Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

The Twq .ysteies. We know not what it is, dear, this sleep Sdeep and still The fQfIo4 hands, the hwful calm, 11 chee so pale and chill, The lids that wil.l not lift again, though n .hay call and call, The strange white solitude of peace thi settles over all. We know not what it moans, dear, this d sola1e heart-pain, The dread to take our daily way and wal in it again. We know not to what sphere te loved wl leave us go, Nor why we're left to wonder still, n, wh we qo not know, But this we know; our loved and lost, they should coi o this day, Should come and ask us, What is Lil not one of us could say. Life is a mysteryy as deep as deati can ov 'be; Yet, oh, how sweet it is to us, this life 1Lvaand seel .hpa migh ,they say, those vanished-onc and # essed Is the tpought, So deathiis sweet to us, belovedi though v e m no tel1'it to the q$ ok,thls y y of death; - 40 qn ibiow6udf . The child who enters life coines not, wi knowledge or intent, So those who enter death nust go as litt children sent; Nothing is known, but I believe that G is overhead; And as life is to the living so death'is the dead. A CH1OIR-SINGER, There are two sides to dvery tiestlo - as the best of reasoh demonstrates; b Marie Pirot, try as she might, cou find only one side to the questton of h engagement to .ydney - Worth, i that, unfortunately for the lover, wi the negative. ydney, on his part, bei i a ma iwas logical enough to tako-- in All .tl .:bearivgs. of ..the cage, and yet- hero t nough.to -await Mitiies' decision vil a courage worthy of a cause more eu lime than the yea,or, nay of a brow eyel girl. In this trembilng balanci ito,%rever, Was hung his hope of v earthly.hapliness, while.he smoksd"h cigar and talked. and walked abdut world 'as usual. - , '; ake a week, only a. week;" facali - cisideration," he had begged her, ai then proceeded t.o enhance her caln ni's by daily letters of Urgent pleadin 11 is eagerness harassed and worrit Al.rio into a state almost of resen u,w"fit, and took from* her nAuch of tl resi:onsibility of her final adtion. gave herjsomething,to fight against, at ern)ed her, with' necessary fl;nnes Wte>"eas, , .he had thrown himsc comi pletely and helplessly on her mere; she would Dlave found it doubly hard I wring his heart by her decided refusi but she would have wrung it, all tl sam 1;e. When hei' letter came at last,- poi "sydney kissed the dagger before he r ceived its stab-that is, he kissed hi handl writing, and then very likely few moments later dropped a tear two in the same'spot. But the lettti was folded and put away, as such le ters and such poor and brokeo hopi are being folded and put away all ov( the world to-day and every day, an Sydne.y wvent about lyis business aistoi ished and miserabib 'at the heav weight of his disappointment. But ,the days and, yea is went oi ISydney sat at hils desk and made mone' and Mario sng in her church and gat music ldsions, losing her youthift beauty somewhat, but gaining alwa.i in grace and attractiveness. She an 5. d ey met occasionally as friends, an his pyes still told the same old stor -.hat was now forbidden of all eth( *t-x pression. A s for Miss Piroti sheb mi 1.he usual experience that falls to tt lot of talentedl and1 gracIous 'womn She had hosts of male friends, quite a array of admirers, and al)ya ys oy,ec two ardent lovers ivho we ie much I the same case- as 28yqney hlmself,-ic it~ would seem even to the most intei estedl observer that MISs Pirot's bein inusical and harmonious as iL was, ha never yet responded to the nigstei acl'ord of all-the chord of love! But at last, when the keynote c Mlarie's dlestiny was struck, and it flood1 of melody caine pouriug into lie life like an overwhlelmng titie, neithie thealth oti one side of her, por,th;e bas on the othier, 'nor byen theo organist Lucy Crumm, who wvas her bosor: friend, guessed that anything unusui had happened. . It$came about in tihis very dommon *jlae wvay. Old Blrande, the regula l enor, was absent, for the first time I seveui years, for the Tuesday night ri hearsal. The choir had assembled, an< stood about, waiting and wvonderini aba conforring on Mr, Brande's posi tionu apart from all .other tenors a recordi by the genuine surprise at hl delinque::cy, when there camne sudden] uip the choir staircase a tall and slir young man, very fair, with )lenty < Ilowinig blonde hair that hung in st dent1, fashion on his broad white colla1 lie sp)oke with a foreIgli accent, in hi21h musical voice, addressing Mu Pirot, who happened to be nearest ' him,, as lie approached the organ. " Mr. Brandt lias sent me to shng hec is -too, much ill for this nIght, an asi for' Sunday, he~ thinks. But if is pleasing, I sing his part for it11." - Miss Parot only hlowed and smiled but (did not speak. There was goo reason for her-sileonce. .She had falle: 1n love with this young reat, of whios existence sh4 had been aware thre secondcsl It is not to be wvoldered a t,bai., in the -confusion of her sense slhe had. for the moment, mislaid hi voice. *'S'o very glad," said' Lucy CJrumn all animation, and reassured on tI1 score of the au,rtette;. "buti so vor sorry to hear .4' B3rande Is ill. Noti mug ,sorhous, 1, hope? We were jul wvondierinig how wo should manag' You read, I suppfose? Mr. Alken, i you, please hand-thanks. Wo i tended to rehearse the quartette. A along here Is Mr. Birandle's part-ti tenor's; the bass com$.s ini next beloy b,u, of cQourse, you unde(tn? "'Oh, y'es'-ycs." ~ tn? Hewas already humming throng the bars of the musIc she had place in his hand, lke one sure of Ibs grount "Miss Pirotl" Miss rirot a rted ,ylsi . the], 3O walked over quily o a la w tr. a heightened co 1I 8 ever efore nee - A .e Nodine e Nodeappea 'i rassment, for al1 eyes gg 'gl t on the open book, and Miss Crumm's strong fingers were pressing the keys. * * * - .* "Of course I shall be glad when dear i oldB htd is wel enodgh to cofpe bad gait,u I A awfutiy hath o + lo6 eWhat's-liIs-name?" .Miss Crumm r was observing, leaning on Miss.1'irot's arm, as they came down the choir steps one lovely sunday morning, hay if Ing sung themselves into heaven fo" a while on Itaydp's exquisite 'strains. 4"Wayzel-Wetz61?' how 'do you pro Dr nounce it? His first name is Gustave --isn't It pretty? and such a voicel e Dear me, I grudge to let hint goi Don't you?" "Yes.". ' ' ",Do you know, t?think he hat rather e a strgggle to get along. Musioians .Jually huve; but, thgn, being a single ; '.ap, he ought.to be abl ,to manage.?' . Arqyou he ia ,q p ' b ss PiroQ$ , in ani airy o " "Oh, ye. e coAt l,4'did h not ask him point blank, but I said to him, jokingly, that if he intended to to advance in music, it was lucky he had no wife to. old.i4im bach; and hsaid 'Yes, it Qvs luo!#y.' Oh,lie %st be t single; bit then, l'1 is very ou:. He is only 24." j - - Marie sighed, AEt said nothing." Sh was 28, with a heart that had just learned to throb liRe the heart of 18. The ,scale: f - rI tiA we are told, is ten turned y, feither, and this pro Lit position was very forcit'ly demonstrated d for Mario Pirot, one windy autumn r evening, not long afterwards, as the ti little 'choir-group cime into the street together. She was walking with Lucy is Crummw, as usual, and behind them, arm-in-arm, caine the bass and' tenor a (Mi,s Roberts, the alto, had'said good night and gone off in the opposite t direction with her little brother); Miss Piro, was listening with her ears to the voice beside her, and with her soul to the voice behind her, when suddenly 11 away on the wings' of the wind went her ong brown feather, wrenched from its -aste'iings on her jaunty hat; away away, careering and whtrling out of H ': like a living creature that had id fu all at once the freedom of its win_s. Marie uttered a little half laughing; cry, and started og the chase, but the tenor darted by her like a flash, and soon distanced her, as the feather distanced him. Marie did not t slacken her pace, however, and as a ;esult, 1vhei the ,eathigr was at,last captured, they found themselves f'ace to face, 1 ugh)ng breathless, under a 'street-lump, and- more than a block o ahead of Mr. Aiken and Miss Crumm. . What tnore natural than that they should walk on together,, slowly, or that Mr. Wetzel, seeing her out of breath from his late exercise, should offer her his arm?. There suemed ' no i valid reason why they should dissolve this ple.isant companionship when the other two caught up with them; and from this time,instead of putting the ladies in the street car at Twenty third street, Mr. Aiken walked with Miss Crumm to her home in Twenty tiftil. street, and Mr. Wetzel walked all the way across town with Maria Pirot. Mai it wvas a* wretch~ed night; the* rain ,fell in torrents, a cilly wind was blow e ng, the streets were wet and dismal, 1 and Marie Pirot was walking unider ani aumbi'ella with Guistave Wetzel and [cl1nding fondly to his arm. The rain was' bii:ding her somewhat, but her~ tears were blinding her still more rfurtive, bitter tears, duch as womnIO ioften weep, unknown to all the world. eThe crowded street cars p'assed them every mihute or two, brit Mari had irefused to ride, 'lhis was the last time rthey wguld ever walk together-the L)at of may, thiny times. She could n ot aird to shorten these few sad amoments of partinig and farewell. HIe i hiad come to the' choir that evening ~i only to tell them that lhe had been sud -i'-leijly called back to Germany and must sal. thde iornin.; but lhe had. staid' f and sanig .over with Marie some Qf tihe s old d uets, and non~ they were, walking r home together, slowly, througfi all the - storm, by the way they had learn d to sknow so.well. . ' 'i M t Crat feW' dv6rds were stee be itween them. -Marie felt only the un Ireasoning love, the delight of contact, the bliss of this dual solitude, encircled by rain and storm . and darkness. To her it mattered hittise what they said or iwhere they went, so that they were to gether; and to-morrow was pushed as 1far from her horizon as if it were ,twenty years away.. But all the truth -cainie back on her, like a shock when IGustave's voice said: S "I must thank you. 'diss Pirot. for Ythe kindness you haye given, to me always-to me, a stranger; I shall often fthink of your lovely voIce when I amn far away." "We have indeed had pleasanit timeis," she answered, bravely and Sclearly,'after a moment's p)ause. "But why need you go if you have been happy-here? Ah, you--you have not Smany regrets. You are glad, I thibk?" - "Indeed' I am glad," andl glad -lia ~face looked-excited aind ehgei. "It Is a grand opp)ortAlnity titat now offers. You can undherstand, if one has beeni planning long, and wvaiting, that one 1knight be glad t'o see felfillment near." e~Yes," said Maile. Thitt one word only, an~d in her voice was the huski Sness'that comes with tears. "Ah, well I see my way now, clear," rhe continued, gayly and brightly. All unconscious of the mute tragedy that I,went on beside him, lhe poured out the 3 story of his disappointments in the ypast--of .hiis plans ,and visions for the - future.. Marie listette silently. It' IL seemed- eacl\ moment' th At the tide of -. her 'aniotimn'must -bhra all bofils an'd Ii carry *ih~ j'he iliieo Ieve of .her -natui'e, its woniiany dighity 'and pride. She called up all.-her st-rengthi at last, ein a desperate effort.- - . "I must leave you here," she siaid stopping suddenly at a corner. " have some business to do-I will say Igood night and goon-bye. I hope you d may have a pieasant journey." - "But surely not! I cannot1l0ave you in this storm. Let me escort you where you "Ish to. gorso daik, and Ouch a ~rai4. ,.h9 tY:.ed age IA: spolq. "thank S a hy r ?u Uti1A*prefer to strangely at him, "I shall have to do without your escort altogether after this. You have been mare kind--" She broke off suddenly, and busied herself with the fcistening of her cloak; then held out'her -land. "lood-bye' she said,'abruptly. "Good-bye, Miss Pirot, if it must be so-,it you wish it." "Oh, yes. Parting, I think, should never be prolonged. I hope you will have a good voyage'. J hope you will be always happy. Good-bye, Gus'. tave." But Marie had wrenched shbr hand from his'and. was gone,.a dark, hurry ing shape, down the lighted, rain swept street. "Marie'. . Sydney Wo th had. come out of the opera t ter d seoded act, and having 'buttoned. his Iob rubber coat to the chin, 'was sthiddig up Fourteenth street in an element defyiiig humor, when this word burst from his lips, in a tone of amazement. Marie Pirot had just passed him on the crossing at Fou th avenue; 0 sudden backward tilt of ,ler umbrella had sho n him her face plainly, pale 4ind straige, with that absorbed, unseeing look that mental suffering gives. Her swift stop fal tered an instant at the sound of his voice, and itt that instant he was by,her side. "I knew I could not be mistaxen," he said,*bref,thlessly; "but you of all people. and at this hour! What in the world brings you into this region?" He is holding her hand in his warm, friendly clasp,. and looking down searchingly at her half-averted face. "Oh I was 'walkink away from the furies," she said, trying to speak -lightly; "put they have come with me. I think I really did not know where I was going. I only wanted to walk. Did you ever have that feeling. Syd ney, that you were too unhappy to bb quiet?" "She asks me if I have ever had that feeling. Ah, Marie, there are few fceling8, born of unhappiness, that 'I have not had, You ought to know that, my dear." "But - but . they pass away some time, don't they?" she asked wistfully. "People can't go on suffering-some change, some relief, must come." "I don't know, lie answered, with a long sigh. . 'Perhaps. I have not found it yet." "Oh, Sydney," she said, passionate. ly, with a wild burst of tears. "bydney, Sydpeyls' She laid her cheek on his phoulder, sobbing like a clhild. H had takdn the umbrella; froba her, hand, 'and held its shelter b0tween them and paasers-by. Sydney's know: edge of suffering had made him very tender toward the pain of others. He allowed his cpmpanion to' weep unques tioned, patting g9ntly froni,time to time the little quivering fingers that clutched hia arm. " "How good you are!" she stam mered, whisperingly, at length. "Oh. Sydney, how could you forgive me how dnl you ever look at me again, if I have made you puffer-like this? 'I never knew-it could be so terrible!* I did iiot dream of what you .felt when we parted; you were so noble and so good. You -never made me undcerstand hiow cruel- Oh, and you bord .it ail? I can pity you now?" "Yes. deair," lie said, tenderly. "I am glad to hear you say that. I. am glad you have, at last, some pity to give me." "Oh, but you do not need any more. Surely you canniot still care as you. used to-" ''Oh, hush!I'? .Sydney interrupted, very gently, "Hush, my dear! hush. Marie! You have never understood my love if you thik it could change or pass away in a fewv months or years." ''And do you. love ne this uxminute, now-as you did then?" "Always--alwaysi" "But if I should tell y'ou that I hall thrown my,heart away, unasked, un sought-oh, so hopelessly, so vainly, and if 1. should say to 3 ou, 'Will you1 take my promise to i'e your wife -ah, not Boon, but some time, when I amn a better and happier womau?' - if I should ask you to accept the poor ser vice of my life and let me try to love you-would that atone a little for the pain and trouble of: thie past?" "Oh, Marie, you do not mean it?" HIis grasp tightened on her fingers. "Do you think what you are saying?" ,'Yes, yes, yesi-if 'y.u ill t;ike my poor half-brokeni heart-butI not yet!'" she checked heiself,. piteously. "I could not love you yet-bye-and-bye it all gnay come right. And, mreanwhilIe, if you wish it, we can be enigaged. .You' must -stay near me, sydne'y, and be good to me. Oh, help me?--holp me to live. You kilow how hard it is how immpossib'le it seems that joy or hope cani ever come aain!i" "You have given joy and hope to me, I 15now!"' he said, ini A low, happy voice., '1 am willing to. wait for love -as long as ever youi like; darling, for it ia sure to come!" - "But think-oh, Fate is strange! think; if I had ijot met you!"' Marie leaned more closely on his arm. "Fate knows what she' is about," Sydney answered; smiling down at the ,earnest, pale face. ."'on were obliged 'to meet me. Under the circumstances nothing else could have happened." .iFate did. know what she was about, asshe usVally does, if mmnds finite could but compass -ar ifnite plans., A few days later brought to Sydney Worth the unexpected fulfillmenmt oif a hope) that he had patiently placed a long way off in the future-the full bestowal of Marie Pirot's love. ,i They were driving through the park ney had been talking brightly of vai ous matters of interest, when he threw his head back with a short laugh, andi said, in a kind of triumphant-tone: "Well, I was pleased to-day, Marie. You remember that fellow I told you of that had defaulted from our ofice with -A lnot of mnnyast n.wek?" "No," said Marie, vaguely, "Did you tell ge?" "ow.s q ihlc of, it, I -dido t,' said Syd . a. Tatpa, was t'f d in ig t anoy you, Well,. it's aill, I)tlt . I' leyve got :-4 at least, -'ot hlid, for he v'e thOfm~ tbe slip at the last moment; but the money's pale. He took away 57,000 and we've recovered all but $300; that he spent. I tell you we've been. lucky, nd so has he. It's a e lous thing, ' prsued, Sydpey, thoughtfully; "bdtM-I aw. fidlly glad.the scamp escaped." - "Glad?" repeated Mtrie, solemnly. "Oh, why? He will be sure to victimize other poor people." "Other rich people," said ' Sydney, correctingly. "Of cotrse he will, for It turns out that.he is a regular cdntl. dence msn; but you have no idea how much I liked him. We all dd,. He came to us about six months tigo, aiid said lie had just arrived in the country, and was quite friendless. Well, the flrnt took him on trust actually. He had gotten himself up like a German student-long hair and broken English and. hl:had the loveliest tenor voicel Old 'Bond was fair y infatuate: .With this paragon. It wht Wetzel liEr..and Wetzel there-" "What!" Marie grasped Sydney's arm with both her hands. "My dear girli" He reignel in the hocse, and looking down at her white face in amazeient,' "What is the matter?" "Wetzel wis -his name?-and lie went away?-when?-whenii?" she de manded, hurriedly, "Wetzel was the name he gave. His real :name is Wallace. I bel$evo He went away last W ednesday mornIng the day after I met you in the rain." "That-was-the--man," she said, in a low, breathless vojee. She un clasped her hands from Sydney's arm, and pressed them over her face. 'The }nan? What man?" Sydney stared quite wildly as he asked the question. "Oh,- the hero,of-my romadcel". said Marie-slowly and bitterly--"tlie sin ger I fell in love with. You did not want to know of my secret; you must know it noW! That was the manl" "Who?-youdg.Wetzel? Why, where on .earth, how on earth, did you come to be acquainted with him?". ' "Ie sang,with me for nearly three months in the choir?" "Oh, I seel ' And 'you fell, in love with his voice:-no wonder!" "I didn't!" she -said, miserably; "there might have been some- excuse for that. I had uever heard his voice when-I fell in love-nh, not with him! with a dream, a fancy! Could - I have borne to look on his face, even, mudh less love him, if I had known what I know now?" "Well, then, the co'mfort js that you did not love him, after all, 'said.Syd. ney, cheeringly. "He only thought you did." ' "No, no, no!" she returned,'vehe. mently. "He never thought-- he never dreamed-Oh, I could lie down here and die this minute-" "Oh, not here!" said Sydney, depre 'catingly. "No one could die comfort ably in a buggy. "You'd wait until I took you home. I know." But Marie did not smile. "How contemptible I am!" she said slowly, with bitter empllasls, "110w I have falleni forever in my own esteem! To turn away from a noble, generous nature like yours-a love that any woman might be honored in accepting. Sydney, I deserve your hate and scorn I", "I'm being praised, it seems," said Sydney, caimly. "Quite right; all the same, I calq't hear my wvife abused. And look here: Marie, I'm glad you didl make such an awvfully foo'lish isteake, because if' you hadii't you ntever wNould have come to me.". "hdoyou really thin k: Sd "hnI am glad, too." .., The Ver'ry Essence of the World. "UIen~~ 'w praise thee when thou doest well to thyself." .Politics,.relig in and acial, life, as they generally exist, are all anli.mated.gv*it,h thjs same principaml; everybody expects, as.Is ex p)ected, to do thie best for himnself. Child 'n are ed'ucated to, look ' after the!r own interests; men go. into bus! niess to secure a forl uno for themselves; peolie build a chiun' " 'r a mission to secure the interests 0. i.hu dlenomilim tioni to which-they belong; nations go to war in or.der l.O exalt themselves, or to attamn territory, Lu' comnmercial adl vantages for themselves. A gain. men enter Into an.ar'guimnt to prove them seZees in the r'ight; th~ey play a game to show then' skill; they furnish a house to secure thezm comfort; they pray to God1 to ease tndi' conscience; and, from Orst, to last, self is the object of all, In a little country to'wn, the squire cannot 'dilne with th'o mer'chant, unor the mom' chant with the shiopkeeper'. nor the shopkeejper with thn dresmaker nor 'the dhressmaker with the servant, nor the servanzt with the.scavenger, because self wvould be0 supposed t,o lose some of its contem~ptible superiority. o A Sensible Custom. Onb or the sensible eust%ms thiaf thme Auglomaniac is to bie credited with in troducing is that of turning .up thme bottoms of the trousers in stormy and .muddy weather, which is now becoming conspicuously gone ral,- whereas for - merly only a few independent p'edes trians slightly rolled up the rear side, and thereby spoiled the set of' the sprinig. Trhe E'nglish style of rolling up the trousers all round, above the bor dem' seam noes not ini the least aftect the spring set and keeps the edges cleai. When hoarse, speak as little as possi ble until tihe hoarseness is 'recovered from, else the voice may be permanent ly lost, or difficulties of the throat bs produced. "E~DWARLD, what do I hear, that you disobeyed your grandmother, who told you just no0w not to juimp (down these "Grandma didn't tell me not to, papa; she only canae to.the door anid said, 'I wouldn't jnmfp dlown these steps, boys,' and I shouldn't think she would--an 01(1 ild e 11c hr. -1h Ronalico of Wedded Life. Jear, will you bring me up t;b '1rof oal from the cellar?" said a t just the way with you," i James, with a black frown, as he put down his book and rose up.from. the lounge. "Just the way with me?" 4 "Y esg he sapped. . S soon as. you a me' enjoying 'myself.'fou have som9 chore of, another for me to do. Dida t you see I was absorbed in my reading?" "Well, dear, I will do it myself." "Yes, 'and tell everybody, yo.ur mother especially, that you have to carry your own coal up from the cellar. No, .Ull do it. Let me mark ray So he marked the place in the book1 at which he had ceased reading and when he went down to the cellar, grumbling all the way, she picked up the volume and found it was a love story ,itd that .the passage he hini been absorbed in was as follows: "My dfling, ,w'hen you are my 'gife I will Med and protect ydu from every care' le WlAds of heaven shallIiot visit your face too roughly, those pretty hands shall never be soiled by menial tasks, your wish shall be my law, your happiiess.--" Just then he reappeared, and dump ing the hod on the floor, said: "There's your darned coal. Give me my book." Is life worth living? The Story of William Toll. The old story of William Tell, his son and the apple has a sequel- in Bos ton that threatens to end tragically, The actors are Sumner Hollander, aged 13 years, of Somerville, the son of a prominent btisiness man of, that city, and his cou:in of 11 years, also named Hollander. The elder Lioy had a pistol of small calibre and some cartridges. 1 1Ie extracted, or thought he did, the .t bullets from some of -the cartridges. Reeently the boys u9dertook to repro duce the ancidt Swiss drama. Sum ner took the uart of Wi'liam Tell and 1 the younger boy that of the son, with the apple. The pistol they thought would muchbetter answer the purpose than a bow and arrow. When the -j smaller lad had taken position he was fortunately stricken with sudden mis givings. lie turned his head to one side, with the exclamation, "Stippise there should be something in it," just as his cousin fired., The movementl gaved'the little fellow instant death, for a bullet struck him on the right side of the neck. The wound wai serious, and the- boy's condition has become steadily worse, until now his life is despaired of. Dickens' Mother. The, chilhlood of U)cken$, was so sha'dowed-bs poverty, and his s'nsitive and imaginative mind was so keenly alive to his positin, that it, was hardly t possible that he could draw an abso lutely impartial plictureof his parents. IIls mothel' had a keen appreciation of 1 the droll and or the pathetic, and a likewise considerable dramatic talent. I She was a comely little woman, With handsome, bright eyes, and a genial, agreeable person. From -her Dilkens undoubtely in herited lila. temperament . and 'intel letual gifts.' Bl'e possessed an extra. ordlinary sense of the ludicrous, and' 'e her power of imitation was something astonishing. Hecr . percep)tioni was quick, and she unconscious& noted. every thing that came under her de servation. In describing ridiculous occurrences her tone. and gestuii'8 would. be inlimitable, while her ma:mner wast of the quaiest.' D)ickens declared that to her he owed his .tlrat desire for< knowledge, and lhis earliest p'assion for rea:Iing was awakened by lis mother, .whoe taught him not only the rudi .ments of .English, but also a little of L3tin. P'overty saddened and (lark-1 enied many years of her life, and her children were early compelled to leave her and earn their own liv'ing,t but they all honored anid loved her as she deserved. 'On the Seventih Floor.., A wvell known Parisian p)ortrait p)aintcr lived once, b.efore his fameE caime, in.ai coinon-lodging house at an< zltitudo of seven, .stories. , Fearing he a could not ind ce the' public to come so high, Iho putt upi a p)lacard on the base-( ment of the house: ."Portraits taken I hlQre. Only ten 'francs., Studio on t,hird floor''" Ont reachiing the third I flooi' a placard, "'Teh france p)ortraiits;< the st,udlio has been remeoed to the'flfth< floor," would grect the eye. After much panting andl( pulling the p)icture I seeker w'as greeted with "Ten franci portaits; the studio lias, owving to re buildling of the promnises, been temper- I airily remti'.ed to the seventh floor,' " Theii customer .did not.*mind suffering more after lie had reached that period of ascenit, and the artist get his patron. Peculiar Eye of a Marksmant. This man Swinney w~ho' w'ants to be a train robber, and isn't, has most re markable eyes. Hie is a dead shoet, if such a thnmig exists,. anid yott woeuld think so when you firht look at hmihi. Is' eyes. wvhich are very -dark' and piercing,- affect one unp)leasantlyt main ly because lie has in the iris, and im mnediately around the pupil a light gray rig that you wvIll not find ini the or dinary human eye. In fact .I never saw bitt three mni~ withu that.ring and they wore all dead1( shots withi the rifle o' revolver. I havd hieard .'and 1believe that tlus~ kind of an eye is alwvays found in goodl marksmen; butt it does not fel low by any means that a mnain without< it isn't a good shot. Y<m hoar a great (lead about men bein'g ambidoxterous in the \tse of the revolvQr. ,1'have meti men Who co6ld shoot wvell' with either a hand, but these stories, you.hear about such monas11 Rands aind others being aible to ftre suecessfully lit two marks - one to the extreme right and the other to the extreme left-are In my op)inion faiLry tales. tyou live according to what nature requires, you, will never be poor; if ad- I cordling to the notions of men, you 4 niever will be rich. IIISH wT . Delightful, Wild, Fitful, Ii'responet. be and Audacious. Irish wit is a delightful, wild, fitful, rresponsible, audacious qualilty. It is lorlously spontaneous, and there)s a urking twinkle in its seemingly most >btuse "bull" . that the thorough axon mind often fails to grasp when on his first visit, to the Distressful ountry, whitlier he may have been sked on some such good-natured invi ation as that of the line old Irish gen leman who 'told his English friend, 'if iver ye come within a mile or two y my house, I hope to goodness you'll top therel" He will be amazed to Ind that possibly an extra doueur will >h expected by the carman .who is howing him Killarney or Connemara, mi the ground that, "Sure, don't ye ee that I druv yer honour for the last winty'miles without a lynchpinI" He nay be startled at the graphic double wnswer once given: by a Dublin 'jarvey" to an inquiry as to what the hree sculptured figures that sur nougt the general post-office in Sack rlle street meant. "Thim three fig ires are stuck up to show that it's the ?ost-oflice.." "But why? and who are hey?" Then, determined not to be. ray , ignorance, the answer came. 'Thim three's the Twelvo Apostles," Those three' the--?" .'Av coorse, iure, ye wouldn't have them all out ngether; the rest is inside soortin' tie etteis." Note, too, how prettily chiv tlry blends with their wit. Did ever lover say sweeter words than hose that Myles-na-Copaleen gives ust at the tag'or 'the "Collen Bawn:" 'Sure 1 am a mother to her; 'ror lid n't I' bring her into the world a second ime? Take her, Master IIardress; and when ye die lave yer money to the oor an' yer widow to me, and we'll )oth le satisfied?". Or is there a otter or more delicate lilt in any Scotch r Engiisli song than the words of the rish peasant watching the girl of his ieart footing it in jig or planxty on the )arn door: "Dance light, for my heart t lies under your feet, love?" There a pathos, too, of a curious sort In the vell.known, dialogue between an Eng isl visitor and an old Irish butler who miswera the door in rusty black and vith tear-dimmed eyes. "Does the 'Regan live here?" "He does, sir; but io's dead, rest his sowli" "Dear me! iow long is he dead?" "Faith, if the >nor man had lived to Wednesday next, ie'd just. been. dead a fortn:ght." L'hen What historic good things are re orded of the famo.is divines and legal ights of Ireland of the real order of ,apid wit, as distinguished from the layings of Sir Boyle RIoche, of "bird" 'ame, who asked the House of Com nons why they sh'uld do anything for osterity: "What has posterity done or us?" apd in response to the burst of aughter explained, with profound ravity, "that by posterity lie did not it all mean our ancmstors, but those who immediately come after us." Swift's words it would be superfluous ;o quote, for his works speak for them elves; but Lord Norbury, whose legal )osltion was serious, flashed Into the lullness of law many bright sayings. Vor let us forget the countless anec lotes -of Curran. When lie had an ~ered. Lord Carleton by his eloquence, hat Judge ordered tihe sheriffs to take nto g ustody any one who would pre umptuously dare to fly in the face of he Court. At this difficult moment a wallow circled round the Court,' and ,urrani at once said, "Mr. Sheriff, take imn into custody- for showing lis utter ontemptof Court by flying in his face." gain, when Lord Ctare paid more at ention to ils favorite ble wfou ndlana og at his feet, than to the leArned ounsellor's arguments, the latter ab uptly stopped his harangue. "Go on, dr, Curran," .said the Judge. "A housand .pardpas, my Lord. I sally took' it for granted your ordship was engaged In consul ation." Then, when lhe fought his duel with "Bully" Egan, and he latter called the attention of the econds to the odds whic.h, by the rea on of his dimitiutive size, the master f the rolls had over him, saying, "I night as well be aiming at the edge of knife as at'his thin carcass," Curran aid at once, "Well, let the gentleman halk the size of my body on his own, mnd let every ball going outside of that ine count for nothirig." This was as ourteous. as the beha.vior of the lame rentlemnan fighting another duel, who asked his opponent with profourd po iteness if lie would permit him i;o sit in the neighboing milestone at the i'oss-roads while they exchanged shots. TJ~o be sure," was the reply; "and ihow n turn grant me a small, and saome vhat similiar favor." "'Certainly; vhiat do you require?" "Only leave to o and( sit on the next milestone.'' That Luar'rel onded in a h:owvlof ipunchi. Fablca Hlistor'y of' (lhe Rid(110. The ancients belie'ved that the mon ter Sphiynx was the inventor of rid lies. The one she proposed for solu.. ion is , this: "What animal is that ,vhich goes upon four :egs a. the morn nig, upon.two at noon aInd upon three it night?" Many persons strove to ex >lain it, but failed and were torn to >ieces by her. *At length Uodipus olved it by saying that the animal was igaun, who, in inf<mcy, or in the morn ng of his life, creeps upon lila hands and feet and so goes upon all fours; In he nooniof his life walks -on two feet, nd in the night of old age requires a tick and so totters upon tlhree legs. Th'e Sphynx, em'aged at the discov ury of her ridale, -threw hlerself upon a ock and died. Such is the fabled history of the first 'iddle; the true is not lcnown, as riddles u'o of remote antiquity, But we thnd rom Plutarch that in his days the )reek girls often amused themselves vith proposing them for their comx >ahtons to unravel. -NTapoleon at twenty-flve corn nanded tile Artny of Italy. At ilirty ho was aut only one of the most hlustrious generals of all time, but one >f the great law-givers of the world, a forty.six he aw Waerloo