The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, September 07, 1886, Image 1
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EDIT k1.A .i . 1 .1 F"' 5/IO.- . WIN NSOIO 21tMnE ', ESABISE 1848.'''"..
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A low tinl the verge of May,
Thick strewn with drifts of leaves.
Beneath
The deuseSt dtift a t sring sheath
Of shaip ireen, striving toward the day.
1 i{nuedu -So 'dull' Olistruotion sets
A bar to even viole ts,
When tbese would go their nobler Wayl"'
feet again, some days gone, by,
Tihe self.same spaOt sought.icily. There,
Obstruotiohtdie10 t'a4itning air
;0areSSed a blossom woven of sky
Aud A,dv, )vhose tisty petals blue
With'bliss of beibk"thiilledia.throGigh,
,Dilated like a timorous eye.
'Seek sehf reae, my souil Thegood
The blOssoem craved wo ur, tho' hid.
Fiet not that thou ;nust doubt, but rid
Th. sky-path of obati'Action strewed
By winds of folly. Then do thda
The Godward impulse room allow
To reach its pOr?eot air and food.
k'10} s'the'.tsit c noit; it iin fie~
home meadow," said I, pausing to lis
-ten, as the harsh, grating but most
suimmer-like of sounds came clearly
through the warm, still air this June
evening, mingling with the voices of
the children playing in the garden.
MrsIarttBy listened too. and a look
Cathto h4Yeyes' as "thou ;t she saw
Sme other scene than the sunny garden
and fair, green fields beyond, and the
leigthening shadows cast by the elns,
their leaves glancing golden in the set
ting sun.
I was sitting in the old-fashioned par
lor, with its heavy, oak beams across
the ceiling, its dark, polished furniture
and old china bowls full of dried rose
leaves and wide-open latticed windows,
through which floated the scent of
nignonette and pinks, while Mrs. Ilart
leyil?rgI t otit the sweet home-niat\e
cake bli ing neyw niilk int quitt
mug of o1 china.
Aye," said Mrs. IIartley ; " the
corncrake. So it is, Miss Nelly ; so it
is."
Something in phe voice struck me.
"Does it make ' on sad ?" I asked.
"I like to,hear the bird, though it does
make such a strange noise ; it always
reminds me of summer evenings when
the grass is long."
"Yes; that's when it comes. You
never hear it after the grass is cut. It
reniinds me of my young days, Miss
Nelly."
"I mind well hearing the corucrake
that sufhmer when my mother died,
and I thought the sun would never
shine fair on me again, so full o' trou
ble and death was it-many a long year
ago now. Mother had been ill a long
while, and was nigh dying, for hei life
seemed to go as the grass grew, and we
knew she would never bide here till tie
fall of the leaf. Father was, a game
keeper and we livdd in that' cottage by
Northover woods. Me and Tom Mars.
den--he was the blacksmith at North
over-had been courting a long while,
with father's consent, for Tom was
well-to-do, and the forge was his own.
I thought a deal of him, for he was
good to look at, and strong ; never a lad
'> in the village,could come nigh him for
looks or strength. And when I first
knew him he was main -steady and well
K thought of by all. But there was a bad
lot o' follows in Northover-poachers
* and such like-Lmnd, somehowv, Tom got
* in with 'em. Father lie spoke to To'm
aout it. for lie said : "'It'a no good
thinkin' tha can pla' wvi' mud, and keel)
thy own clothes clean ; some on it wll
stick for sure I"
To5i laughed and told father he could
ak caeo isl,an(1 as ,f9r,catch
o' fun 'Nl' g d4rk night,I aid io'halrnVin
it either.'
catch thee at it.. -
So they pyted hI. anger. and father
came,. hiome a yhYg I must thiink no
more o'TonA foy thiat11e couldna Mt his
lass 3ved a-poitcher.
Tihat evening when the dusk was fall
ng I sat by mother's bedside. thinking
.f It all. Father was out in the gvoods
and mother asleep, -so the house was
ery still4 and all the windows open, for
it was this time o' year; And I heard
the C rpritke in the field nigh the cot
tage as plain as now, sometimas quite
nead shddaetth#sfarthei"'away,as it
ran &bMt in- tig logg grass. V resently
It stopped oroaktng, as .tlgough none
thing ha 1tAgtledtit, it! then?there Wd.
alittle rattle by thel & Me like bits o'
iturb mothei and lookedoi ut; and
there stood Toni gManst the fetnce with
agun tyls,shaQ.0
"Ithbught fa have shelu thee at sun.
.ack, ;uid, father Is.gole nto the woods.
Ito's mainangeredewitlh thee, To h."
* Obi aye,"- he says, "it's, about the
birds; but it's naugit'
I slxQkimy tiead.v 1
"Father says he'll not have me wed
thee if thou dost hot nilsid thy Wi 3
and leave gQinn with thom poaching
fellbws \Vllat dost thou want with
them ? Thou never used to heed such
like."
1 'i.i 1 nt gta! tof fr aiut, lass ;
they're none so bad as thy fitlher thuinki
yI f gt l oii o}n l ppvjev'Q) ,
V art thou polg1witlh a;gun ?"
I asked him.
"Nay, lass, thou art getting too curi
ous. May be I'm going shooting flitter
mice," lie says, laughing.
" Thou'ltibreak my, heart, Tom," I
says. "What with mother, nigh to
deathi,ud ath'e h 1 aerd' ith tilee,
and thou going on this gait."
"I'mso~y*h~ bt ~a ibetter,
Euitice," hes ys 1 dthsfo e rest,
there's naught to fret about. I'll come
and see thee to-morrow."
And he went off smiling and waving
his hiuc d s a tyrn d W,'" b "ti
cpe Alpt o orlll e4 i
croak)I .crSak.al oLL oI e~Iw,
and I sat and watched mother with a
heavy heart till the stars came out, and
a young moon lying on her back, which
was an ill sign, for you know the say
ing :
When the moon's like a boat,
bero is tr.o b}Q aflgat.;1r >>
' I lloped it might nof be for lne.
The corndrako had gone and there was
naught to be heard save the rustling o'
tl(ojg ais ,nd! tr . filek ,iti .llad
turned a little chill, so I closed the lat
tice and lay me down by mother a
while. I had leel} asleep ppme time,
for the moon was low in the sky and
the dawn breaking when I awoke with
hearing a trampling o' feet co in doWn
the land. I listi&i, aiid 'th ritniifng?
camr, nearer and sounded heavy-like, as
if they were carrying something. It
stopied at the gate, and then I heard
the click o' the 'latch. 1 Mbtlier's room
was at the back, -o it was no use look
ing out,o1, tIle lattice. I; was creep}ng
softly dovn stairs *hien imothier ' ,Wbke
and asked if father had come im.
" I think he's coming now mother,"
I said. " I'll fetch thee a ot,p o' tea,' and
I went dowh aid opened the door, and
there stood one o' the keepers, Williai'
Balshaw, as married my cousin Anne.
"Where's father ?" I said,'tryin to
look past -him.
" See now, Eunice," he says, ' thou
mul;.l ep e, brave heart, lass. How 'is
thy mother,?",
" She's ito better, and asking for fath
er."
"Well, thou munl put her eff. I've
ill news for thee, poor lass ; thy mother
must know naught of it. There's been
a bit o' fight witiithleninoithern chaps,
an'-an' we've browt thy father home."
My heart seemed to.turll Vo a stone.
Is father killea R"4 f asked, ' Thou
may as well tell me, William,"
"Aye, that . is so; I'm ,nain sorry,
for thee, Eunice. - -I'll'tell 'eni to bring
him in and lay him on the settle here;
and I'll send Anne round to thee."
With ethat they'carried father in and
laid him on the. settle., J was. very.
peaceful-like to look at. William said
lie had been shot in thme chmest, and sdjqd
quite quiet and easy. But all the wVhil9
I seemed to know there was moiN to
hear-aye, and worse, for when I was
stoodPing oVer fat)mcr, one of''the men
said something tot Wilhan thni't'I did'it
rightly catch, and Wfillimsays back to
him,,speakig lowv, " Nay, thmere's 2 no'
call t~o say more just now, poor lass ;
wvent away, and I took mother her tea,
feellp~ aIlda'azed hike. .5 * e
"W here's ih4 faidhr, Eunice ?' suie
says.
And I answered her :
"lie's., com ingup - presently, moth-e
or ;" and then she fell asleep again, be
ing weak.
So the day wore.op, and ColmMn Anne
came, and $quhe~ I,awhon 'and some
ether gentlemen ; but Ididn't see themi,
for William were rohnd again, ardd he
tolq them all'aljonft'fathe W,fengthef
were g6ute ,I lett'Anne sitting with
mother and wont down to William and
asked him how it eamne about that fath
erwas shot. -
" There was a hit o' a fight wIth th'
poachers, lass, an' one Q'tthemr had a
" Was there only one gumn, William ?"
bays.
"Only .one, lass; I dunnot think thy
father was shot o' purpose. 'It wefe all
mn the thuik d' tile "beher. Me ;Were
fightina' 4'Ith ash sticks, an' thAy father,
were in the mtdest,"whoi~ the ohj witli'
th' un 106Iy'V 4 atP6 the ehet hit -thy
there Thlat's 1ow'itMei'odofheg.
" And whore visihe thathdfdy',- Ii
ys, Iookfil' ut o' the window.
"die's*y hq. IXp Jidl9g pome
where. There's no call for thee to fret
about that. Most like he'll get away to
furrin parts. I see thou guesses who It
is,,guoice. It' +nE inl hai;d gof ti)Oe,$
he says, taking my hand, meaning kind
ly, for he was a good man, was Wil
liam. But I pulle& my hand away and
ran out into the fields. It was getting
on for sundown then, and as I leant
against the fence, feeling sick and gid
dy-like tle egrilcrak? began pppk ng
in thelong il'Ass t "hnd done over
night. Anld I 'thought oA y.estneve,
when Tom stood there with his gun,
and IL t'ried'to A'ttu hin' 1aWay "from
thosp who lecilitn astray.. It had all
oitd iiyi ;ffitl eri- c'a d-d 111oh
er q dyiyg, ,ayd ;''Qm bun I;wpuld
not. think of Tom. Then Anne came
out.td Aie saying mother was asking for
me. So I went in, and .mother lookec
at me and said:
" Tl1y at u .gpd.lassl . L think thy
father is dead-I dreamt it just now
and thou art"liidinglit. iTie io inhtter;
I shall know soon.. The Lord bless you,
Eunice e r
A nd after that she wentr into a sortto'
faint, and died. So father and mother
were' both' butled tlhe' sa'ne day; Aimd it
was settled that I should go and live
with my Aunt Deborah, some six miles
away ; William wts to drive me over
that same evening. Well, at sundown,
all the things being packed, 'and noth
ing left to do, I went through the fields
to the side o' the lirodk, where. I had
used tQ meet Tom, and there I sat on a
fallen tree, thinking of all the trouble,
and how all my life seemed dead and
buried vith father and mother. Close
by me was a thick clump o' palm, wil
gl r h aili 'i l?- i 1
al
I'd sat thinkipg a while, . hearl a rust
ling, an' a voice saying, " Eunice,
lass 1" I knew, the ,Voice right- weli
though it gave me a start at the mo
ment -
"Is it thou,, Tom ?," asked.
Ayo,;' he says, parting the leaves
and looking through.i "I Pve been lying
here all day to get a glimpse o' thee.
I thought maybe thou wouldst come
down here afgre thou went off uJg
there's iuch thdt I've got L& siy to
thee."
"It may be much or little," 1 an
swered -hini, "but I desire to have
naught from. thee, .l om. Dost thou
know father is dead'?"
" Aye,' Eunice ; but that was ill-luck.
I never meant to hurt thy father. It
were 'all dohe in' th' hurry. 'I didn't
notice as lie were among the keepers.
That's why I mun rui the country. I
might stand to be took up if there were
naught against me but thi' birds, but
this o' thy father is a hanging matter,
'so 'I mun run the country. I'm going
on board ship to-morioiv, "and 'I've
brougl;t tl 9e 0onow to pty ithy, p4sage
out to me, lass, and we'll be wed when
thou lands." . ,'
" Tom," I says, It's not for we two
to wed now thou hast killed Mther'" I
wonder how thou canst think o' such
a thing. Maybe trouble has made thee
dazed-like."
" I did'nt go for to kill thy father_i',
he says, angrily.
" That don't make nodifference," I
says ; " it wvas- thy vrong doing that
caused thee to be going with poachers,
and With a guhi in thy hand. Thou
wat warned, an' thou paid no heed. I
can never wed thee, Tonm. I tol thee
,thou,'break mny heart, and niow thto'st
done.it l'' ii :
And I burst out crying, for it 'was ill
moreo than I could bear. Tom camne outi
of the thicket, and began saying . omeu
isthing ; ilt I didn'i; leed what it was,.
beingspen)gsprghe, awhien suddenly Wil
liam camne upl beside me, aiid puit lisa
hand on ~Tom's shoulder.
" I'll not let on*as 'Tve seen thee,
lad," lie said ; " but thou mun make
'thysen scarce. Eurgice is 'iht ; there
can be no weddi'nd b491vI you. Thou
mun go; and right sharp, too 1"
Tom stood ~ilent-for a , m9it, andi
thotYih l ~ at thou says.'
." Aye," I said, " I do mean it, Tom.
It's good gi a ,g . ys(t~
" Good-bye," lie says again, and turn
ed on by the copse: and that was the
las ev r h epr or wo Womn pars.
I was full o' sorrowv for many a long
day after tha, arnd tmght nothing
wpuld seem fieki tdd p aant to me
again. .But At last I began to see I
8hould never have been a happy woman
with Tom. Everything Is for the best,
Mfiss Nelly, though we can't see it at
the ti tea So when, ittM1e end 'of .tWo
yeaks, Jdlin Hartley sikdd me to miar'y
hi, ~Mi es, sad I Ae,e, 9
cragelt1 brings back to me thosa okdt
days.
Mrs. Hartley ceased, and we e1ie
lent a1 tl a e. h ~? t4e W t-e
s& moreo; the ev iihiopr4nroses
were:peni n their yellow eids, the
coruO1 b4a4 gott, and th' children's
voices souidet nearer and clearer. Mrs.
Hart ey miled piliily.
;'often thi ; 'she said; "of the
old eryhig ' Many a cloudy dawn
brin9 iii a bright day.'
T e Last orf tho Buffalo.
Ma of the exchanges have ecently
piblil thed artioles concerniig blthe do
m~estoti'4 ;thy b iffiro, oi o4ossig
W6W4t ou-,.ttle - and, using them .for
beef. y" Indeedi..*e are 'not certaiin but
article f, the, 3id obave found their
way if 'the cdltih is,o eilppings'ih the
Stock: " toeAVournal, but. we suppose
no}pY i . 1evQitt hoiiglt skkisly
albi'' liime:dh thoeffir'b lade;
there is no source from which to draw
our st)pply of buffalo from which to
breed, and in the next place it is not
know, that the breeds will mix. The
day of the buffalo is gong.' His bone
bleaol.on the plains from the 11o
Gran to the Saskatchawan, and after
allow g. ,an4[.. indulging in the Indis
crimi t SlAughter until the species Is
so no 'etinct, it is too late to try to
make it of him. Where once count
less nii ons of the noblest wikt animals
that "ber trod the earth roamed at will,
furnishing food for Indians and 'aven
ous' beats,, now not one single lalrge
herd ban be fotind. Like the Indian,
the battalo will not flourish when do
mestic\ted. The boundless plains wore
liigje, but the pale face with insati,
ate d and improved firearms invad
ed e alms of the buffalo and wan
to, ept from existence the magnill
cept nal. We can not now recall
Lnd the frontier are no more.
fi t 4pper, the fiat-boatman and
sc lias' been swept from earth by
g civilization, and the horse of
t F , ac" browses 'where. once he
w 4 . to roam and the flesh of the
10 t 1u'a cow is issued from the
the noble red men in lieti of
l hunip which the red main a
f (ago. might go out -and get
f.dlThe well-greas&d tent
lot lder's old pants and dis
1d? shield the dirty hiido
of the In an froni blasts which former
ly had the buffalo robe to contend with.
There are a few scattering'herds of
buffalo now dn the plains, but there is
not known to be a single large herd in
existence, and when even a dozen ani
mals are heard of, more thai twice that
number of soldiers, hunters, adventur
ers and Indians are at once on their
trail, and they are slaughtered as wan
tonly as a few years ago.
The buffalo is gone, and whoso ex
pects -to see buffalo meat quoted in the
market is not wise ; .and he who wears
a buffalo, coat henceforth will p y lnany
shekels for the same.
In Marrying a Poor a-k.
An advantage over a poor girl that
the rich ones has In marrying a poor
man is that 'a woman of the world, who
has seen much of society, rarely suffers
rdi timat 'morbid self-consciousness
which is the most frequent form of
snobbishnegstIj be, found among small
gentiefblics, and 'wic'h makes them
eve): brdneto tike offence an'd to thik
thiat ev&ery1 little actioni of their neigh
bors is the result of deliberate inten
tion. Half the "slights" and "insults"t
of which such people complain are
qumte unintentional, and are caused by
that forgetfulness which is the natural
outcome of the hurried existence of
those busy bees of fashion or of hard
syork, wvho are the m'ost usual offen
ders.
The adaptability of wvomen Is truly
wonderful, and the poor man's wife
will, if she has even moderate Intelli
gence,; in a short time emerge from the
anxious, over-careful period of her early
married life;e and, shaving discovered
the scale at whIch her new Income wi41
permit her t'o live, she will find thiit her
~previous knowledge of .how things
oughit to be done will enable her to bo-'
come that most excellent type of a
honsewife, one who can cornbine ele
gance with economy.
We do not mean to assert 'that every
4rlch girl Is fitted 'to be a poor ,nyan's
w~ife, or that every poor girl is .u4sulta
ble. In every hposition there amrekomeji
untlikely to be good, wives to anlybody,
and others who could hardly fall to-do
their dtity In anty stste of lifet WhNich
they may ,be , called. But, talking gIr)k
of average goodness and intelligence, It
wi11 be found, that the rich ones .#ro
~more eten llappy and .contented in
small houses than tilo e who.have ngyom
Hlave frienda o6rle.
N iott is so Lrna ,entl tes;
nothitm* ehtle~ rat LOmi,
* te that 18 born but once deti $moee
He theyboyn tor190ahal heye i
Freobooters of the Spanish Main.
The kingdom of Ferdinand and Isa
bella approached Its zenith in the six
teonth century. Wealth flowed in i
golden streani from the New World t<
fill the coffers of their successors upon
the throne of Arragon and Castile, the
powerful Charles and haughty Philip
The ancient thrdne of the Montezumaa
was overturned in blood and the king
dom of the Incas plundered of its
hoarded treasure. The South Sea was
'crossed, tho ihilipphie Islands \vet
'ulidued, tti1d Spain gained a foothok
ii the'.Indies, whose long sought treas
,res of porcelain, silk and.- spices were
conveyed to Europa, to aildq1hQi4iji
' the oWie ndiogitifiicdhee of 'ih
Castilihin tfoiie. No lag but that bf
Spain waved over Pacifjc wa ter.,
Spanish galleois lo,tded with rich car
goes from the Indies, reached the' \vest
ern coast of Cental America, where the
precious freight was landed and trans.
ported across to ships' waiting on the
other side to convey it to the mothei
country. In vain England, eagdr to
haie this rich harvest with her rival,
sought for some entrance into the South
Sea other than the dangerous one by the
Straits of Magellan. To use this In
volved a voyage too long and too full of
dangers to render it practicable for the
purposes of commerce in those days.
Engil( and Spain were frequently at
war, and the discovery of a means by
which English ships of war could easily
enter the Pacific and prey upon the
commerce of Spain Was as much desired
by the one nation as it was feared by
the other.
' Even were this passage not discov
ered, exemption from interference with
her Pacific commerce Spain could not
hope, to enjoy forever. The monarch of
tnat powerful nation was the person
ilication of arrogance. Over all lands
even technically discovered by its sub
jects he claimed dominion and the ex.
clusivo right of trade, even if no settle
ment of any kind had been attempted,
Foreigners of all nations were prohibi
ted, under pain of death, from having
any intercourse whatever with' such
territories, or navigiting the adjancet
waters. The result of such presniiiption
was most disastrous to Spain, English)
Dutch and French. "free-trcaders'''iuade
sad havoc, with the Spanish shippJing on
the Atlantic Coast of America ; and
though those ravages were continued in
times of peace, they were winked at by
the rival sovereigns, who often directly,
and always indirectly, received tho
share of the booty, and one of these
robbers, Captain Francis Drake, was
knighted by his queen for being' the
most daring and successful of them all.
And why not? Many a peer of England
has been created for less services to llhi
euntry than were rendered by, Sir Fran.
cis Dralgc in leading the assault upola
the great avenue of wealth through
which came the means of putting afloal
that, wonderful Spanish Armada, froi1
whose power England was saved only
by the valor -of her seamen and th<
winds of Heaven.
These roving marauders made greal
exertions to discover a northern route
into t-he Pacinic, urged on by -reports ol
the wonderful richness of the East In.
dian commerce of Spain. Unsuccessful
in tis, they finally Invaded the South
Sea by the passage of Magellan's tem
pestuous straits. Tile p)ioneer of thes<
wvas Drake. In 1578 hie thus passet
into tile South Sea, and spread terror and
devastaton~ along the coast. Hie cap
tured the East Indian Galleon, levied
contributions on the Spanish ports, and
flially with his only remaining vesse
freighlted with plunder, siled inorti
with the purpose of reaching tile Atlan
tic through the Straits of Aian. .Ii
thuis lie was thwarted, and to avoid tile
Spanish fleet awaiting him at the Straits
of Magellan, he returned to England by
way of tile Cape of Good Hope). Othem
English free-booters, encouraged by the
da~zling success of Drake, followed hil
example, and for years Spain's corn
merce in the Pacinic suffered many ray
ages at their hlands. Especially did th<
Dutch thus plunder their Spanishl ene.
mies at tile time whuen the Netherrlandh
were struggling.to throw off the oppres
sivoyoke of the Duke of Alva. They dis
covered the open sea around Cape Horn,
and swvarmed into tile Pacinec. TPhei;
rendezvous Avas the Bay of Pichilingue,
in the Gulf of California, from whicli
the'#paniards were, unable to dliodo'
them. From this fact they were called
"Piohilbagied" 'a name wieli spreac
terror along thba Spanish Main for &
The 17etalhteriud'gNt, 9e'dinmg te
the recent experiments of Dr. Poe
Erankland, is spongy iron. l~wee
don rak et and eh'atdoai, tog
excelent atfirst, soon becomes wok
than useless.
Th~ie Mount Vernon assoolation 1t
going to restore the old tomb of Washr
b M4 Masonic temple for the lodges oi
~tl'r city is to be built in Newport, :R
12 iat ensLtof$5,000.
DEATH BY DROWNIN(.
What Happens When Persons Sin1k
In tho Wator.
In all flights of imagination the
water, :whether of classical niyth or
popular folk lore, is regularly recurrent.
In one form or another, as the obstruct
iug barrier or the gracious medium, the
magic fluid that makes or- mars en
chantment, the flood from which sur
passing treasures are retrieved, or in
which life is.fipally lost, ve find this ele
ment conspicuous ; and it would, in.
deed' be curiotsly o iff tiiig cOm - '.
ation that shOuldlb i1i tOi'e i tjl ' io
t i ia;ic'ohimielais Mtr l"ty
trl ouutains, rivers, mores, tariis and
lakes that have been. eventful in legend
and fable. It would be found' that in
pparly all, of, them, where. the closing
tragedy of life has its scene laid in the
subaqueous abode. of- the water folk,
there is tihe teontlency on the part of the
narrator to make dt ath by drowning an
easy and painless escape from existence.
-Enamored water fairies come and claim
the strong swinnier or carry off the
bathing girl as"a-playmate. The dark
blue water from the glacieri runh icy
cold and very deep. The'doomed youth,
however, plunges in, and all of a sui
den the water-drops around his head
glitter by as if lit with blue: flames and
tinkle by like the chiming of bells, and
the Ice Maiden rises from the ground
and kisses the swimmer's fd6t, where
upon ia cold, deathly chill strikes through
him as lie sinks ; and theo all is still.
"IHappy was he thus to pass frow life
to life,", says Hans Anderson. 1 do
those who have been rescued from death
by drowning, even when life had seem
.ed extinct, speak of their last moments
of earthly consciousness with horror.
They remember the struggle, followed
by a brief bewilderment of sounds and
a still more brief flash of thoughts ; but
after this a gracious forgetfulness over
came them and they seemed to sink into
sleep. Men and women have this d
scendled into the abyss of death, and
looked into its secrets, "as far perhaps
as ever human eyes can have looked and
been pormitted to return." At a cer
tain stage of the descent the vision is
struck as by some phosphoric radiance,
and the water breaks up into glittering
points, and' 'simultaneously, so sono
have'left on solemn record, "a nmighty
theater engenders within the brain."
In a moment, in the twinkling of an
eye, every act, every design' of the past,
lives again, and a light falls upon the
whole path of life backward into the
shades of infancy. The very instanta
neity of the process, however, presenting
everything, not in succession, but as co
existent, deprives the sudden retrospect
of its terrors and unconsciousness, they
pretend, comes with a. a 1sense of relhef
and even physical pleasure. Tile un
fortunates, the weak ones, or the most
sorely tried, whose names stand on the
deathroll of our London rivers, have
not probably any definite prdforence be=
fore them when they seek from the cold,
dark water the solace-which earth- will
not offer. They see in the rolling: tide
merely a form of suicide which is free
frorm many .f the shlockinig incidents of
other modes of self destruction, anId one
that needs 110 money to coinpass~ it .1nor
prep)aration beforehand to isure3 14L
ciutainty, anmd thlen all is over so soon,
too. No wond(er, thlen, thlat whlen. th~e
fascination of suicide takes 110ld of tile
wretched they should turni to tile (lark
river as to a friend;. and little wond6r
in tis terrible city of ours that tihe tale
of tile dead should be aninually so great.
81IhonettoN.
Until Dagierre made bis discovery,
tihe wealthy had thieir miniaties pain
ted 011 ivofy, . but tihe cheaper pdrtrai.
ture invented by Silhouette w~as verny
commroll. Profile Outters, as thely Were
called, were found in all cities and
large towns, while others WenIt about
the country from house to thouse, 's
that it .was very rare to find a sittings'
room in a decent house- that did *ot
boast of a framed silhottette, oie look.
inng to the right and tile other to the
left, There were different ways of are
riving at the same~ restilt, brit the work
was oblefly dene,ky outing thle profile.
opat of ,white paper, which wasa 1oked;
by a piece gf bhze9k pilk or blacjcpaper,
neat.y nmounted. T0ojnsure success,$A
was necessary to have a steady ba
and a correct eye;: with ,t}iese qullties1
onie could ct(a 1,keggsslz a fe4vQeo
onds..Ther were aiso sev?rneo'haq
inia bt ile leotfi t
rIt dizi is WPie tkfieMfri
It up by~ andpiliutiggaintiteus'&