Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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1RI-W EEKLY EDITION. WINN-ORO . .8. E 1865. TIWELEDTO.WINNSBORO, S. C., SE~PTEMBERt8 81 SABIhDI8~ WHAT OF THAT? Tired I Well, what of that ? Didst fancy life wak spent on beds of easo, Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze? ome, rouse thee I work while it Is called to-day I Coward, arise I go forth upon thy way I Lonely I And what of that? Some must be lonely I 'tis not given to all To feel a heart responsive rise aud fall, To blend another life into its own. Work may be udone it loneliness. Work on. Dark I Well, what of that? Didst fondly drean the sun would never set? Dost fear to lose the way? 'Take courage yet I Learn thou to walk by faith, and not by sight; Thy steps will guilded be, and guided right. Hard1. Well, what of that? Uidet fancy life one summer holiday, With lessons nono to learn, and naught but play? (0, get thee to thy task I Conquer or die I It nlust be learned! 1.earn it, then, patiently. No h0lp Nay, 'tis not so! Though human help be far, thy Cod Is nigh, Who feeds the ravens, hears his children cry, le's near thee, wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam; And le will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. TIE VILLAGE OAK. Dunn't nobody tell me I When the Trovors comed to these pearts, sentries ago, the Squoiro-if they called them squoires in them times-brought with him a fair young bride. So, when theer Son an' heir was born, theor was foin doin's, and the mother, in 'memoration, planted the acorn from which has comed that oak.- The rooks that cawed in the elms then have died-the olms theer selves has died-but theors the oak, lale and hearty. Tho lightnin' struck it, the wind blowed it; yet theer it stands as firm as ever, and while it do, the Trevors will be squoires at the Hall I'" The speaker was the old sexton. He had just closed the vault of the Trevors, and, with spade and mattock on shoul der, stood among the graves in the shadows of the ancient, square-turreted church inl which Squire Trevor had that day been laid to rest. "That, my friend, is, I sup)1)ose, the superstition ?" smiled the new vicar, scanning the old church with the look of an antiquary. "Superstition ! Well, if the truth be superstition, perhaps it is, sir." "At any rate, the presont Squire, they say, is different enough from iis.uncle a spendthrift, or worse." "Mabbe. The Trevors have all been a bit wild at first ; but they settle down, you see, sir-they settle down when they marry. Squire Marm' duke will marry and settle down, like the rest." "It is to be hoped so," said the vicar, kindly. "At any rate, he'll marry; that you may be sure, for le's the last Trevor, he is, and the family's bound to live as long as the village oak. Now, sir, I've locked all'up, p'r'aps I may go ?" "Certainly, my friend. Good even ing I" The sexton, his opinion of the new vicar by no means raised by this con versation, plodded his way to the ale house. The vicar, his head 'bocd, his hands behind his back, went slowly through the peaceful churchyard, crossed the road, and entered the Vicarage garden. The blinds that had been lowered out of respect to the defunct Squire were still down ; but approaching tile long window, which was open, the vicar put back the blinds, and stepped into a charminlgly cool room pleasant with the odor of fresh rose leaves. The occupants of tihe apartmenlt wvere a pretty girl, with brown, soft eyes, smnall, delicate features, and chestnut hiadayoung maowing alpleaa an~t, manly couintenlance, anld a well shlaped, eiisy figure.. As the vicar's shadowv had fallon 011 the buld, tihe young man hlad moved so far away from hlis fair companion's work table thlat, aided by the heigtenied color of the lady's cecek, thlat action was more suspicious thlan his close proximity to tile pice of furniiture. "'Hull, Ned I found us out already ?" said the~ vicar, with a smile. "The fact is, sir," rep~lied the young man, returnling tihe warm hanud-pressure, "your description of the old1 churchl, tile place and especially that village oak, was too tempting for me to - resist. I made leisure, packed up my kn~aptack, and came down.". "Alh I I unl'derstanld," remarked tile vicar, drily, and 110 did nlderstanid very well. "Tile attraction, no0 doubt, is great to an artist ;" "anld hlis glancoe wanldered to htis pretty daulghter." "By tile wvay, Jonn~ie," 110 proceeded, "I have a contribultiont to your album of 'Family .Superstitionsa.' Thlat village oak hlas 0110 twine~d about its ancienlt branches." "Has it really, p~apai?" silhenmiled, lling upon is shioulder. "What is it ?" Nod Graham also allowed inuch iihter.. ost, an~d tile vicar told whlat the old sex ton had said. "Why," laughled thle artist, "'thiere is a capital subject for oithler a'picture or a poem." "Then, I suppose, papa," said Jennlie, "if 011e nighlt theo old oak 011 thoe green were to blown dowvn, there wvould be all end of -" "Mr. Treovor, sir t" said tile sorvanit, openinlg tile (leer.. A merry glance passedi between 'the younig peole.. "Exactly I" smikl the vicar,%'is 110 rose and went into 'thte library, whlere the now SBquirQ awit4 a him, 1%a' fqlreo wna a itnaeomo man of about thirty, but with the exprossion-of one whose time had never been well employed. The eyes were bold and dark, the mouth dogged more than determined. As the only heir to the late Squire, who had died a childless widower, Marmaduke Trevor had led a wild, reck 'less London life, aware that his future was assured. The death of his uncle had suddenly aroused him from an existence as idle as dissipated, and he had hastened down to the Hall. He was by no means loth to take possession, and had already formed plans for a merry future ; but the drear solitude of the place at present was un bearable to one accustomed to a succes sion of amusements. So, using hin own words to Mr. Cath cart, "He had taken the liberty of throwing himself upon the vicar's hospitality," "Indeed you are welcome, Squire I" the . clergyman rejoined. "No doubt you do find it dull, especially to-day. This quiet slumbrous village is a strik ing contract for one used to the Great City. We will go into the drawing room. There are younger people there, who will make it, no doubt more cheer ful for you." The Squire readily assented, and for the first time, beheld Jennie Cathcart, in whose society he had not been long before he felt toward her as lie had never before felt to any woman. Seated' talking with the vicar, his looks followed her everywhere, but lowered darkly as he detected the evi dently high place that Ned Graham held in her regard. "That follow will be an obstacle to my success with Miso Cathcart," re flected the Squire. "Yet perhaps not. Women are ambitious, and, to become mistress of Trevor Hall, would be a groat temptation. Yet, supposing some engagement exists between these two, and the girl holds to it? Then I should admire her the more, and be the more determined to make her my wife I The days passed on, and the Squire's visits to the Vicarage were frequent. Ned Graham, the artist, did not like it, and so told Jennie. She, however, laughed at him. However, it was not long before the artist's words were verified. One morn ing, Marmaduke Trevor, appearing early at the Vicarage, requested to be allowed a few words in private with the vicar. When closeted together in the stiudy,, lie confessed the passion with which Jennie had inspired him, and proposed for her hand. Mr. Cathcart sat a while silent. He had listened in surprise-with regret. His silence, the perplexity marked on his visage inspired the Squire with con fidence. Evidently the poor parson was overwhelmed by an offer so unlooked for. "Surely, Mr..Catlicart," he remarked, "you must from the first have seeii the impression your pretty daughter madQ upon me?" "Had I, Squire," broke in the vicar, quietly anid rousjng himself, "I should have felt a guilty man inl your presence at this momeont. I decl~re to you I had not .the least idea. It never crossed my mind that you everdvWoul have desired so to honor my family. .Had it, b~elievo mne, I would at one, have informed you of that which, with much pailn, I must now tell you." A dark shadowv fall on the Squire's face. ''And that ?" lie asked. "My daughter is enlgaged already ; has been so for six months, to" "'Spare me his name I" inlterruplted the Squire, raising his hand. '"You mean the ai'tis't I have met here. 1 knew from the first lhe was my rival. But it is woman's privilege to chlange, Mr. Cathcart-as they should be, wonien at times are ambitious." "That is true, unfortunately ; but I trust not Jenie. Yet, in justice to lher, let it be0 she who decides. She is in the mornin~g-room, Squire. If she consents, I can answer for Mr. Graham relinquish ing his'claim, and for my accepting you as a son-in-law." "I thank you. I will, at least try." T1hie vicar watched him from the room; thlon, with some anxiety, waited -his re turn. Could Jennie-would she he0 dazzled b~y his offer ? Not a quarter of all hour had p)assed wvhen a quick step 0on the gravel path caused the vicar to look through the window towards it. It was the Squire leaving tile Vicarage. "I knew it t" ejaculated the clergy man, with almost a cry' of joy. "I knew I was not wrong about Jonnlie. Comoe ins" for there was a tap) at the door, and his daughter entered. "Ohl, papa I" she ejaculated, in sad rep~roof, "why did you sendI~ the Squire to me ?" "For your sake and his, my darling," answered thme vicar, taking her in his arms. "And your reply, Jlennie ?" ''Vhat could it b~e, papa ? flow could I be untrue to Ned ? What wealth and positiomn could comphenlsate mne for his~ hoveo?" Neither Jennie nor the vicar would have comnriserated thle Squire as they did, had they seen his dark, lowering looks, and if they coul1,1v rea..i.;: thoughts, as he proceeded through the Trevor woods to the Hall. Thus stood matters when October ar rived. Tho evening of the ninth was L dark, heavy, oppressive ; and the Squire wiped the 1)orspiratioin froni his brow, as he stood among the shumbrous woods, I waiting--for whom? Evidently this poaching,'hang-dog looking fellow that caie slouching toward him for on his appearince he made a step o* two for-. c ward. "II am here, Squire," he said doggedly C touching his hat, but keeping a few feet distant. "I trusted yer. Still," with a t swift glance among the trees, "ef yer've t got any of yer darne'd keepers in hidin', r let 'em look out, an' yer, too, Squire ; I'll die game !" "Have no fear," sitid the other, t "Conie nearer Stacpool. I am alone." After a mnomient's hesitation, the man complied. 'Listen to nie," proceed the Squire, i inl low but firm accents. "Do you know r the artist, Edward Graham ?" U IHim as is going to marry the vicar's t daughter ?" "Yes," with a fierce spasm of the fea- 11 tures. "He returns here to-morrow c night. The roads are lonely. I hate f him ! If he never reaches the Vicarage alive, your passage to Australia is assured, and plenty of gold besides. Do j you understand ?" 1 "Who wouldn't?" retorted the I poacher. Wild and black was the evening of the next day. A gale of wind such as never had beel experienced for years swe)t s across the land. No rain fell, but vivid 1 was the lightning that shot down nov t t and again from the clouds. For reasons of his own, indeed, that no suspicion might rest oi iiiii, the Squire liad passed the day at a towin ill a contrary direction to Sarcomube, but, tortured by anxiety, and eager to learn Staepool's success, having an appoint- ( ment with him at ton, despite the t weather, lie had mounted his horse, di recting its head towards the Hall. Soon he was far from the town, in the darkness of the land, the fierce wind it tearing around him, making his horse stagger, and his own soat unsteady. More than once the animal' had reared at the lightning. All who know any thing of horses are aware of the brief C space there is between fear and panic. f An Egyptiani Lady and Gentlenian. C Egyptian mien of all ranks shaved their heads anld their entire faces, except some times a portion of their chin, from which v a short square beard was allowed to de- e pend. The barber was in attendance on a the great lord every morning, to remove any hair that had grown, and trim his beard, if he wore one. The lord's wig 1 was also under his superintendence. This a consisted of numerous small curls, fastened r carefully to a reticulated groundwork, Nhichl allowed the heat of the head free escape. The dress, even of the highest class, was simple. It consisted, primarily, h of the shenti, or kilt, a short garment, 9 folded or fluted, which was worn around the loins, and fastened in front with a gir dle. The material might be linen or wool- 0 len, according to the state of the weather p or the wearer's inclination. Over this the great lord Invariably word an ample robe of fine linen, reaching from the shoulders C to th3 ankles, andi provided with full tl sleeves, which dlescendedl nearly, if not $| quite, to time elbows. A second girdle, a which may have been of leather, confined ii the outer dress about tile waist. The armis and lower parts of tile legs wer'e left bare ; i and in the earliest tinmes the feet were also 5) bare, sandals being unknown; but they a came Into fashion at tihe beginning of the i, fifth dlynasty, and thenuceforward were or dinarily worn by the rich, whether men or c women. They were either of leather lined a with cloth, or of a sort, of basket work it coimposed of palm leaves or the stalks of li tihe p~apyrus. The shape varied at differ- e ent periods. Having dressed hlimself, with" the assistance of his valet, thme Egyptian lord put on his ornaments, which consisted ii commonly of a collar of beads or a chain of t1 gold round the neck, arnmlets and~ bracelets a of gold, Inlaid with lapis lazull and tur quolse, round' thme armse, anklets of the same character round the ankles, and rings upon i the lngcers of both hands. Thius attired, n thme lord took his baton or stick, and, quit- F ting his dressing room mfadle his appearance g, in thme salon or eating apartment,. Meanwhile his spouse had performed her own toilet, which was naturally somewhat u more elaborate than her husband's. Egyp. e tban ladies wore their own hair, which o grew in great abundance, and1 must have t: occupied the tire-wonan for a considerable period. A double-toothed comb was used for combmg it, and it may also have been ~ brushed, though hair brushes have not beck 8 discovered, Ultimately, it was separated s into numerous distinct tresses, and plaited a by threes into thirty or forty fine plaits, d which were then gathered Into three mus. ses, o'mo b~ehlnd the head, and the others at either side0 of the face, cr else were allowed a to fall in a single continuous ring round ni the head and shiouldlers. After It had been thus arrangedl, tihe hair was eonflned by a a fillet, or by a head dress made to inmta'e the wings, back and tall, and even some- ti times the headl, of a vulture, Os their IC bodIecs, somne females wore only a single o garment, which was a petticoat, either tied b at tihe neck or sumpportedi by straps over the sho)ulders, and~ reaelling f em the neck or breast to tihe ankles; but thmose of thme up. per class had first, over this, a'coloredl sashm I passed twice rond the wvaist and tied in ti front, and secondly, a large, loose robe, s made of the finest linen, with full, open ~ sleeves reachinig to time elbow. They wore sandals from the Paine (late as men, and hlad similar ornamente, with the addition y of ear rings. These often manifested an t< elegant taste, being in the form of serpents b or' terminating In the heads of animals or ot goddesses. The application of cohi or stibium to the eyes seems to ha've formed ~an ordinary part of the toilet. 0 IMN.nDnTEnDneS-A hotel bill. Tobacco Pipes. A collection of tobacco pipes, now on 'low In London, is one of the most inter sting of minor art exhibitions. rho col iction includes specimens of all countries, nt belonging to many periods, of the ravon imagos and Idols of clay which have eon dedicated to the worship of tobacco. 'rom France como pipes of 8evres made a the national porcelain factory; from I rmany old Dresden Pipes and the pipe ormerly smoked by the giant in the pro ossion of the guilth at Cologne; from oleland several hundreds of the iusthetic lay called "Early Dutch," collected by Ierr Van dor Want, Master of the Pipe iakors' Guild at Gouda. Tie Dutch oon ribution Includes also specimens of the ridegrooms' pipes, cl' irnamiented with ibbons, which the fa ' the polders mokes on the day of !- and then tys by on the shelf, to i town once year when the aniversaj mnnos round of le momentous occasion. The )i1)p is re. arded with great interest by snokers as n example of the various uses which to acco serves in calming feelings of ecstatic :y and mitigating the pangs of regret. 'here are 700 early Eoglish ipipes; Bcandi avian pipes, with modern runes Inscribed ponl them; Siberian bowi, the consola ion of the exile, ivde of hard wood and ammnoth ivory ; Basque pipes, and the ostly meerschaum and amber toys smokott y pachas in their seraglios. Ninety-six f the Japanese pipes are in ivory, twenty :ur in wood, horn, rock crystal, agate. tc. The carvings illustrate the social life f Japan in its most amusing relations. )no pipe, which formerly belonged to ,nomoto, forter brother of the Emperor, ears the imperial symbols, and the ceifral ortion is entirely inlaid with gold. The o wls are extremely small. & pipe con iins merely a whilf. A piece of tobacca rolled up to the size of a pea, and one )ng, soothing exhalation exhau'sts it. The moke is retained for some tine In the ings, as usual, in the East. it is no mat .r of surprise that, according to the narra ive of the Earl of Elgin's mission, a Ja anese will smoke fifty such pipes in a iorning. From China come the opium >ipes, which balance the finances of India -tubes of jade or tortoise sbell, bowls of ilver and enamel. Ilookabs from India, Lie calumets of peace and war from North Lmerica, the pipes of tle Aztecs and the ,aribs, thelatter called "tobacoo," whence ile European name of the weed originally onsumed in them is said to be derived ; >ipes smoked at the great "customs" in lentral Africa, thei sperm whale's teeth arved into bowls, pipes from Caledonia nd New Guinea, are also to be seen. About Somo Fish. On board a Uited States vessol, in 873, while sailing south, a dolphin was aught which was of unusual size, some :>ur feet six inches long. It is exoced 2gly interesting to examine the stomach f all fish. In this dolphin, however, othing very curious turned up, though lie voracity of the fish was quito evident rhen the contents of the stomach were xposed. A-lot of coal cinders was found, nd at least [a half pound of three-inch -roughtiron nails. An explanation of ow the fish had hwallowed Much brango and indigestible hardware was >adily found. The ship's cook was in te habit of cleaning out his stovo every orning at half-past four o'clock, and ad been burning a quantity of passen ers' old berth boards, which had been old togohter by wrought fron nails, mix i up with the cinders, which the dol hin had swallowed. An instance of voracity of a similar liaracter may be told of a shark. In to spring of 1861, while at anchor off io coast of Georgia, a ship's crow mnused themselves by fishing, Their moh was poor, For sonme days all the nos were severed, and there was no >ort. A pilot told us that a tiger shark as undter our bottom, and that ib had kon all our bait. We sot to work to itch it. A shark hook was baited with piceo of p)Ork, and this soon brought *to grief. We rigged a running bow ac-a kind of nautical lasso-slipped it ver its head, and soon had it hauled on oard, stern foremost. After severing a vertebral coltimn, we disemb~oweled ie monster. The contents of the shark's tomach wvere exposed to viowy. Among uany minor items wei e several large imps of clay,futlly a peck of beef bonies, uany fish hmooks, with pieces of the lines elonging to us, two horse-shoe crabs >ven inces wido,piecs of stones, prob bly ballast, and a half-worn boot. The iquisitivoness of the writer 10(d him to ramine the boot most carefully, to fnd Lit wvhat had been the effoet of the gas *ic juices en the leather and the nails. n~ the "uper" some fewv spo0t of groen 'ore visible. This was determined to be reen paint. The evidences wore that mebodly had been engaged in painting short time before. Btut had the painter roppod overboard from some vessel? ad lhe been swallowed by the shark ? and as tis boot all that remained of the an ? The intelligence of fish remains as yet a unwritten chapter, which requires fi ire study. What instincts we miay al >w birds in their migrations are followed at even more miraculously by fish. If irds can see land-marks, it is not im robable that the water fish can be ulded by their eyes. Think of the shad Obineso waters which mount up from so sea to the head of a river two thou nid miles distant from the ocean I There muet be exceeding intelligence in the lack bass, which protects her young as ahiantly as does a lben her chicks. Think, >o, of that fish which scures his food y a co-ordination which is really not quahed by any other creature I The fish sea an insect on a leaf or spear of grass verhanging the water. It rises to the urface, sights the insect as a rifloman rouldi his weapon of pnucisem and unerrhigly fires a drop of water, which never misses the tiny mark-the insect, which knocked off its perch by the globule of water, falls into the stream, and is swallowed. The assumption that fish possess a great amount of natural intelligence need not be doubted I A certain sagacity is absolutely necessary in order to enable fish to overcome the difileukioa they must encounter in obtainhig food. An instance of this character may be oited. Near the Marquesas Islands the peace ful waters abound in fish and birds. There are constant schools of flying fish and bonitos. The latter exist almost on tirely on the former. The flying fish, by clever flying, are always endeavoring to escape the jaws of the bonitos; while the devourers are up to all kinds of stra tageis to circumvent their agile prey. The bonitos seom to study the curve the flying fish * will take in the air, and the doflection caused by the wind, and, shooting across in a straight line, will catch the flying-fish as he touches th water at the end of his flight. On one occasion, when the sea was smooth and the wind light, opportunity was taken to throw out a surfaco dredge, in order to secure specimens. This dredge was made of gauze. For sov'oral evenings in sue cession it was observed that shortly after sundown there were to ho seen on the surface of the v'vitor numbers of flying fish. Many of them were caught in the dredge, and when taken out were found to be disabled or dead. This occurrence was so remarkable that the writer was led to ask the reason why, and at once set about finding the cause. Watching the soa from a position taken on the bow of the ship as she was slowly surging through the water, he observed a large school of bontitos, which separated into three divisions. One took position di rectly ahoal of the ship, the other at some disanuce on either bow. Presently the portion of the school on starboard attracted attition by a disturbanco on the surface. They were son driving a school of flying-fish, who, to avoid the bonitos, tried to pass ahead of the ship, but they were provented from doing so by the school of fish on the larboard side. Frightened, then by the bonitos advancing toward theni and flanking them on both sides, they took wing, and, after a few moments of hesitation, flow directly toward the ship's bow, always pursued by their onemies. They were corraled to their fate. Hundrods wore dashed against the ship's prow, and fell into the water, maimed or killed, to be immnediatery gobbled by the bonitos,who waited the ship's epming, passing astern to gorge themselves on their victims. This act was plainly observable from the stern of the ship, where the movements of the bonitos could be studied. Gently Hated. He was lately married, and had no more idea of what an article of a wom an's dress costs than an elephant has of a humming bird ; so when his young wife gently hinted one morning that she must have a now spring bonnet ho looked pleased, and blandly told her to get something nice and have the bill sent a round to the store, and ho gave her a good-bye kiss and said lie wanted his little wife te look as well as the rest, and went off humming a Sunday-school air. Ho had been to missionary meet ing the night before, and, pleased with the sermon, had promised a liberal do nation to the collecting agent when ho called, as he had announced he would on that day ; so ho took twenty five dollars and inclosod it in an envelope, with '"From a friend" on the outside, and then tucked tive dollars into his vest p~ocket to pay for his wife's bonnet. "I don't suppoSe it will cost more than half of that. My hats never do, and they last a whole year, but perhaps the gew~ gaws may come to that," he soliloquized. About five o'clock r. Mz. a small boy ap peared carrying a box, and the lately married man took the five dollars out of his pocket and asked for the bill. "It's inside with the bundle," lie said. The master of ceremonies opened the box and looked vaguely in. "I don't see any b~onnet," he said. The boy looked oni and griined. "It's there," ho said, ''in thme corner ; it's a little uin." The huts band took it out tenderly with his thumb and forefinger. It looked like a gold horseshoe-a hand's breadth of tinsel with a tri-colored feather. Ho p~icked uip the bill; twenty-five dollars I Phow I The senior partner of the firm was mak ing up the day's account when a frantic individual rushed into his private office and exclaimed: "Look here, Smith, look at this!" "I see," said Smith, calmly, "It's a new bonnet." "Heaven! do they cost like that? Why--why didn't you tell me so before--before it was too late?" "It would have made no difference; that is one of Mine. La Mode's imported bonnets, you soo I know ; it's.an old story to me, and if you donm't let her have it, now that she has picked it out; she'll be wretched and so wvil1 you; it is really cheap at that price--see?" H6 thought lie did; he groaned and walked out. Then lhe took the twenty-five dollars out of the envelope and paid the boy and put the five dollars in his vest pocket with the envelope and laid it away. When the agent called for help for the missions the young man thrust the in olosure Into his hand muttering somo thing like "Oharitg begins at horno"-as lie had found hye annrline. The Great Stone Face. Bix miles of conktinuiial ascent have a brovght us to profile lake, writes Samuel su Adams Drake. Although a pretty of enough piece of water, it is not for itself wi this lake is resorted to by the thousands, ye or for the trout which you take from the au refloation of birds on its burnished sur- pa face, but for the mountain rising high an abOve it, whose wooded slopes it so faitb- hi fully mirrors. Now lift the eyes to the up bare summit. It is difficult to beliove to the evidence of the senses. Upon the an high oliffs of this mountain is the remark- CI able and celebrated natural rock-sculp ture of a humaii head, which, from a height of 1,200 feet above the hake, lhas CO for uncounted ages looked with the same his stare down the pass upon the windings of the river through its ineomparable ari valley. The profilo itself measures about of forty foot from tile tip of the chiii to the (0 flatted crown, which imparts to it such be a peculiary antique appearance. It is fe perfect except that the forehead is eon- d coaled by something like the visor of- a to helmet. And all this illuftion is pro- to diuced by several projecting crags. It 01 uight be said to have been begotten by b a thluder bolt. tli Taking a seat with a rustic arbor oi 911 the high shore of the litke, one is at. lib. arty to pursue at leisure what, I dare li say, is the most extraordinary sight of Ia life-time. A slight chango of position 90 varies more or less the character of the expression, which is, after till, the mItark Ld poculiarity of this monstrous altore lievo; for, let the speetator turn his gazev vacantly upon the imoro familiar objects Lt at hand, as lie inevitlitbly will, to unssure ii himself that he is not the victim of some lia strango hallucination, fascination born ex neither of admiration nor a horror, bitt trt strongly partaking of both emotions, ho draws him irresistibly back to the Dan- lie tesque head struck like a felon's on the ca] highest battlements of the pass. The ,i more you may have seon, the moro your liv feclings are disciplined, tile greater the ait confusion of ideas. The monment is coie to nu acknowledge yourself vanquished. This wt is not merely a face, it is a portrait. an That is not the work of some chisel, btut str a cast fromt a living head. You feel and at will always maintain that thoso features tl have had a living and breathing coun. pit torpart. Nothing more, nothing less. fo< But where and what was the original thi prototype? Not muan; since ages before I lie was created the chisel of the Almighty ti wrouglit this sculpture upon the rock ii, above us. No, not man; the face is too LIh majestic, too nobly grand, for anything ia of mortal mold. One of the antique gods as may, perhaps, have set for this arche- bo type of the coming man. And yet not Po man, we think, for the head will surely InL hold the same strango converse with fit- th turity when man shall havo vanished !lt, from the face of the earth. Had Byron ha visited this place of awe and mysiry, C1 his "Manfred," the sceneo of whichis de laid amnong the mountains of tho lk'rntese m Alps, wou d dotbtless have had a deeper to perhaps a more sinister, imIIiulse, ulit o even among those eternal realns of ice e the poet never beheld an object that oi could so arouso the gloomy exaltatiofl re he has broathod in that tragedy. . This gigantic silhouette, which lifts been christened The Old Man of the " Mountain. is unquestionably the great est curiosity ot this or any other moun- w' tain region. But it is not merely curi ous; nor is it more marvolous for the t wonderful accuracy of outline than for q the almost superhuian expression of I frozen terror it eternally fixes oi the Jil vague and shadowy distance-a far-away r look, an intenmse and speechlers amazei e mont, such as sometimes settles upon the face of the dying, unitranslatable li into words, but seeming to declare the let presence of some tunutterable vision too bright and dazzling for mortal eyes to behold. The face puts thme whole world behlind it. A M~yst ery ofr tho Mouttaluts. 1 hat T1ho S~anI Jacinto mounmtainls are located im in the northeastern portion of San Diego we county, and form the southern boutndairy otl of thme San Gorgonio pass. UTe region by is a very wild-and rough one, anid ex- 1om t~remoly difflcult to explore. Tihere ox- th< ists in one portion of these mountains a ti( natural or sup)ernatutral curiosity, the a source of which has never yet been ox- se: plained, although many attemp)ts havo p1 been made to solve thme mystery. At knt irregutlar intervals a heavy replort re- we( souinds through thme region, which oani ori bo likened only to that of thle largest Eu cannon itensitled tenfold. VTo conICus- nu1 sion p)rodluced is such as to wake a per- to sont from the souindeit, sleep, shaking of and rattlinlg everything in tho house thi more thant is done by any ordinary earth sa<' quake. Sometimes days elaps)o bietwveen a these reports, and on other occasions as ph many as three or four are heard in one on~ night--that being the favorite time for apt their occutrrenco. This irrogularity has wn' opeoratedl to (defont all efforts made to din- pe cover the exact locality of the phonml- Yn ononi. By the Indiatts of the region th this is called "'Tahm-qiish," or thme devil. 02 They have many tr'aditionis concerning bo it; and manifest the uitmost reluctance in to make any search for the exact spot. thm One old Inldian, suppose05d to-bo upwarh~d TIa of a century in age, claims to have acci- on dentally discovered thme spot one day pic while hunting in his youingbr days. lie thi described it as simplly a dark tunnel ritn- wvl ning into the side of the mountaini, and as having thme appo~arance at the entrance mi *f having becon exposed to much heat, in Many offers have been made and large thi rewards offered to this Indian to per- th suade him to conduct some wvhito man th to the place, but without success. Tho ti most common tradition with the aborig.. M inos is that old "Tah-quish" comes out th< of his evidently uncomfortable residence th below for the purpose of obtaining a pii breath of fresh air, and that becoming thi alarmed at something ho retires in hast'o, M slamming thme door after hini, wvhich pro- roj duces the report referred to, so D1aie Webster'5 First PIea. Ebenezer Webster, father of Daniel, was Farimer.' 'ite vegetables in his garden Tered considerably from the depredations a woodchuck whose hole and habitation s near the premises. Daniel, some ten irs old, and his brother had set a trap, id at last succeeded In catching the tres aser. Ezekiel proposed to kill the animal d end at once all further trouble with n ; but Daniel looked with compassion on his neek, dumb captive, and offered let himl, go. The boys could not agree, l each appealed to their father to decide case. "N ell, my boys," said the old gentleman, will be the judge and you shall be the 1iisel to plead the case for and against life and liberty." Ezekiel opened the case with a strong rumner. I, urging the mischievous nature I he aninual, the great harm he had already ne, said that much time and labor had an spent in his capture, and now if suf ed to go at large, lie would renew his predationa, and be cunning enough not be caught again, and that he ought now be put to (tenth; that his skin was of ne value, and that, make the most of n they could, it would not repay half damaige lie had already done. Ills ar ment was ready, practical and to the mit, and of much greater length than our tit will allow us to occupy in relating , story. TI'ie inther looked with pride upon his h, who became a distinguished jurist in i manhood. "Now, Daniel, it's your turn; 1il hear at you've got to say." It was his first case. Daniel saw that plea of his brother had sensibly affected i father, the judge ; and his large, bril ut black eyes rested upon the soft, timid pression of the animal, and he saw . mbled with fear in its narrow prist use. Ilis heart swelled with- pity, ant. appealed with eloquent words that the )tive might go free. God, lie said, had dc the woodchuck. Ile made him to 0, to enjoy the bright sunshine, the pure , the fields and woods. God had not Lde him or anything in vain. . The )odlchuck had as much right to live as y other living thing; he was not a de uctive aniial, like the wolf; he simply a few colmon vegetables, of which ,y had plenty, and could well spare a rt; he destroyed nothing except the little >d lie ate to sustain his humble life; and it little food was as sweet to him and as cessary to his existence as was to them a food on their mother's table, God fur ihed their own food. Ile gave them all -y possessed, and would they not spare ittle for a dumb creature who really had much right to his small share of God's unty as they themselves were to their rtion ? Yea, more, the animal had ver violated the laws of his nature, or e laws of God, as man often did, but ictly followed the simple Instincts he (1 received from the Creator of all thing.. eated by God's hands, lie had a right to prive himof either. ie alludcd to the ite but earnest pleadings of the animal that life as dear to him as were their m, and the Just Judgment they might pect if, in selfish cruelty and cold heart ness, they took the life they could not itore again. During the appeal the tears had started the old man's eyes, and were fast run ig down his sunburnt cheeks. Every Aling of a father's heart was stirred thin bmn, and lie felt that God had ased him beyond the lot of common i. aIs pity was awakened by the elo ent words of compassion and the strong peal for mercy; and, forgetting the ige in the mgn and the father, he sprang tn his chair (while Daniel was In the dst of his argument. without thinking had already won his case), and turning hii eldhost son, dashing the tears from eyes, he~ exciannert : "Zake, Zeke, you that woodchuck gel" Thme love of bells in Burmahi is some mat romarkable. Every large pagoda 8 801m1 dozen of them, of all sizes, nging round the skirts of the Zaydee, age houses, and Zayats. One or two rec put upb with the building itself; iorsm have been1 added in various times the religious. Most of them have ig P'ali inscriptions on thenm recording l praises of the Lord and the aspira n15 of the giver. Hero and there aro row with Blurmoeso dedications, pre ited by thei poor, simpjle jungle peo 3, the monks in whose district did not ow Pali, or had the grace to say they ro not learned enough to write an ginal composition in that langnage. 'ery Burman has learned a certain mnher of Pali formuhn, to enable him worship at the pagoda; but few oven thme most renownedl Tsadaus have any uig like a thorough knowledge of the bred language. Hence, wvhon there is nodest monk in the Kyoung, the sim Senitivators have to fall back onu their 'n vernacular, and produce plaintive p~eals like the following; "This bell s madtoe wvith great care and much ex nseo, anid is presented by Moung Tsang h, of thmo hamlet of Nga Pay Oh, 3 township of Macobin, and Mahmi, 'oo his wife, who seek refuge in the undiess mercy of the pitiful Buddha, the majesty of the eternal laws and in a venerable assembly, the three gems. toy visit the precious things faithfully the appointed days. Applaud, ye ms. Tihiey humbly strive to gain for 3mselves merit. May the good Nata to guard the forest and the field look ilingly on them, and guard the poor LIn's crops. May the Nats who dwell the air and the earth defend from evil ings the two fat bulloeks wvhiich plough a fields. May the guardian Nats of 3 house and the city keep from harm 3 Chit Oo, their son, and little Mah 30, their darling daughter. And may 3 merit of this offering be0 halved with Mir children. May tihe excellent Lord ~y thq~ the holy Assembly receive sin. No shall Mouing Tsan Yah and dh Malh Gyee gain much meit qnd joice in presenting this bell. Weight vonty-fiva VW "