhmrt a '.,-a justly called "Albert the Good," and aftur wards the husband of Queen Victoria. I Was u1e a. "Yes," said the Custom House man re flectively, "we have to exercise a good deal of judgment in theg'e things and soon get to know prices as well as men in the selling business. Invoice the goods too low ? Well, mostly everybody invoices the goods low, but they run a risk, of course. We may add ten per cent, to the invoiced value and take the goods. So if a person tries to bring in $2 worth of stuff at $1 valuation, we can give him $1 10 and take the article. Chance for speculation? Well, not as much as you would think. One of the younger members of the force some time ago was alone in the offlce, when a man came in and asked for a word in pri vate. 'You see I don't want my name mixed up in this busiess, 'said the stranger 'but IPve been trying to sell Jacob Ryders --yen know Ryders? No? meanest cuss on earth-to sell him an organ, and he's gone andl bought one over thei river. I admit it's a good investment-cost him $325 but I could have sold hiim just as good a one. Now he'll be over with it to-day very likely, and will try to sneak it through at $150 or $200 to save duty. Wouldn't, you just watch out for him ?" "My friend was musically inclinedi and though he might get an organ cheaply. lHe stayed around till a dfray with an immense box appeared and a flurried man appeared with an invoice in his hand that set forth thiat~theo accompanying organ built by Blower & Co., of Waydowneast, was sold to Jacob Rydors for $125-re ceivedl payment, J. W. B. "'look at that organ, "said my friend as lie knocked off a board from the packing case and peered Iside, 'seventeen stops, oh? Rlather a cheap organ at $125.' "Oh, it's all right," said the Impatient Ryders. 'Here's the invoice you see.' "Well, i'll give you $187 50 and take the instrument." "But I won't sell it for that," cried the excited Ryders. ''My friend showed him the ten per cent and confiscated the organ in spite of Jacob's prayers. Good bargain? Oh, I duii'no. lHe found afterwards that few of the stops had any effect on the inside of the instrumient and that the organ was one of the . $95 '73 ones made by Blower & Co.,Yes, I must ad1 mit lie was sold, rather. I never found Rtyders and have made a resp~eetable wash-stand out of that organ. Oh, yes, I was the mani." Ohd nimiber. Probably the oldest timber in the Wvorld wvhich has b~een subjected to the use of man is that found in tbe ancient temiples of Egypt in connection with the stonework which Is kuown to be at least four~ thousand years old. This, the only wood used in the construction of the temple, is in the form of ties, holdinog the end of one stone to another at its upper surface. When two blocks were laid ini place, an excava tion about an Inch (deep was made in each block, into which a tie shaped like an hour glass was driven. It is therefore very diflcult to force any stone from its posi tion, The ties appear to have been of the tamarlek or shittomn wood, of which tihe ark was constructed, a sacred tree in au cient Egypt and now very rarely found in the valley of thme Nile. The dovetailed ties arec just as sound now as on the day of their insertion. Although fuel is extreme ly scarce in the country, these bits of woodl are not large enopgh to naake it an object with the.Arabs to heave off layer after layer to obtain them. 1Had tl'ey beeni of bronze htalf the old temples wo.ild have been destroyed.years ago, so precious would they have been for various purposes. Nicodemus Dodge. When I was a boy In a printing ofee in Missouri, a loose-jointed, long-legged tow headed, jeans-clad, countrified cub of about sixteen lounged in one day, and without re moving his hand from the depths of his trousers pockets, or taking off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, whose broken br'm hung limp and ragged about his ears like a bug eaten cabbage leaf, stared i Indifferently around then leaning his hip agast the edi tor's table, crossed his mighty brogans,aimed at a distant fly from a crevice -in his upper tooth, laid him low, and said with compo sure; "Wh's the boss?" "I am the boss," said the editor, follow. ing this curious bit of architecture wonder. ingly along up to its clock face with his eye. "Don't want anybody fur to learn the business, 'tain't likely?" "Well, I don't known. Would you like to learn it?" "Pap's so po' lie can'.t run me no', so I want to git a show som'ers if I can: 'taln't no difference what-I'm strong and hearty, and I don't turn my back on no kind of work, hard nur soft." "Do you think you would like to learn the printing business?" "Well, I don't re'ly k'yer a durn what I do learn, so's I git a chance to make my way, I'd jist as soon learn print'n's any thing." "Can you read?" "Yea-middlin'." "Write?" "Well' I've seed people who could lay over me thar." "Cipher?" "Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon, but as fur as twelve times twelve [ ain't no slouch. 'Tother side of'that is what gits me.'' "Where is your home?" "I'm from old Shelby." "What's your father's religious denomi nation?" "Him? Oh, he's a blacksmith." "No, no-I don't mean his trade. What's his religious denomination?" "Oh-I didn't understand you befo'. 11e's a Freeiason." "No, no-you don't get my meaning yet. What I mean is, does he belong to any church?" "Now you're talkin'. Couldn't nake out what you was trying to git through yo'head no way. B'long to a church? Why, boss, he's been the pizenest kind of a Freewil Baptis' for forty years. They aint no pize nor ones'n he Is. Mighty good man pap is. Everybody says that. If they say any different they wouldn't do it where I waz -not much they wouldn't." "What is your own religioni" "Well, bcss, you've kind o' got me thar -and yet you hain't got me so mighty much nuther. I think 't if a feller he'ps anotier when lie's in trubble, and don't cuss, and don't do any mean things, nor nuthin' he at no business to do, and don't spell Luo ouwU- ioiiau lt% . - U ain't runnin' no res's-he's sinout as salft as if he belonged to church." "But suppoR lie did spell it with a little g-what then?" "Well, if he done it a purpose I reckon lie wouldn't stand no chance; he ought'nt have no chance, any way, I'm most rotten certain about that." "What is your name?" "Nicodemus Dodge." "I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. We'll give you a trial, anyway." "'All right." "When would you like to begin?" "Now." So, within ten minutes after he had first glimpsed this nondescript, he was one of us, and with his coat off and hard at it. Beyond that end of our establishment which was furtherest from the street, was a deserted garden, pathless, and thickly grown with the gloomy and villainous "j impson" weed and its common friendh the stately sunflower, In the midst of this mournful spsot was a decayed and little frame house with but one room, one win dow and no celing. It had been a smoke house a generation before. N:codemnus was gil-en this lonely and ghostly deni as a bed-cleamrber. The village smarties recognized a trea sure ini Nicodemus right away-a butt to play j(okes on. it was easy to see that he was inconceivably green and confiding. Georg;e Jones had the glory of perpetra-. ting the first joke on him. Ue gave him a cigar with a fire-cracker in it, and then winked to !.he c'rowd to come; the thing ex ploded prese'ntly and swept away the-bulk of .Nicodemub' eyebrow and eyelashes, lie simply said: g"I[ consider themn kind of sceg'yars dlan gersome,'' and seemd to suspect nothing. The next evening Neodemnus waylaid George and poured a bucket of Ice-water over hinm. One day, while Nicodemus was in swim ming, Tom Mc1lroy "tied" his clothes. Nicodemnus made albontire of Tonm's by wvay, of retaliation. A third joke was played upon Nicodemus a day or two later-lie walked up the maid. dlIe aisle of the village church, Sunday night, with a startling hand bill pinned upon his shoulders. The joker speiit the rest. of the night, after church, in the cellar of a deserted house, and Nicodemus sat on the cellar-door till toward breakfast time, to make sure that the prisoner rememibored that if any noise was made some rough treatmment wouild be0 the consequence. Th'le collar had twvo feet of stagnant water in it; sand was bottomied with six incihes of soft mud. But I wamnder from the poiuit. It was the ailbject of skeletons that brought this boy back to my recollection. Befiore a long time had elapsed the village smnarties began to feel an uncomfortable consciousnsess of not having madle a very shining success of their aittemapts on the simpleton of "Old Shelby." Experiments grew scarce and chsary. Now the young (oteetr camne to the rescue. Trhere was delight and applause when lie proposed to them the plan of frighstening Nicodemus to death, and cx plahs.OI how lie was goinig to do it. lHe had a noble new skeleton-the skeleton of the late and only local celebrity, Jimmy Finni, the village drunikard-a grisly piece of property ho had bought of J mmy F'mn himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, under great competition, when Jimmy lay very sick In the tanyard a fortnight before his death. Theii flty dollars had gone prompt ly for whIskey, and had considerably hur ried uip the change of ownershIp in the skeleton. The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's skeleton in Nicodenus' bed. IThis was done-about halt-past ten In the I vening. About NIodnslom' usual bed time -midnight-the village jokers came creeping stealthily through the jimpson weeds and sunflowers toward the lonely frame den. They reached the window and peeped in. There sat the long-legged pau per on his bed, in a very short shirt and no inoro. le was dangling his logs content edly back and forth, aitd wheezing the music of "Camptown Haces" out. of 'a pa. per-overlaid comb which he was pressing against his mouth; by him lay a new jews harp, a now top, a solid india-rubber ball, a handful of painted marbles, five pounds of 'store' candy and a well-gnawed slab of gingerbread as big and thick as a volume of sheet music. He had sold the skeleton to a traveling quack for three dollars, and was enjoying the result. The Bouni or Thiamser. A remarkable feature of the storm is the thunder, corresponding, of course, on the large scale, to the snap of an electric spark. Here we are on comparatively sure ground, for sound is very much more thoroughly understood than is electricity. We speak habitually and without exaggeration of the crash of thunder, the rolling of thunder, and of a peal of thunder; and various other terms will suggest themselves to you as being aptly employed in different cases. All of these are easily explained by known properties of sound. The origin of the sound is, in all cases to be looked for in the instantaneous and violent dilatation of the air along the track of the lightning flash, partly, no doubt, due to the disruptive ef fects of electricity, but mainly due to the excessive rise of temperature which renders the air for a moment so brilliantly incan descent. There is thus an extremely sud den compression of the air all round the track of the spark, and a less sudden, but still rapid, rush of the air into the partial vacuum which it produces. Thus the sound wave produced niust at first be of the nature of a bore or a breaker. But as such a state of motion Is unstable, after proceeding a moderate distance the sound becomes gnalogous to other loud but less violent sounds, such as those of the dis charge of Runs. Were there few clouds, were the air of nearly uniform density, and the flash a short one, this would com pletely describe the phenomenon, and we should have a thunder crash or tbunder clap, according to the greater or less prox imity of the seat of discharge. But as has long been well known not merely clouds, but surfaces of separation of masses of air of different density, such as constantly occur in thunder storms, reflect vibrations In the air; and thus we may have many successive ochoes, prolonging the original sound. But there Is another cause often more efficient than these. When the flash is a long one, all its parts being nearly equi-distant fi-om the observer, lie hears the sound from all these parts simultane ously; but if its parts be at very different dtstances from hin, he hears successively the sounds from portions farther and farther distant from him. If the flash be much and the sound from these arrive sinuitane ously at his ear. Thus we have no difll culty in accounting . for the rolling and pealing of thunder. It is, in fact, a maere consequence, sometimes of the rellection of sound, Eometimes of the finite velocily with which it is propagated. The usual rough estimate of live seconds to a nile is near enough to the truth for all ordinary calculation of tWe distance of a flash from the observer. The extreme distance at which thunder is heard is not great, when we consider the frequent great intensity of the sound. No trustworthy observation gives in general more than about nine or ten miles, though there are cases in which it Is possible that it may have been heard four teen miles off. But the 'discharge of a single cannon is often heard at 1fIMy miles, and the noise of a siege or naval engage nment has certainly beeni heaud at a distance of much more than 100 miles. 'There aire two rcasons for this-the first depends upon tie extremd sudtdenniess of the p)r oduction of thuinder; the second, and p~erhiaps tihe more effective, on thie excessive variations of density in (lie atmnosphiere, which are invariably associatedl witn a thiundlerstorm). In certamn cases thunder hats been piopa gaited, for moderate distances from its aip parent source, with a velocity fair exceeding that of ordinary sounds. 'This used to be attributed to the extreme suddenness of Its p~roduction; but It, Is not easy, if we adopt tails hypothesis, to see why It, should not occur in all cases. Sir W. Thompson has supplied a very different explaination, which requires no unusual velocity of sound, because It asserts thie production of the sound simultaneously at all parts of the air between the groundi ando the cloud from which time lightning is dischairged. lue-anted Papemr. 'rho origin or blue-tinted paper camne about by a mere slip) of the hanad. The wife of Wilian East an English paper maker, accidently let a blue-bag fall Into one of the vats of pulp. The workmenm were astonished when thecy saw the peculiar color of the paper, while Mr. East was highly incensed at what lie considered a grave pcuniairy loss. Ills wIfe was so much frighiteiied that she would not confess her agenicy in thIe matter. After storing the dtamlaged paperO for four years, Mr. East sent it to has agent at Lonadon, with lii structions to sell it for what it wouild bring. 'The paper was accepted ast a "puirposedi novelty," andi was disposed of at quite an advance over thie market price. Mr. East was astonishedo at receIving an order from his agent for another large invoice of the paper. Hej was without tihe secret aand found himiself in a dillemma. Upon men tioning It to hiis wife, she told himi about the acclient. lie kept thie scret, and the dlemand for the niovel paper far exceeded hais ability to supply it. Wnuy? Why do women always step) off horse cars facing the wrong waiy? Why (10 women always-particularly those who hate each other most-kiss when they amcet? Why do G~ermanas with the most unpro nounceable names duink less beer than plain Yankee John Smiths? Why are tuhe wooden forks one finuds ina restaurant horse-radish pots Invariably be reft of at least one timei Why are blood-curling stories of vice, crime asid suffering most eagerly read by people whose sensibilities are so delicate that they couldn't see a fly hurt? Why do people who knows the leat about newspapers alway shed the most. advie for ihn dliner'a honafft. The Choice of Food. First, as regards butcher's meattattention to the fdllowing simple directions will aid the housewife in deciding upon that all-Im. portant point--its freshness. All lean meat, when fresh, shows a deep purplish red tinge with a bloom over it on the out side of the muscle, and a paler vermilion red with just a shade of purple in the cut surface. Mutton lean should be quite oven in hue, and have no flavor whatever of tal low; beef lean may be a little marbled with fat, but it must have no flavor of suet. The surface of the meat must be quite dry, even a cut scarcely wetting the finger, and the substance moderately soft, but at the same tine so elastic that no mark is left after a pressure from the finger. Keeping the meat for a (lay or two in the larder should make no difference as regards this. Then, there should be very little odor n a single joint of meat; it should not waste much in cooking, and when brought to table roasted, should retain its gravy well until the knife causes it to gush out in a rich, appetizing stream, full of Inviting scent and flavor. This is particularly the case with mutton, and for ascertaining its value, is the easiest test we know of. But, generally, for all meat, a good test is to push a clean knife up to the hill Into its substance. In good, fresh meat the resis tance is uniform, but when some parts are softer than others we may be quite suro that nutrefaction has set in. The smell of the knife is also a good aid-ud this, by the way, is always useful in choosing a hai; for, by pushing a kife deep in, withdrawing it and smelling it, one can tell whether the flavor is very salt or the con trary. As regards fat. The raw fat of beef should be of a slightly yellow color, like fresh butter; that, of mutton should be very white. Lamb and veal should also have very white and translucent fat, whilst the Ian of both shouki be pale, but perfectly evenly tinted. A young and therefore tender fowl may be known before plucking by the largeness of the feet and the leg joints and after pluck ing a thin neck and violet thighs may be taken as invariable signs of age and tough ness, especially in turkeys and fowls. The age of ducks and geese is tested in a differ ent manner-that is, by their beak, the lower part of which breaks away quite ea sily when they are young. One of the chief and most objectionable drawbacks to tin old fowl, duck or goose, is the rank and disagreeable savor. Young birds of the gallinaceous tribe may be known by their undeveloped spurs, and young partridges by the pointed long wing feathers, which grow rounded at the tip with age. In the caso of fish, many people trust to the sense of snell; but this Is not always to be de pended iupon, as it way be deceived by the use of ice. 'The best tests of freshness are the fullness of the eyeballs and the bright pink hue of the gills when raw, and when cooked the firmness of the flesh, which in the case of stale fish is flabby and stringy, even if preserved by cold from visible pi trefaction, The cheapest sorts of fish are it Is sure to be most plentiful, in fullest Season, an(I therefore most wholesome. Herowserd. le was a younger brother of the Erl of Mercia and devoted to the Saxon cause. At one time, wien the fens and Like were iii vested by the conquering army of William, the latter commenced making a road from Akireth for himself and his army to reach Ely T'hIy e marsh was only twelve miles wide at the point, but the road wias not constricted on scientific principles, i. nd it gave way while the greater portion of lila army were marching over it, causing fear ful loss of life in the deel) fen. The King afterward mustered another army at Al dretih, and compelled the fishernien to col lect immense stacks of brush-wood, which, [if course, woumld afford tile foundation for a flne road. lierewardl disguisedl himself as a fishermian, andl was the most active worker in the Kimg's empjloy, but lie man aged to set fire to time vast pile0 andl escapied to the Isle, where his fellows were. Short ly after thuis the Earl of East Angles raised ani army to fight the King, from whom lie lad received much kindness ; but lie was Joinied b~y time islanmders, and1( the King did what we wondler h1e had forborne dloing at an earlier period-hie coiscatedl the estates of the monastery that lny on the main Iandi; and~ while iferewaird was away lead ing an exp~editIon at some distancee for foraging, thme monks gave one thousand marks to have their lands restoredi and al Lowed the King's troop~s to eater their itronghold. Hlereward never submit Itedi; but, though he0 could not exp~ect such lelmency, he lost neither lisa lIfe nor lia liberty, nor even his lanads. . These continl Led till comparatively recent tines in the hands of his decendants, wvho founded thme families of Riullos, Futzgilbert and~ Wake. Use or Evergreen~s. No suirburban or country residence can bec conaldiered complete without its sur roundlings of beautiful trees. Evergreens ihouild be extensively emlployedl, because they add greatly to time beauty of thme suir rounding scenery in the most gloomy part, f the year ; but, they should never be em ployed to the exclusion of thme .ecidituous ~rees and shirulbs. Extensive drives and walks are often bordered with everreeni ~rees; but usually thus displalys bad Inste, masinucn as the yieldi within such close hines of dense fobmage bieconmes moniotonous, aund t~me eye experienlces satiety inlst'i of pleasinlg vairlety. With dieciduious trees thie mlost chanrAdnlg change is continually gomg~ onl; from the bursting of time buids in thie spring is one continual progressive adt vance from (lay to) day. IL Shall be De. A dhepartment, clerk havmng to solicit a favor of his chief, who Is horribly deaf, aks all audhience of the great man, and on being ushered into his presence shrieks: - "1 am glad, sir, to aee that your deaf. ness hais almlost enutirely dlisappealred." "Hey?" says the great iman, putting lisa hand to his ear. "I am glad, sir, to see that your dheaf ness lia almost entirely disappeared,'.' bel lows time clerk. Thue great man puts his hand down from his ear and shoves a pencil and a pad of paper over to the clerk. Thme clerk hesitates a moment, but then resolutely writes: "I am glad sir, to see that your deafness has almost enitirely dis. appeared." Thle great mani roads, smiles a beatific smile1 arid says warmly: "Thangel It hasl And now my dear young friend, whlat can 1 do foryo. Name the thing. and It shall be donq."' FOOD FOR THOUGHT. Whenever you find a man who has nothing to do you will notice that he is equal to the task. It is a fact worth remembering that it does not take half as long to make a wound as to heal one. le who has a true friend has great riches: lie who has a false 'friend Is hopelessly in debt. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes,and adversity is not with out comfort and hopes. A bad boy becomes a bad man about as easily and almost as inevitably as a tadpole becomes a frog. There Is happiness enough in the world for all of us. The chief diflicul ty is in getting our share of it. If you do not help others God may treat you as men do their stewards, take your talent away from you. It is not difficult to do good, for the means are constantly clustering about every man's lips and hands. A man can profess more religion in fifty innutes than he can practice by working hard for fifty years. Every man is agood pilotin a smooth sea, but when the wind blows then we find out who knows the most. Feverish, anxious, expectant wait Ing robs the thing desired of half its pleasures and wears upon the soul. The first step to self-knowledge is self-trust. Nor can we attain to any knowledge except by a like process. What a blessing it is to be simple; to have the body satisfied with simple food and the mind with simple truth.. To be born of the Spirit is the es sential thing, and there muist be the witnessing of a holy walk and conver sation. It li a great deal better to do a kind ly deed to a man when lie is living than to weep over him when he is dead. The object of all s.mbition should be to be happy at home. If we are not happy there, we cannot be happy else where. No man ever lived who had only one fault. A single fault has both sex es in itself, and is sure to beget a large family. Tears are the gift which love bestows upon the memory of the absent and they Will avail to keep the heart from sillocation. When you are sick it comes easy to promise all sorts of reformation, and when you recover it Ii just as easy to forget thon. Luck is a good th nig, but one can not always afford to wait for It. Pluck is a better thing, because it is always ready to begin. It is sometimes pretty hard to decide which gives us more pleasure, to hear VVsI e ie or- to-hear our nelsh Miseries come unbidden and always stay too -long, while Joys must be sought for, and when found are apt to slip away unawares. The man who composes a fine speech In order to shame lite neighbors ought llrst to recite it before a mirror,and so shame himself. Here is a very serious question for our moralists: If a man is as good as his word and his word is good for nothing how good is he? An impression for good or evil is of ten left upon the mind and bears fruit, when what has caused the influence has passed away from our memories. The voice of conscience Is so dell cate that it is easy to stifle it, but-it Is also so clear that it is impossible to mistake it. Every person has two educations one which lie receives from others, and one, more important5 which he gives himself. Man is an animal that cannot long be left in safety wilthout occupation, the growvth of his fallow nature is apt to run to weeds. Thue love that destroys pride and envy, and that teaches us to endure tri bulations, fits us for heaven, and will' be our eternal portion in heaven. There is one problem which the most reckless mathematicians have been compelled to give up-namely, how many womnen it takes to keep a secret. How many useful hints are obtained . by chance, and how often the mind, hurried by her own ardor to distant views,neglects the truths that lie open before her. There is a pleasure in dontemptating good ; there ia great pleasure in receiv ing good: but tihe greatest pleasure of all is doing goad, which comprehends the rest. The Providence which watches eve r the affairs of men works out of their mistakes, at times, a healthisr issue than could have been accomplished by their wisest forethought. Events are only the winiged shuttles which fly fromi one side of the loom of life to the other, bearinig the many colored threads out ot' walioh the fabric of our character is made. it is wondelrful hw silenit a' man can be when he knows his cause is just, and how boisterous he becomes when he knows lhe is in the wrong. A man of intellect is lost unless he unites energy of character to intellect. When we have the lantern of Diogenes we must have his stafl, K nowledge always desires increase ; it Is like lire, which must first be kind led by sonic external agent, but which will after wards propagace Itself. A kind word is worth sometimes more than a dollar.~ And yet if the exchange could be made at par every body would make a biusiness of say ing kind words and so their kindtness would be destroyed. The best wvay to find out what is re. bgion in us Is to inquire what is true concerning God. For religlon in us is our resemblance to God, who is over best pleased with those things in His creatures which are most eminent ini Himself. It requires no little learning'to be correct, no little study to be simple, and a great command of 1an~nage to be plain, .it is your uneducated, of at best your haaii-aducated men, who confound their auiences with -great pullings of vanity aund-: exa~iliout g* bombast.