Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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2Ibe..L4tatIH8 .TRI-WEEK-LY EDITION. WINNSBORO..U.ARL 24t 1883.sSAL,HD1A THAT NIGHT. YQu and I, and that night, with. Its ptrfume an, glory I . . .Oa The scent of the locusts-the light of the moor And the violin weaving the waltzers a story, Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune, Till their shadows uncertain Reeled round on the curtain, While under the trellis we drank in the June. Soaked through with the midnight the cedare Wer sleeping, Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright Crystal, moon smitten rnista, where thb fountain' heart, leaping Forevi r, forever burst, full with delight; And Its lisp on my spirit Fell faint as that near it Whose love like a lily bloomed out in the night. 0 your glove was an odorous sachet of blsses I The breath of your fan was a breeze of Cathayl And the rose at your throat was a nest of spilled kisses I And the music I-in fancy I hear it to-day, As I sit hero, confessing Our secret, and blessing My rival who fouLd us, and waltzed you away. AT LAST. Don't you know me ?" said Martht Minkley. The Rev. Paul Blossom was digging ip a bed for late peas under the pinli clouds of the apple-loughs, with hif straw hat tilted on the top of his head his 1inen coat fluttering in the wind and his brow beaded with prespiration. One little Blossom was following at his heels with a toy rake, smoothing down the lumps of fragrant earth ; v second was building houses with oyster. shells, in the angle of the garden wall while two others were engaged in th wholesale manufacture of iud-pies, at the kitchen door-step-all four dirty, haippy and demoralised. Mr. Blossom looked hard at the trim figure, with its neat, cheap hat, black and white checked plaid shawl and flounced alpaca dress. lHe waH a little near-sighted, a little absent-minded, and ybt--surely this sweet-voiced, clierry-cheeked woman was none of the sisters of his flock. "No," said Mr. Blossom ; "I can't say that I do." Miss Minkley smiled and colored a little. "Try and think back," said site, "to the days of the Wesleyan Seminary, on Hose River where we recited Roman history in the same class, and old Dr. Dodge heard us in rhetoric and English literature-old Dr. Dodge who wore green spectacles and talked through his -1noso10l Mr. Blossom dropped his spade. "It's Matty Minkley," said he. "But, dear 1me, how you've changed!" "I haven't grown any younger, I don't suppose, " said Martha biting her lip. "But that's a comiplfit ilt is coinmon to us all, M'. Blossom." "Yea, I know- know I" admitted Paul, turning red to the very roots of his hair as lie realized what an awk ward mistake lie had made. "Time doesn't spare any of us." And then feeling that lie had not bettered matters, he made haste to ask "And how came you in Toppleton village ?" "My cousin's husband, Hiram Dodd, keeps the hiote1," said Mlartha. "I've come to see about a situation as housekeeper for a gentleman that Mr. Dodd knows: for I'm not above earning my own living Mr. Blossom." She spoke with a litle fulness in her throat for she had somehow cherished Paul blossom's memory kindly since those boy and and girl lays, and *now ho had never even asked her to "Come "Ie might have introduced me to his wife, at least," said Miss Minkley to herself, as she walked swiftly and lightly along the green p)ath. "T1hat wouldn't have been too much for old acquaintance sake. "But if he chooses to forget 01(1 times, I can only follow his exampIle. * "I wouldn't have thought it of him, though.'' Andi the waving billows of the dis.. tant apple-orchard swam in the disks of two big tears, which momentarily ob scured Miss Minkley's bright blackc eyes. And Mr. Blossom mechanically dug the pea-bed up, p)lanted the "wrinkled miarrowfats," and went into the house, w ~hero his sister, a middle-aged spinster * of a care-worn aspect and a very uncer tain templer, wats engaged in single com bat with the children. "1 declare, Paul," she croaked, catch * ing sight of her brother, "them chil dcen are enough to try the patience of -Job. "All wasahed clean this morning, and mned anid darned-and now look at 'em I Why a gipsy gang couldn't be more discreditable in their appearance." Mr. Blossom looked feebly at the chubby, rosy, dirty flock. "It never uscd,to be so when- Mary was alive,'' said lie. "Well, and that's just what I am sayinig," said Miss Blossom tartly; "and wvhat L say every cday in tihe week --you ought to marry again." "Yes," said Mr. Blossom, with a sigh, "I~ suppose I ought." And by some curious link of ideas hie thought of Martha Minkley, stand ,ing out there among the ap)ple-blossoms, with the delicate pik color on her cheeks and the old %ogniish- sparkle in her black eyes. "Certainly you ought," said Miss Blossom, thminkinig ot . Iester IIender semn, the village dress maker, who had money ill tile bank, which ought fairly to compensate for her Gorgon-lke severi ty of coulntenanice. "Some one of ma tuire age and rip)ened judlgment." "Of course, of course," said tihe Re verend Paul. "Who would befit her position as i chlrgymanlf's wife, and keel) your hious( for you in a model manner, as it should be kept," went on Miss Biossom, "and governi your children wvith discretior and ilcdness." "Yes, to be sure " said Mr. Blossom "I believe I knew the very personl t< realize all these idIeals." "So do I," said Miss Blossom oracn larly. ''And not a hunlmdred miles away either." "Ill tis very Village," said Paul. "Exactly," nodded is delighted she ter. "It is certainly my duty," said Mr Blossom., "And somehow upon this very day of all days, I feel moved to fulfil It." II And he put on his best suit, and went c straightway to the "agle Hotel," kept I by one Henry Dodd and Elvira, his wife. "Is Miss Minkley to be seen ?" he asked politely of Mrs. Dodd, who came I from the kitchen with carmine cheeks, and wiping her hands on a snowy rol ler-towel. "Oh, yes Iguessso,"saidMrs.Dodd, sniling and curtseying to the clergy- t man. "Squire Telwrlght has just been I to see her but I'm pretty sure that he has Wone now. Mat, Matty, where are 6 "Oi, she's In the blue parlor. t "Please to walk In, Mr.. Blossom." t And the clergyman wAlked solemnly into the pretty blue-carpeted room, with its much-waxed mahogany chairs, gaudy-rug, and stiffly-starehed muslin i curtains, where Martha Minkley sat c knitting. T "Miss Minkley," said It, entering t without unnecessary prelude on the N subject which was at present absorbing I his mind, "we have known each other e from childhood.." c "Yes "said Martha. t "And I beliqve you to be a devout f Christian, a conscientious woman, and c a good housekeeper. " "I hope I am," said Miss Martha, e rather fluttered by this unusual address. f "Ini my home," said Mr. Blossom ab- v ruptly, "I need all three. "And I believe Providence has put h It Into my head and heart to appeal to v you at this critical opportunity." t Miss Minkley neither blushed, gig- a gled, nor burst Into tears. 11 She rocked back and forth, went si composedly on with the red worsted h sock that she was knitting, and lifted hi her black eyebrows just the least little a< trifle. e, "I'm very sorry," she said. 1 "I only wish you had been a little t earlier ; but I'm engaged already." t( "Engaged ?" al Mr. Blossom's lower jaw fell ; ie hi stood blankly looking at her. t "To Mr. Telwright," explained Miss n Minkley. V "But he's sixty," cried Blossom. ii: "le is not young," admitted Martha. n "Surely, surely Martha," argued fr Paul, forgetting all formalities in his sE eager Interest, "you cannot care for r him ?' 't "N-no," said Martha, "I can't say ti that I do. But 11e offers me a very s good home." "Is it possible, Martha," said the u good clergyjnan reproachfully, "that rc you can allow yourself to be swayed by a( considerations like this ?" "One must do the best they can for a "it would be aownright sinful to doubt ti that all is ordered for the best. w "It Is the will of Heaven. A "I always liked you, Martha and I bi believe your life with me wouia have S( been both useful and pleasant. m "At least, no effort of mine should SO have been lacking to make it so." w "I am very sorry," said Martha de- a murely. "But first come first served, di you know." r "I should like occasionally to call and til see you," said the clergyman. 1 "You will still be In my parishi, you eC know ?." Y "Oh, certainly," said Martha. g "I hope that we shall always be the le best of friends." - ti And Mr. Blossom almost fancied that, fO for a quarter of a second, the tender inl grasp of his hand was in some measure I returned. W He walked dejectedly out. tr "I am too late, Mr-s. Dodd," lie said, ' meeting the cheery landlady, who was qi coining in with a pair of newly-bright- ar ened brass candlesticks.w "Dear, dear, sir I" said Mrs. Dodd. te "She has already promised herself to is Mr. Telwright. Thoughl how, to be sc sure, she could ever have made is ac- k quaintanco-" "She wasn't acquainted .with him, a sir" said Mrs. Dodd. ' "At least, not until I Introduced them, an hour ago." The Reverned Paul looked horrified. "And yet," he gasped, "she Is going pi to marry h1'n I" Mrs. Dodd, In her consternation, -y< dropped one of the brass candlesticks. el "Bless your hleart alive, sir 1" she ii cried out, "she ain't agoin' to do noth- b1 ing of the kind. 'She's only going to be housekeeper y< for him at $150 a year, and two servants a kept. You mawa4, at-meaning, sir, to hi -- al "I was asking lier to be my . wife," ft said Mr. Blossom solemnly .; "and I ful- it ly believed that she iuderstood me to y that effect." at Mrs. Dodd gt-asped eagerly at the ai sleeve of his coat. "She couldn't 1" she said. t "Just wait a bit, sir-wvait a bit. i "Martha I Matty I come out here tis w minute I I) "You haven't understood a word that o1 the Rleverned -Mr. Blossom has said to a you. He has asked you to marry him 1' s~ The knitting fell from Miss Minkley's p hands. '- .t< Shle turned very pale, anId began to ei tremble. b Was it then true-the crushed out, si forgotten dreamn of her whole life ? The d reaching instinct of her hungering t1 heart ? . Did some one really love her at last- i ee ner ?p "I-I didn't comprehendl 1" said she. . t "I supposedi thalt lie wanuted me to be a his hlousekeeper. I believed that his a wife was living." ' b "She's been dead these four years," o interjected Mrs. Dodd. "And if ever there wvas a saint upon01 s earth, M.artha M.ikley, and a man as t any wmnmgtbe p)roud( to marry, g Martha held out her hands.a "Paul," said sihe, forgetting all the e years that had elapsed since they were oy and girl together at tihe W esleyan e Seminary, "do you care for me ? Do ( you love me, Paul ?" In thiis world nothing is altogether satisfactory. The Rev. Paul Blossom was happy; 1o was Martha Minkley' so were the hildren and in a lesser degree, Mr. and drs. 1Iiram Dodd. But Miss Jemina Blossom was not t all pleased after havig selected 41s Hester Henderson as her brother's econd wife. Neither was Miss Henderson herself vho had already settled on the color oi ker wedding dress. And Squire Telwright was compelled o advertise in the paper for a 8ditable kouse keeper, after all. But love, a late-blooming flower in olne lives was beginning to brighten diss Martha Minkley's solitary exis ence at last ; and what mattered any hing else ? H.W cold Wavos Travel. Cold .waves, so called-a name for vhich we are didebted to recent mete rological science-do not appear to aove in some instances, much faster han a railroad express train. They 'ary, however, in their rate of motion. Vhere do they come from? It is not asy to say. It might be found, if one ould travel at express train speed from lie mountains of Montana and the rozen regions farther north that the old continued all the way t> eastern Llaska and on to Behring Straits, with ven a greater degree of intensity. In Ict, the coldest region iseprobably the ride expanse west and especially north rest of Hudson's bay, in the neighbor ood of the magnetic pole. A "cold rave"' is a wave of heavy air, following tie rarefied track of "low barometer," nd changing the rarefied track and iilder atmosphere (which is usually also .ormy) to one of clear, cold skies, a eavy air, full of tonic power, and ex ilarating and hunger-producing to )und and healthy animal life. The itablishment of the modern.Govern iont weather observation stations, with ioir appliances, including the electric legraph and the daily press, has en iled the country to see and compre and something of the movements of iese frequent cold waves. The move ient is as marked as the advance of a 3ritable sea Auave. It is one of the npressive facts of meteorological phie nena. The telegraph heralds its start on the Rocky fountains (it. always ems to begin there, though in fact it rely does-having its origin much rther north,) and its advance can be med like that of a railroad train. Its iced varies from forty to sixty, or some mes even seventy miles all hour; mally it would seem about fifty. It ls over the country, a real wave, an irial counterpart on the shore, of its ingener, the tidal wave of the ocean; id Ita-direotion-in. uually from the [Wly dowi o 1IIbr361"d i" e Asiatic shore,and the equally frigid Ilds of the American mainland in the retic circle, to our Atlantic coast-in eadth reaching all the way from Nova -otia to Cape Hatteras, and frequently aking its chill presence felt as far tith as Florida. The Bermudas hich lie just south of the Gulf Stream little over six hundred miles almost ie east of Charleston-feel the influ ices of our "cold waves" very percep bly. That solitary little group of small, w-lying coral islands, which can be mn be reached by steamer from New ork in the same time it would take to to Savannah, happen to lie on the eward side of the Gulf Stream; and at great thermal current of the ocean rever saves them from frost keeps them spring foliage all winter; but, while finely tempers and modifies the north id, it cannot quite rob it of all its in insic character-and the result is a ind that may be at times cool and fre lently boisterous, but never really cold; id those lonely islands surrounded by ide-reachinug coral reels, have all win r a pleasant climate of spring. That almost all that they or the miore >utherli islands of the ilermudas, ever low of our winter "cold waves." hese come in an almost rhythmical iccession, and have their causes, doubt as, as potent as those of the ocean's des, which they strikingly resemible. shopping in Mexico. Clara Bridgeman, writing of her ox 3rience in a Mexican dry goods store, Lys: On entering a dry goods emporium >u will ind a large nmber of clerks, itirely out of prop)ortionl to the size of ie establishment, most of whom are Lisily employed doing nothing. After aiting for somne time one will approach yu with thle miost nonichalanit air anid ik what you want ini a toine of voice, wever which impllies that lhe makes :i inquiry merely out of consideration >r you, and not because lie has any iterest whatever in the answver. When ur want is madie known-and you feel 4suredl as to the exact width, quality ad color of the goods8 required-hie wvill Dlpart, appa~rently in quest of the ma rial; how sadl isyour isitake, however, you expect a speedy return, for on the 'ay he will stop to lahy with somebody's uhy, or to hold a long conversat ion with ie of the fellow clerks, or to take half a hour's pull at his beloved cigar, anid >miethlnes, during an unusually lengthy. eriodl of suspense, we have been temp3 id to believe that lhe indulg'ed in a si ita. At last, when body anId spirit are oth nearly exhausted youl will perhlaps uicceed in finding the stuff for youfr ress; but this, you soon1 discover, is only ie beginning of your troubles; you ask r buttons, and are told to seek them i a fancy store in the next block; for is, nieedles, hooks and eyes-they are be found in a hardware establishment round the corner; for thlreadi-it iskept t anlother shop) several squares Qff; for lack sewing silk-that can be bought nly where machines are sold; for ribbon -and( you are answered with a look- of Luprisle at yonr ignorance, and suelr a ling is never to be0 met with in a dry oods store. By the time you have united up these articles in their various pp)ropriaite places, and( annioyances oni very side, you will be Mreayt age vithi us in saying that Mxicani store lerigs are institutions peculiarly obnoxi us to Americans. BRA SEILtS are mounted on1 terra-oot it plaques. Figures oarve~d on terra cot a peer over the edge of the shells and ippear as if perfeotly at home in their mutious tenement The Massacre of th' bratnelukes. This Cftadel, Cairo, was, in 1811, the scene of the massacre of the Mamelukes by Mohammed Ali, a deed of base treachery, but of consummate and suc cessful policy; a coup d'etat, in fact. The Mamelukes. had n from the po. sition of slaves to that f Sultans. Te Circassian dynasty ploduced a race of military Princes .who !waged war with the Ottoman Sultans. The last but one, Sultan Ghoree, was slain In battle in Syria, and his successor Toman Bey, was routed on the platween Cairo and Heliopolis. t taken captive and hanged,. and 'his hW stuck'on the malefactors' gatewayr tpo*ylen. Though the supreme . we id thus passed away from 'them the Mameluke aristocracy still m(titae ed their ancient valor, till their brillijat cavalry was routed by Napoleoi at the battle of the Pyramids, and but a small remnant left. These Mameluke noble4 had helped Mo hammed All to the Pashalik, but it is supposed that they had changed their minds, and were plotting to destroy him. At all events, having used them as the ladder of his ambition, lie found it ex pedient to get rid of them. Ile therefore invited them all all to be present within the Citadel when a Pasha was to be in vested with some military command. Four hundred and seventy of these mag nificent beings accordingly rode up in great state, but when they turned to de part they found the gates closed and from every corner a murderous fire of musketry rained upon them. From this horrible carnage one alone escaped namely Amyn Bey, who forced his horse to leap the rampart, a fall of 40 feet. Happily lie lighted on a heap of rubbish and though the horse was killed the man escaped, and, giving the horse into the care of the Arabs, found protection during the ensuing dAys, when the houses of the Mamelukes were plundered, and all their relations, munbering about 1,000 were murdered, and the gate of B0ab Zooayleh litererally covered with those ghastly tiophites the heads of the slain. It is said that from this massacre one other man escaped Suleiman Aga by name, who disguised himself in the long blue robe of an Arab wonian, ahd thus veiled, escaped his foes. This man had been the Pasha's. prime favorite and the story goes out that without showing any special disgust at his friend's treachery, lie returned to his post of favorite, and even repeated the little joke of dressing 3p as an Arab damsel, who appearing fore His High ness] as a suppliant pleAded her own cause with volubility, ' d carried her case whereupon, remod her. veil she dispjayed.thie featutes eihan, who is aflirmedLb Enml lfaYriend of the raIh and other great folks In Cairo. Death and Burial Inspars. They will never returni The bright lays of yore have gone; the friends we loved have gone; and they will never re Lurn to us again. So say ll classes in Rpain, in their hour of bereAvement and jLesolatiou-'the fair spring, will come with its wealth of smiling fields, and painted flowers; the summer heats will come; the tropic, the autumnal rains all will return; but the hours, day', years, and friends that have passed come no morel' - Childret of nature holding their tenure of life by naturli more than arti flical right, it is in spring and fall that the Spanish die; in the summer heats, deaths are very rare; and in the chilly, but little-varying temperature br the winter, still more rare. And so the Spaniards call Autumn the 'Harvest of the aged,\. and Spring, the 'Harvest of the young', and almost invariably it is at night the IIost is carried to the dying. It is 8 or 9 P. M. of autumal eve; sudldenly from the old church tower ring out three, then three more, then three moro-a trinity of sharp clangs of one bell; the priests assemble in the chapel-they live hard by, in their clergy-house, and one always keeps a lamp outside his window, In wakeful shmnbers, ready to rise if summoned and carry the Host to any poor man--and in five minutes, heralded by a boy In red petticoats, ringing his bell, and preceded by six candle-bearers, the clergy carry ing the IHost pass up the silent street; servants open the shutters, and p)lace a candle in the window; they crouch down, and murmur prayers, their hand clapsed around each other's waists. The tinkle of the bell waxes fainter and fainter along the dusky and wind ing street: in a semicircle of lights, with two policemen, sword in hanid, on guard, the lay processionists statid outside the sick man's door, while thi'priests walk upstairs to adlminister the IIost to the dying man. All around are heard the sounds of wvoe; the hysterical walling and weeping; the men are smoking the soothing ci garette, that universal and chief corn tort In this land, and stand, reverently, here andl there. B3ut there are some terrible diseases, in which the IIost -cannot be admninis tered. Tihie patient cannot retain the wafer or he is too far gone to swallow it; it cannot he0. The friends are consulted, and they say, 'We desire, on his behalf, that the Churclh should give him extreme unc tIon,' which- is done, only however in desperate cases. The bed-clothes are turned down; with due decency, the forehead chest, soles of the feet, etc. are 'anolutedl with oil in the name o the Lord,' andl the kiss is given, and the sufferer dies. In this semi-tropic climate, there is none of that keeping of the cold clay In the house as long as poss5ible, and the funeral follows close upon the very heels of death. In ancient days, in Spain, the dead were robed, according to their sex in the garb of monk and num, and tm buried. But now they are burled, according to taste in white, or, more often in theirordinary clothes; a babe woul be laid out in its wvhite baby clothes; a bride, i her wedding-dress. The short while the body lies in state, oftentimes in a room with window open to the atreet. lighted candle burn all around; and the body in its slight coffin Is literally covered with flowers. There is no, or very little crape knowi in Spain, save In the larger cities; i plain black dress is the usual mourning the lady friends of the family knee round the coffin, kiss th6 cold forenead and, turn silently away. The priests, some four or five wouk be the average number, are at the door if the coffin be that of a child, it is ver, slight, not to say flimsy and painted o a light blue, picked oui With, gilt stars costing two dollars m6re or less; if i grown up person, it is of slight or mas sive wood according to the pecuniarl means of the family. The lid Is confitantly left open. ,Every male friend of the -family Ii waiting outside; the laborer has left hi: hoe in the field, the carpenter his work. shop, the tailor his counter all, in fact, who knew the dead man, iollow his ro. mains to their last earthly resting-place the priests going before, in wh ite and black robes, with cap on head, preceded by choristers and macebearer, and light in costly lanterns and singing the mournful strains oF the Spanish funeral anthem. At the cemetery gates the ceremony so far as the Church is concerned, is a an end the priests turn back, the crowd high and low walking side by side, a befits men who walk in the presence of a common foe. The bricklayer, trowel in hand stands ready beside the opened niche, tie coffii is pushed in, brickd up cigarettes are lit, and the crowd wends Its way home. Within three days a prin d paper is sent round by the mournin family to notify their friends on what day anA at what hour they will hold their funeral reception, and a most simple and touch ing ceremony it is. The days of mourning are strictly ob seved; those of a widow should number a year and one month, after which she may 'change her name.' The bereaved family Bit in their re ception room In deep mourning; you pass in, express your sympathy in kind ly words, and pass on to your usual business. ar Each year, as it rolls round in its quiet course and brings the anniversary of the Spaniard's day of griel, is marked by a solemn service in the mortuary chapel of the parish church, and from the dark incense-laden aisles the simple prayers of all who loved their lost one ascend up to God. The Worries of Authorship. There are many dlsappointments in life, and among the saddest* is that of the author hit filf a, arle fa + esn The coinage of the r brains, stamped with genius, has found no currency during the author's generation. "Panu ise Lost" brought John Miltuln only a paltry five pounds-about twenty five dollars of our money. Wordsworth once told Matthew Arn old that for many years "his poetry had never brought him in enough to buy his shoestrings." "Uncle Torn's Cabin," which has a world-wide fame, and has been translat ed into many languages, went begging from publisher to publilsher, before one recognized its great merit. Hawthorne, for twenty years contin ued to be, to use his own words, "the obscurest man of letters in America." "There is not much market for my wares," he said at another time. But he ranks to-day among the American classics. Thoreau was another example. A thousand copies of his "A Week on the Concord and Merrinmac Rivers" were struck off by his publisher. After a year or so, the author received word that his work would not sell, and that seven hundred and six copies were oc cupying cellar-room wanted for other use. Accordingly, they were transport ed from Boston to Concord. The work had gone forth in its naked ness and' now returned In fine clothing of calico and leather, back to the old homestead, as so many poor unfortu nates who have failed In the struggle of life have done. Thoreau gave 'them kindly though sorrowful welcome, Hie laid them on his back and carried them "up two flights of stairs to a p)lace similar to that 'which they traced their origin." With a sort of grim humnor lie said, "I have now a library of nearly nine hun dred volumes, over seven hundred of which I wrote myself." fernry Clays Quotung shakupere. Henry Clay, who left a seat in the Senate for one In the House, but after many years' service at the other end of the Capitol returned to the Senate chamber, exercised a powerful control over the politics t)f the republic. Idol. ized by the Whig party, his wondlerful powers of personal magnetism, anid hits rich, manly voice wvouldredabl's him hold( an auience for hours, lie mnade but little preparation, and( used( burt few notes In speaking; but when he wrote out his remarks for the press, this manuscript was remarkably neat, with. out interlineations or biots. lHe seldom indlulged ini classical allusions, anid his occasional attempts to make quotations of English poetry were generally fail ures. On one occasion, .he used the well-known phrase from Hamlet, "Let the galled jadle wince, our withers are unwrung," but misquoted tihe last syl lable, callfing it '"un-strmung." The gen tlemen who sat on~ either sidle of him noticed the error, and sImltaneously whispered "unwrung." This double p)romp,ting confused "Young Harry of the WVest," who straightened himself and with' stronger emphasis repeated "uinhung."~ This raised a general laugh at the close of which Clay, who haI meanwhile ascertained his mistake shook his head,. and said wAth one o his inimitable smiles; "Alht murder will out! Unwrung's the wod. Thme fas cinationi which he exercised over all with ,whom lhe had personal intercourse-eveni his political adversaries,-was remark able; but he was imperious and dlomi. neering, exacting unconditional and unqualifiled support as the price of his frindship. The Had Boy at Breakfast. 'Yes ' said the boy with a vacal look 'i take no interes In the pleastu of the chase any more, though I di have a little quiet fun this morning f the breakfast table. You see pa is t1i contrarlest man ever was. If I con plain that anything at the table don taste good, pa says it is all right. Thi morning I took the syrup pitcher an emptied out the white syrup and put i some cod-liver oil that ma is taking fc her cough. I put some oil my pancaket and pretended to taste of it and I tol pa the syrup was sour, anj not fit t eat. Pa'wa;s nad- ta scond, 'andI poured out some oil his pancakes an said I was getting too confounded pai ticular. ie said the syrup was goo enough for hin, and he sopped his par cakes in it and fired some down hi neck. ie is a gaul darned hypocrite that's what he is. I could see by hi face that the cod-liver oil was near kill ilig him, but lie said the syrup was al right, and if I didn't eat miio he' break my neck; and by gosh I had t, eat it, and pa lie guessed lie hadn't go much appetite and lie would just drini a cup of coffee and eat a donut. I lik to dide and that I think makes thi disappointment in love harder to beat But I felt sorry for ma. Ma ain't got very strong stuminish, and when shi got some of that cod-liver oil in he mouth site went i) stairs, sickern i horse, and pa had to help her, and 811 had nooralgia all the morniig. I ea pickles to take the taste out of imi, mouth, and then I laid for the hirei girls. They eat too much syrup, anly way, and when they got on to thut col liver oil and swallowedt a lot of it oni of them an Irish girl, she got i) iroii the table amid put her hand on her corsel and said 'howly Mosesll and weiit oi Into the kitchen looking as pale as mi does when she has powder on her face and the other girl, who is Dutch, shu swallowed a pancake and said, 'Milu Gott, vas de matter from mie,' aiid sli went out and leaned on the coal bin Then they talked Irish and Dutch,.and got clubs and started to look for me, and I thought I would come over here. The wIVle family is sick, but it is no from love, like my illness, and they will get over it, while I shall fill an early grave; but not till I have made thai girl and the telegraph messenger wish they were dead. Pa and I are going tc Chicago next week and I'll bet we'll have some fun. i3a says I need ii chatnge of air, and I think he is going t try to lose me. It's a cold (lay when I get left anywhere that I can't find m3 way back. Well, good bye, o hlpota. tOes.' V "mar w17e "II... It was real funny to see him brace Ill as lie turned the corner, button ih thitdbare black coat, adjust his hat shove a pencil over his ear, and try t disguise himself. When he had fixed himself lie passed down the street, en toed a saloon, and walking straight tipl to the bar lie asked: "Is your name Blank ?" "I expect it is,'' was the reply. "John Blank?" "Vhell,er poys (11 call me Shon." "Canl I slipeak to you in private, Mr, Blank?" "You can s>eak right oudt. here. No. pody is aroum It oxcept mny poy, oU'd I doan' hear us.'' "I thought it would be better to sit down at a table and talk over our glasse. of beer." "I guess not. I caln shtanid nnn 1 'nd hear all you say." "Well, Mr. Blank, I have been dep1u1 tized to ask you if you would be a cani didate for Mayor niext year." "Me?" "Yes. You are said to be one4 of the most popular men In Detroit. You are rich, piopiular, liberal, and could lie elect edi by a large majo)rity." Tihe saloonist looked at him for a hong minute and( then asked: "Are you dry?" "Never was no (dry in my life." WVith a per-fectly pllacidI countenanct Mr. Blank filled a "schooner" with water, pilacedl it on the bar, andt looke( the main square ini the eye as lie saidi "I vhas a tousand times obleeged t< der poys, but I can't oxcepIt dot ofile.' "Y ou can't? J.on't you want to hi Mayor of D)etroit?" "No, my friendt. I haf someting: bxetter ash dot. I vhas going to run fo G~overnior next timel Comte in real of ten und (hrink to my successl" A Ricoh Corporation, The Canadian Pacifie Railway Comn panty is one of the richest corporationi in the wrld. It started out wvith grant of 756 miles of road built and ii opierationi; another grant of 25,000,00 .acres of land, said to be worth an aver age of $5 per aucre, and a Governtmen guarantee of the clear gift of $25,000 000, to be paid in Instalments, so muel tupon the comphletiont of each section o twenty miles. Its charter exempts thi roadl, equIpment and( capiltal stock fron taxes forever, and it has free rIght o: way, with all the materials for construc tionl and equ iment free from duty The whole mileage to be0 built by th4 companiy Is lens titan 2400) miles. T1h<t eastern half of it will not cost muor tihan $15,000 a mile, or $18,000,000 IThe western half, in&l1uing passagi through two ranges of mountains,may cost an average of $35,000 a mile, o' $42 00,00;a total p)robable cost 6: $6000000, of which the Governmen1 pays 52,000,000, leaving for the corn pany bftt $35,000,000, which 7 000 004 acres of their l'and grant from W innfgef westward1 will pay. 'They will thiei have left their entire capital stock an< 18,000,000 acres of land for the coin struction of c'onnections and branches and equipment and for the creatIon o: 'of connecting lines of steamiships fron Montreal to Europe at the East, ant from Pe~rt Mfoody with Australia Cinia and San Francisco at the West A company so rich in funds and exempi from all taxes forever, with so har i surplus, ought to become a regulator o: all the other transcontinental railway 0 nd force them into reasonable. and fail ye0atmenQt of the public, FOOD FOR THOUGHT. Show respect for old age. Youth 01 does not always last. Keep up the fire of resolution by fre. I quent replenishing. It Is not necessary to be offensive in order to be decided. t An obstinate man does not hold opin. . ions; they hold him. I Impudence can not be laid to the a charge of good sense. r The love of God imposes on us no im possible conditions. Piety belongs to the wise and is a e 'W,premotor of happime. d LO art of life is to know how to en .. joy a hittle and to endure much. I Time is Immeasurably long to him who knows how to value and use it, Unless you wish to reap the same - kind of harvest, do not sow wild oats. Select a worthy object in life, and bend all your eftorts in that direction. Under all earth runs water, if wye dig deep enough; under all life runs grief. t Labor is the divine law of our exis ( tence; repose is desertion and suicide. 3 By taking revenge a man Is but even s with his enemy; but in passing it over he is suverior. L Riches are given to make life pass ) comfortably: but life is not given only r to mass riches. He that will not look before him will have to look behind him---and probably with some regret. There is fellowship among the virtues by whioa one great, generous passion Istimulates another. It is worth a thousaud pounds a year to have the habit of looking on the bright side of things. The causes which start mcn upon their careers are often somingly the most slight and casual. This life's contradiotions are many. SAlt water gives us fresh fil, and hot words produce coo'ness. E Woh man is a hero and an oraole to somebody, and to that person whatever he says has an enchauced value. If you were to try to recall all the good deeds you have ever done in your life, 1vould half an hour be too long? Take a true view of life; be proud that you have work in the world's busy path, and do it well and honorably. All men if they work not as if in the great Taskmaster's eyes, will work wrong both for themselves and you. The proper function of a Government istomake it easy for people to do good, and diffloult for them to do evil. for whiat Is dule is. thiat he has earned it. If our whole time wis spent in amus. ing ourselves, we should find it more wearisome than the hardest day's work. Good breeding consists in having no particuiar mark of any profession, but a general elegance of manners. Be courageous and noble-minded our own heart, and not other men's opinions of us, forms our true honor. The best government is not that which renders Man the happiest, but that whi-sh renders the greatest number happy. True glory takes root, and even, spreads; all falso pretenses, like flow troi, fall to the ground; nor can any counterfeit last long. A Russian proverb says: "Before go ing to war pray once, bufore going to sea pray twice, bef.>re getting married pray three times." .Kind words produce their own image - in .mon's souls, and a beautiful image it is. They soothe and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his unkind feelings. We have not yet degan to use them in such abundanoce as they ougnt to be used. Lire is made up not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, of which smiles and kindness, and small obliga-+ tions, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart. The conditions of success are these: Firest, work; second, coficentration; third: fitness. Labor Is the genius which cohanges the ugliness of the world into beauty; that changes the greatest curse into a blessing. If the superior being of the universe would look down upon the world to find the most into,resting~ object, .it would be the untinishied, unformed character of young men, or of' young women. Thou oughtest, therefore, to cull to mind the more heavy sufferings of others, that thou mayest the more easily bear thine own very small trou bles. And if they seem unto thee not smnali, beware lest thmne impatience be the cause thereof. As the rays came from the sun, and Syet are not the sun, even so our love and pity, though they are not God but 'merely a poor, weak image and refloc -tion of Him, yet from him alone they come. If there is mercy in our hearti', it comes from the Fountain of mercy. If there is the light of love in us, it is a ray from the full Sun of love. Constrained woranip is corpbreail inanimate, obscure and gloomy. But unconstrained worshiip, when it Is genu ine, is apis Itual, living, lucid and joy ful; spiritual, because there is spirit from the L )rd in it; living, because there is life from the Lord in it; lucid, because there is wisdom from the Lord in it; and Joyiul,,becatuse therelis heaven from the Lord in it. You may know and be able clearly to explain the whereabouts of the ark of the ddybnant, the pot of manna, the tables of stone and the wrecked frag Iments of Pharoah's chatiots. You may be able to speak eloquently and learmid of Abraham, lIaae and Jacob. May be up in the Jewish diepensation, aiid know, to an inch, the lengtn- of the 11igh Pr'iest's robes, May be able to explain creation, and even to draw a Idiagram of the Garden of E len, but knowledge of these never will bring your pupils to Christ. Better evidence thnall this is suipplied0by a knowlet go oChitin your own heart; by honesty of purpose, truthfulness of ogf a p)ure and godly life.