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TI-WEEKLy EDITION _ ____aftb 2HLe
EDTIN.W1INNSBORIO, S. C., AP~RIL 8, 1880. -VOL. IV.N. 3
Be strong to hope, 0 Heartl
Though day is bright,
The stars can only sbino
In tho dark night.
Bo strong, 0 Heart of mino,
Look toward tho light!
Bo strong to bear, 0 Heartl
Nothing is vain;
Strivo not, for life is curo,
And God sends pain;
Heaven is above, and thero
Rost will romais!
lie strong to love, 0 Heart
Lovo knows not wrong;
Didst thou lovo-oreatures evon,
Life woro not long;
Didst thou lovo God In heavon.
Thou wouldst be strong.
The Belle of Wolf Run.
A company of strolling players ini a barn.
'T'lio great space is lighted by lamps of
every description, the inost ambitious of.
which is a circle of hoops stuck full of can
dies. This does duty'as the grand chand
elier, and is quite effective.
Seated near the stage, before which hangs
a green curtain, are two persons-a man
and a young girl, whom, even the unprac
ticed eye might take as rustic lovers, lie
is a tall, finely-formed young fellow; with
a noble head and keen, sparkling blue eyes.
She is the beauty of Wolf Run, faultloss in
figure and feature, and with a something in
her expression denoting that she is not quite
satisfied with her position, even as the belle
of the villiage. or her surroundings.
Margaret Leo had never in her life seen a
play, therefore she was prepared to realize
all the emotions of novelty, terror, wonder,
delight, with which a novice looks on the
strut and action of these who cater to the
profoundest emotions. Of course she for
got where she was; of course she was daz
zled and terribly stirred at the love scenes,
which were, as usual, exaggerated.
The hero of the drama was a handsome,
worthless rascal, who learned, before the
evening was through, to play at our unso
phisticated little Margaret, r"ading her ad
miration in her eyes, and enjoying the
similes, tears, and almost spoken interest,
of the beauty of Wolf Run.
"Pretty good-wasn't it ?" said Charlie
Vance, as he helk her fleecy red shawl to
wrap about her, at the close of the perform
Margaret had no words, she only gasped:
"Oh, CharlieI" as they gained the d(oor, e
and caught at his arm ; for there stood
the hero of the stage, still in his bespang- a
led velvet finery, and evidently stationed
at that particular place in order to catch a
glance at her lovely face.
"Confound his impu(lence." Charlie b
Vance muttered between his teeth.
Margaret shivered a little as they left the o
barn. Everybody was laughing and talk- v
ing. The soft, clear, round moon shed its t)
light upon a scene of sylvan beauty; but the
two spoke but few words until they had 1
house set. back in a garden. h
"A little of that goes a great ways," said
the young farmer, who had evidently becen
thinking the matter over. "They stay here
a week or more. 1 don't care to go again,
do you?" n
"Oh, 1 do- believe I could go every 1
night." saht Margaret, fervently.
"They're a hard set, Maggy," said her
lover, a little malice in his voice.
"Hov do ycu know? Are you sure of
that ?" she asked, eagerly and reprovingly.
"Oh, they're generally thought to be.
Well, good-night, Maggy ;" and he had
gone ten steps before it occured to him that
they had parted without a kiss.
"1 don't care,"' he said, sullenly, half
aloud; "and that fellow stays at her uncle's
tavern, too. Why should it nettle ime so,
Now Margaret and her cousin Anne were
almost as Inseparable as sister's. It was with
a quick beating heatrt that tihe former took
her way to the tavern next dhay, me~eting
Anne as usual at the private enitranice for
"Oh, Mag1" cried Anne, her eyes spark-.
ling, ''you have miade a coniquest."
"What do you mean ?" asked Margaret,
her fair face flushing, her pulses beating
''Why, you know-last night. Oh, isn't
lie glorIous I-exquisite? and only think lie
asked papa who that very lovely girl wais
a pink ribbQns in the seQnd seat-and
that was you I Papa laughed and told hn
lisa niece, and somebody else said( something
very haandsomYe about you at the table, and
then papa up and said you were engaged to
Charlie Vance, which sorindedl so ridliculouis.
And I give you my word of honior tile 'gen
tleman tulrnedi pale."
"NonsenselI" said Margaret; b)ut the flat
tering words had acgoimplishied their work,
and it was net hard to persuade her to stay
to dinneor, whore of course her lovely blush
ing face did not a little, execution.
"Well, Maggy, whiat is it to he ?" asked.
Charlie Vance, sternly. . This was onily a
week afterwar-d. All thd softness had gone
*out of his face as he spoke. 1[is eyes hiad
lost their g,racious. sparkling beauty. It
might be that his cheeks were a trille thin,
and( certainly is dark face was haggard.
"Oh, Charlie!''-she stood on1 the other
side of the spacious hearth, dr.ooping anId
thiid, lier face very white, and the large
eyes startled in expression, like those of a
"You are changed, Maggy. I don't say
it alone. God hlelp us both1 it's talked all
over the place. Last night, wh'en I heard
somnething at Dilleways, I felt like going.
home and blowing my brains out."
"Oh, Charlie 1i"
'e voice was more phlitive, and the
little figure drod$ped yet lower.
"And it all comes of that infernal villain.
It all comes of your going black 'and forth
to the hotel', anid with your Cousin Anne,
to see hiia."
"Hie is goi.ng away to-day," she cried, . a
great pain in her voice.. .
"And you will see hin before he goes?"
"Oh no, no, Charl. .Oh, don't look so
crel. ?.cani't see himn now you know Ioan'tt
"Sneyou've heard that lie's got a wife
1elsewhere, eh ?"
"Charlie I I don't care; it; isn't tihat," she
answerel, chkingijy. Ho cud h
\add-"It is because Ihate found him base,
untrue, when ho seemedto me like an angel
HIer rgd. lips qivered; the tears~ stood
large and shining oi hie' isshes, her -eyes
wers downc -fi4r hand folded- with the
rigid clasp of despair.
halnever.e4 hh1eagalu1 Ohe whis
pored, hoarsely; but if you say all is over
between us, why it must be so."
" I don't say it need be, mind," he said,
looking pitifully down at her. "I can over
look a good deal, I love you so much, so
much I God In heaven only knows how
much I have loved you. But I won't have
the face of that man between us. God I no!
no!" and his great shoulders lifted with the
scarcely drawn breath, while a (lark red
hate smoldered In his usually soft eyes.
''It shall be just as you say," she mur
nured, meekly, without looking up.
"It shall be just as you say," he replied.
qutckly. "Do you think you could learn
to love inc again, a little?" lie asked, the
anger all gone. She was so beautiful.
"Try me, Charlie. You are so strong
and good, and noble: I always fejt that--.
and one can't long like where one can't re
spect, can one ?" I eor hands were on his
aria now, and the lovely pleading eyes up
lifted to his.
"You won't see him again ?
"I woa't--1 swear I won't I What should
I want to see hini for now ? she sobbed.
"Then, we will wait.. 'This troupe goes
to-morrow. Don't cry, darling; I dare say
it will all come out right;" and after a few
low-spoken,words, the young man left her,
but by no means with peace seated on his
".lanuna, if anybody cones, -say I'm
out called Margaret, from the top stairs.
" Well, I guess nobody'll be here to-day,
unless it's that actor fellow," was the ro
Ponse. "Don't walk in the sun," she
added, for mother ani fatier were proud
)f their darling 8 beauty, 'nd they secretly
wished for her a better match than even
lheir neighbor's son.
Deep in the woods she struck, determin
A never to see that too fair fatal face again.
"lle'll be gone to-morrow," she half sob
bed, holding her hands hard against her
ieart, "and I shall never see - hin again.
iod be t hankeld ! for, oh, I dare not trust
Iysel f "
The path, slippery, with pine-lenaves,
ed to ia favorite resting-place-a cleared
ipot through which ran a crystal-clear river. r
he place combined several' distinctively .
teautiful features. Here she sat down,
mmindful of the singing stream, the soft ,
diadows, the sweet murmuring of the wind
n the tops of the trees.
A footstep near startled her.
In the river, as in a mirror, she saw a
vision that had become all too dear to her
graceful figure clad in black velvet,
he bud.I hat, with itsi waving plumes, re
lected, with the outstretched hand that
eld it, in the blue depths.
She sprang to her feet, a burning flush
preading over her brow and neck, and
vould have fled but that lie was beside her a
t a bound.
"My beauty ! my darling ! my own I" t
"Sir, those words arc an insult to me!"
he cried with spirit, striving in vain to free hI
erself from his caressing arm. a
"An Insult I I would die before I would I
Irer you an insult, my beautiful. Come -
rith me; I want to show you a lovelier spot u
'an this-come! I"
"I will not, she said, firmly, wresting
!'s?M bn uot. e-Jw&a ).in ,. -
ow dared you ?"
"Love will dare anything,'' ho said, 1
ayly, fastening his powerful eyes on her v
e, and drawing her glance up to his.
'Come, 1 will woo you like Claude Mel- hI
otte." And again lie put an arm about iI
er; but, lilte a Ilash of lighting, the two d
ere torn asunder, and the man was thrown o
eadlong with one blow from the powerful A
rm of Charlie Vance.
"Go!" lie said, sternly, pointing to the It
rightened girl. "J can save you from his (
asolence, but I cannot promise to save you i
roi yourself. Go, and think on your t
Latter in the day Charlie came up to Mar- b
;aret's house and asked for her. s
"Whatever is the matter with thme child ?" i
tucried theo mother. I never saw her hii I
uich lowv spirits."
T1he youn)g mian miade no answver, but 1
vent Into the cool, shaded parlor. Presently
ilargaret camne down, white as a lilly. I
rlhere was an unspoken question In her<
vide, tearless eyes.
"'No, I didn't kill him, Maggie, though he'
lese'rvedl it. I dlon't, wvat the crime of mur- I
Ier on my soul, even foi' you my poor girl. I
But 1 sent himt away as sub'dued and cool
ed-down a man as ev'er you see. Such men
ire always cowvards. And niow, Maggie I
rou're freeo. I never should wvant to thInk I
>f the -look you gave himi while I held you
n my arms, and I should have to think of
t. I've comeO to say goed-b)ye, for I'm off
for the West, and Itf ever 1-hello I"
There wIas a~ lowv, broken sob, andl On his
hest Margaret liay a (lead weight. rTe
girl had fainted awvay.
Well, a long sickness followed. Charlie
could niot, leave hier lying there between life
and( deOath, and the first visit after she could
set upl settled the matter. Margaret had
conmqueredl her vanity, which, after all, was
more touched than her affections, and found
that there was only oine imaige in the heart
that had been, as she thonght, so tori) with
coiifiicting str'uggles-aund that was the
frank, honest, blie-eyed Charlie Vance,
who had lovedi her ever since r.he was a
And of course they were married.
In a recent can'vcrsation wIth Mi'. W. B.
Welles, of New York, we asked that gen
timan his opinIon of mining-experts as
they are known to miners. "I can give
you my oyinlin in no better way," he re
plied(, "than relat,ing an IncIdent In the sit
of the famops Emma .Mime, which took
place In U~tah, and In which Schienck, o5
Ohio, was seemingly mixed up. Durlng?
the 'irhal, .one Capt. Tomn Bates, a man
known thiroughout the minng regions of
the west, was on the wit,ness-stand, and
one of the lgwyers, In cross-examination
"You are a mning-expert. Mr. Bates ?"
"No, sir. ~I am not," was the answer.
"Did I nlot undij~stanid you to, say that
y ou had visited and Inspected nmost of the
known mines of the wdat?"
''You did, sir."
S"And. liate'you not'mad raining a study
for years" -"
"1 have, sir."
.h 'Well then, please state to the court
I"Well, elr, a nulning-expert is a mat
who wiears eye lasses, parts his hair iii the
mnId4 pi a Freiburg, and
Th len there was a profonnq . 0Ience lz
court1 add this Caltgih sat do\vn.,
The Second Love.
You must permit me to offer you my
congratulations. Mr. Itenaud will, no
doubt, be more happy than most of the
3enedicts, having distanced so many con
petitors; and he is also greatly to be envied
in finding a Beatrice so artless and so un
touched by the world and its vanities. For
myself, the woman I shall marry is not
born. When she appears, I will let you
know; until then, believe me your very
sincere friend. Ai.Fmj) Fmx.v.
Thus wrote Alfred Field to his former
fancee, Miss Eille Severe, on the receipt of
her wedding-eards, a few days before her
marriage. le had loved her In the old
(lays two years before ; but Eflle was an un
deniable little flirt, and Alfred having been
severely tried once or twice by reports of
the havoc caused by
"Those swee eytes, I hose low replies."
lie had forced himself to forget her, and
sternly deny to his longing eyes the sight of
her faithless, but still beloved face. Iis
victory over himself he had thought com
plete until the sight of her wedding cards,
with the formal "MIss Severe" and "Mr.
itenaud" In such close and significant rela
tion, seemed to bring back some of his old
feelings. le suddenly resolved to go to her
wedding; and arrived just in time to wit
ness the ceremony at the church.
lie followed the bridal party home, and
entered the ,old familiar home with the
throng, who crowded around the happy
pair to offer their joyful congratulations.
At lils approach EMile gave a violent start.
"Ellie," cried Alfred, in a low, intense
tone, "I would give my soul could I believe
this day were all a dream I"
"You threw away your own happiness,"
returned EAle, In a tone deep with sup
;ressed emotion. "And now you are left
o look forward to felicity with 'the woman
vho is not yet born."
Years passed away, and Alfred Field still
ingered in the realms of bachelordom. The
munbeams glanced on many a silver thread
mmncg his chestnut curls as he sat on the
leek of a steamer one fair spring afternoon,
hbout nineteen years after lie had witnessed
Mlie Severe's wedding.
le was on his way to look after a little
vard whom fate had thrown upon hishands
n a rather curious manner.
Years before, he rescued the child and its
mrse from a burning house ; and, no trace
f the little orphan's parentage ever turning
p, lie had generously maintained her ever
tnce. The nurse had become insane from
lie fright of that terrible night; and, after
ngering for yearsoin this condition, was
ow about to die.
lie was iooking forward to meeting quite
little girl when lie arrived at his lonely
illa just outside the town; but as lie en
,red the gate, and advanced up the wind
ig avenue which led to the home, he held
is breath in wonder at the apparition that
ppeared to greet him.
Was his old love risen from the dead pastl
a a bower of orange trees stood the living
nage of Ellie Severe, leaning forward with
iger expectancy written In every line of
er mobile face. -
"Dear guardian l" said she inging
"Speak to your little Gertrude, will you
Dt, dear guardian?" pleaded the sweet
It was'long ere Alfred aould connnand
imseif sutliclently to talk coherently to his
ttle ward. The likeness was indeed won
rous; and as day by day.ilew by, and the
Id unurse still lay in an unconscious state,
Jlfred remained in,that fairy villa, having
mple opportunity to find out how much in
iind, as well as in person the fair young
lcrtrude was like his lost Ellic. Soon
gain Alfred Field loved, with all the in
mnsity of his nature.
At last the old nurse died. Just before
er death she regained her mind for a brief
pace, and in broken accents told them
dhere to find a pocket, bible, which had be
nged to Gertrude's mother.
Hie took her in his arms, held her close to
tis beat.ing heart, and never let her fret
mntil she had promisedl, with her sweet face
idden in his bosom, to be lis love, his
larhing, his wife..
As ho unclasped her from his arms, a book,
vhiich lad been lying in her lap, fell to the
round, and( from between its leaves dropped
letter, old, worn, andl wrInkled.
"Where did you get this?" lie gasped.
"It was my mother's Bible, and that let
er' was tied Inside," answered Gertaudo, in
;reat surpi ise.
"Ah, beloved ?" retuirnedi Alfred, folding
icr once more in hits arms. ''Your mother
vas my first and early love; you are my
nat and eternal affection."
"Zis Is one Grand Moostakeo"
With both dyes hidden by tho black
woollen lids that had riacin to a level with
lie bridge of his nose, Henri Larquette,
whose shirt front wvas spattered wvith blood
Lhat had dropped fronm lisa badly damaged
ups, presentedl a really pitiable appearance
when recenitly he appeared as a prisoner at
lie bar of thme Police Court.
"flow did you get your Injuries ?" asked
"ZIa is one grand meestake, Monsieur,"
answered Henri, giving his shoulders the
characterIstic shrug of the Frenchman.
"There can be no mistake that you have
been Injured by some one,'" said hits Honor.
"Zis Is no doubt true, Monsier, but zis is
vera, vera painful. I would la-ike to have
onie conversation wiz ze doctaire?"
"But tell me who struck you?"
"Madlam Marquette, Monsieur."
"What I Your wife did thiatI" said thme
Court, In evident astonishment.
"Out, Monsieur. She was one grand
fighting woman. Mon. Dieu i IHow zat
woman strike out wis her shioulaire I" ox
t"Is sidFrench, too?" asked His Honor.
.$ "No,, Monsieur. She was one irs' woman
zat:I got 'quaint wis'in Europe."
"She was nice then, eh?''
"All, oul, outI1" said Henri.
"But now she Is--"
"One tam tigaireli I shall be undaire zo
obligation to leave zla woman. She will
take ze life of my friend. Last night I
have some little wIne, and when I was in
my slumbairo zat woman come whs her flat
and strike one such awfdoh blow sat I think
I was one (lead Frenchman."
"I guess she punished you enough for
getting tight. You can go, but -I would
advise you to be temperate ihereafter," said
the Court .
,"Oui. I go, but I no go home wis zat
Woman, by tain I Zet would be no good for
me. ,-o wls so dootaire" said Henmri, as
h#ezdhis hat and sadly passed out of
Vivid Picture of Liro.
What have becomo of the red.heeled
shoes, the vast hoops, the brocades and
mountains of powdered hair, which no lady
could be seen without? La mere guillotine
has iade a clean sweep of thei all. The
hoop has given place to the swinging robe
of Greek statuary, which now scarcely veils
the form It drapes; a tunic of white cash
mcre, looped to one knee by a cameo, only
half covers the neck and shoulders; beneath
the bosom it is confined by a ceintture of
gold or biass; the bare arms are clasped by
antique bracelets; above the white tunic
is worn another of scarlet; buskins inclose
the legs, Itoman sandals have taken the
place of red heeled shoes, and the naked
toes are encircled by rings of gold and
precious stones. Thlie hair is gathered in a
snood, and is of a different color to the
complexion, m imitation of the ladies of
ancient Rome. Thu men sometimes on
public occasions also don the classic dress,
and appear in tunic and toga; but the cos
tume most aflected by the jeunesse doree is
that ai the incroyable, strikingly contrast
Ing in its grotesque hideousness with the
graceful beauty of that of the other sex. It
consists of a narrow-skirted coat with a
high collar that reaches nearly to the top of
the head; a huge cravat, half concealing
jaws and clyi; a short waistcoat, nankeen
breeches with bunches of rbbons at the
knees, silk stockings, or boots with buff
tops, a hunch of seals and trinkets hanging
from the breeches pocket to the knee; the
hair plaited or gathered into a queue, and
rings is the ears. The Spartan plainness
of manner which Rlobespierre worked to
bring into fashion has dissappeared with the
Convention; and the incroyable, who never
pronounces the letter 'r' is a far more ob
jectionable fop than the aristocrat of the
ancient regime. Mingled with these ex
quisites are a few dark figures of the old
Jacobins, coarsely and uncleanly clad, by
affectations; men who frown upon these
topperies, and wish the days of Ia Terreur
back again that they might consign these
sham aristocrats to the same fate as the real
ones Between these and the jeunessp
doree there is deadly hatred. The furni
ture of the rooms is as classical as the
ladies; the satins and gildings, and mirrors
of Louis Quatorze and Louis Quinze have
given place to Pompeian dccorations; beds,
couches, urns, lamps, bronzes-all are
classic. Literature is all but extinct odes
to Liberty and imitations of the Greek
alone obtain favor; everybody has had
enough of philosophy-at least in books. It
is dancing which is now the all-absorbing
rage; and instead of Itousseau, Voltaire
and Diderot--Vestris, Trenis, Gardel, the
maitres de danse, are now the riling spirits
of the saloons. The moment they enter, an
eager and admiring crowd gathers round to
do them homage; then a ring is formed,
and these cynosures proceed to execute a
series of marve.loris and intricate figures,
which the bystanders applaud with the
most fervid enthusiasm. After a time all
the company join in the dance; the laties
take the Bacchantes for their model, now -
moving through the ligukshmere shawl that
v.oluptuous languor, nowaoulders, and the i
graceful movements of their arms, they
strike a series of picturesque tableaux, such
as are now only seen in the opera ballet.
With true French instinct they make a
fashion even out of the guillotine. There
are,what are called les bails des victimes,
to which no person is admitted who has not
lost a relative by la Terreur, and whose 1
distinguishing mark must be a band of
crape worn around the arm. The moral
system which the ladies and gentlemen of
the (lays of- Louis Quinze preached is now
in. practice. Marriage is a contract which
can be dissolved Immediately at the will of
the parties concerned; women still young
haye already had three husbands; the
Christian religion is banned by law, and
instead of Sunday, every tenth day is set
apart as a holiday. All tis applies to
France in one of her many changes.
A Neudlss Aham.
Thllere arc but fcew, if any insects, either
In the larval or perfect state, but what may
be eaten with perfect. safety. Some, how
ver, have oils In them which forbid their
being eaten in quant,ies at a time, becauso
of what is called their richness. All may
be eaten in limited quanitics. The so-called
centip)edes, or thousand legged worms, are
eaten by some of the human race, and may.
be by all, so far as anything poIsonous is
concerned. What is called the great white
grab, the young of the May beetle which,
in great numbers, are often ploughed up in
our fields and gardlens, is a favorite dish
with seime of the most enlightened people.
The Mahonmetan loathes the oyster as we
do the scorpion or spider, and says of the
Christian, "lhe is a dirty (log, because he eats
oysters' It Is our prejudIce, ingnorance
and edlucation that makes u.s -vIew these
thmngs with loathIng and tear. I have my
self seen a schtoolteacher, In my boyhood,
eat of the rattlesnake. TIhe silk worms are
extensively eaten in some countries, and
snails are much thought of by some persons
as are oyster by us. And so with spIders,
so generally 'feared. Tihey are reckoned
equal to any dlishi that can be made uip by
sonic people. If insects wvere polsonoums we
should destroy ourselves "daily,'' so -to
speak, for wve are constantly taking thorn
Into our systems in what we eat; that, Is,
living mat,ter in the form of the Infusorla,
the Insect, larva or sonme other shape, kind
or form. Let attentioni be given to the con
diltion of the vegetable Itself, thejefore,
rather than to the worm, for a person htad
better eat a pound of anty kind of worms
than ait ounce of decaying, diseased vegeta
Woman as Artists.
There are now in F'rane 1,70O0 women
engaged in literary ptursuits, tind 2,120 who
make a living by cultivating tlhe fine arts.
Two-thirds of the former wore orn In the
prcvinces, chlelly In the south, while a si
mular proportion of the artistarweresborn In
Paris. Of the 1)700 writera, 1000 have
writt'en novels or short stories for y6ung
people ; 200 are poets, 150 write on educa
t,ion andl science, the remainder are com
pilers, translators and the lik%r Of tlIre ar
tIsts, 10 are sculiptors, tJ02,oll.painters, the
majority beIng painters of portraits, flowers,
anid still nitture, 198 are minlatturhets, 7t54
painters on porcelain, and 404 draw and
engrave on,wood, point In water-colors,
orinment fans and the like.
Wealth Is not hIs who gete, but his
--ho enijoys 10,
A *reiilexing P*redlialment.
The chnteau of Lazieniski, Louis )ixhul
occupied it for some time during the Frencl
emigration; and it was there that the fa
rluonarcl was frightened into a fit of jatui
(ice, which lasted some time, and necessi
tlted the Chlinge of air which aent him t
Witau. In1 the gardet exists a cool grotto
occupied by it Cold bath, furnished by thc
waters of the little lake in the midkile of
which Lazienski sta1n(s. The exiled Bour
bon, then Count de I'rovence, was i.
customed to use the bath freqifentty; and,
one morning, alfter a night of riotiin in tht
chateau, to which all the great drinkerl
amongst the high life of Warsaw had been
invited, he walked down leisurely through
the garden to the grotto, determined to have
a dip before retiring to rest for the day.
'Th. grotto was dark at all times, at that
early time in the morning particularly so.
The Count de I'rovence hurried to strip
and plunge into the pool, which lay clear
and pellucid at the bottom of the. marble
steps, shining through the darkness like a
mirror in which the moonlight is reflected.
Ilis royal highness, differing at that mo
nent in nothing from the lmanest peasant.
in the same expectant condition, walked
down the Steps, and Wls just about to throw
himself into the water, when a surly oath
broke, as it were, from th'e bottom ol the
bath, and in another moment a ligure, all
dripping, jumped up amid the darkness,
and, seizing 'he count. in a slippery grasp,
ing him heavily forward, and burst into
a hoarse laugh at his floundering, and al
most unconscious wit h I he shock occasioned
by the surprise. It was Prince Kasolowski,
the governor, who, inspired with the same
idea as the Count de Provence, had hiurr' d
into the grounds with the same intention,
aid now stood before his royal guest, grin
ning and chattering. and presenting the
most extraordinary figure possible, for he
wore, as sole rainent, the ribban and collar
of the Order he had worn at the banquet,
with his jeweled star upon his bare skin.
By a not unusual characteristic of drunk
enness, Ie had carefully replaced the insig
iia after having undressed. The obese
Bourbon, after having gazed at him wildly
for a few moments, and, not recognizing
him amid the obscurity of the grotto niti
his own troubled vis'on1s, rusheI from the
bath, and ran screaming through the grounds
,owards the chateau, with KasolowsklI at
lis heels, endeavoring to soothe his fears;
1nd the household, aroused froml1 slunber,
Jeheld with amazement, this extraordinary
-iatse in the bright suiner morning, and
ailed to recognize either of the actors in
he scene until they had reached the hall
tep. Poor Louis was put to bed well
vrappde in blankets, but the shock was so
reat that It brought on a bilious attack,
vhicl terminated in a severe fit of jain
lice, and lie was compelled to remove for
hange of air far from the place which he
ad alwa's declared to be the most beauti
ul spot, lie had beheld in all the travels to
vhich the revolution had condemned him.
--- -4 hilaidel phl, vcit 1IIIf g Iisist &An
lette. One sumuner afternooni her mother
vent to pay a short visit to her aunt who
ived near by, and gave her little girl per
uission to amuse herself on the front door
teps ant il her return. So Nannette, in a
:lean pink frock and white apron, playinig
mul chatting with her big wax "Didy,'
vhiclh was h1cr doll's name, fornwd a pretty
)ieture to the passers-by some of whoi
valked slowly in order to hear the child's
alk to her doll.
"You'se a big old girl," she went on,
nioothing out-1Didy's petticoats, "and I've
n(1 you for ever and ever, and 1'se mos'
;ix. But you grow no bigger. You never
:Iy, you donl't. You'se a stiad old thing
m(d I'm tired of you, I ail I b'leve you'se,
:mly a make-b'leve baby, and I want a real,
live baby I do-a baby that Will cry! Now
Llon't you see," and she gave the dLoll's head
a whtack-"that, you don't cry? If any
body should lilt ime so, I'd squeam mt-u-r
-c-i-r, I wvouldl! And then the p'lissman
would conic, andt( there would 1be an awful
time. There, nowv sit up, can't, you? Your
back is like a broken stick. Oh, hum, i'm
Lired of you, D)idy."
Leaviing the (loll leanting In a one-sided
wvay against the door, Nannett,e posed( her
dimpled chin ini her hands and1( sat quietly
looking iinto the street. Presently a wo
man came along with a bundle in her arms,
and seeing Naninette and Didy in the door
way, went, up the steps and asked the little
girl if she would not like to have a recal lit
tIe live baby.
"One that, will cry?" eagerly asked Nan
"Yes, one t,bat will cry anid laugh too,
after a bit," answered the woman, all the
time looking keenly about her; and then in
a hushed voice site asked the child if her
mother was at home..
"No,- shte's gone to see my auntie, shall I
call her?" replied Nannette, jumping to her
feet andl clap)ping heir hands, from a feeling
as IfIin some way she was to have her long
wvished-for live baby.
"No, don't call her; and if you want a
baby that will cry, you must be very quiet,
and listen to me. Mark me now-have you
a quarter of a dollar to pa~y for a baby?"
"I guess so," anisweredl Nannette; "I've
a lot of money up stairs." Anid running
up to her roomi she climbed Into a ehnir,
tosk down her money box from a shelf,
and emptying all her pennies and small
silver cohn into her apron, ran (down again.
"TI s is as much as.a quaruter of a dollar
TPhe woman saw at a glance that, .there
was more than that amount, and hastIly
taking poor little Nannette's carefully
hoarded pennies, site whispered :
"Now carry the baby uip stairs and keep
it hi your own little bed. BIe careful to
make no ntoise for it Is sound asleep. D)on't
tell anybody yotu have it until It cries.
Mind that. When you hear It cry you may
know it is higry.".
Then the woman went hurriedly away,
anid Nannetto never saw her agaIn.
Nannette's little heart was nearly break
lng with delIght at the thought of .having a
real live baby; and holding the bundle fast
in her arn's, where the woman had placed
it, she began trddging uip stairs wvith it.
Finally pumlig and pantIng, her 'checeks all,
aglow, see reachled her little bed and turn
ing (down the covers, she put In the bundle
and covering it up carefully, sheo gave it
sonmc loving little pats, Baying softly: "My
baby, my real, little live baby thiat, will
cryl" And thenashe carefully.;tripped out
of the room and dIown staIrs againa .
Very sooni Nannette's mother canme honlo,
bringtig her a fine large apple which droye
althiought, of the. baby frei hkr mitid,
and i was dly ehen ightiame is
was seated at the supper-table with her pa
pit and mainima that she remembered her
* baby; but at that time, suddenly, froni
somewhere that surely was in the house,
t came a baby's cry; and clapping her hands,
- her eyes daneiin with joy, Nannette began
to slide down from her chair, saying with
great eniplinsis, "That's m,I baby."
l fer mother laughed. " Your baby, Nan
Yes, nmintmh, my baby; don't you hear
it cry? 'Tis hungr.'' And she .arted to
run up stairs, but her mother called her
"Why Nannette. what alls you? What
do you IiI(an about your baby?" she asked
"Why, mly b1aby, manmuta! I bought It
for a aluarter of a dollar. A baby that cries
-not a mis'ble make-b'leve baby. Oh, how
it does cry; it must be awful hungry.''
And away she darted up the stairs.
ier father and Iother arose from their
seats in perfect amnazement and followed
their little girl to her room, where, lying
ulpon her bed, was -ia bundle, from which
came a baby's cries. Nannette's mother
began to unfaste' the wrappings, and suro
enough there was a wee little girl not more
than two or three weeks old looking up at I
them with two great wet eyes.
Of course Nannette was questioned, and
she related all she could remember of her
talk with the women from whom she bought
baby. I cr papa said perhaps the baby had
been stolen, and that something had been
given to it to make it sleep.
"But what shall we do with It ?" asked
both the father and muother. "D?o with it?"
cried Nannette; "why, it's my baby, mam
ma. I paid all my money for it. It cries,
it does. I will keep it always."
So it was decided that the baby should
stay if n'body came to claim It, which no
body ever did, although Nannette's papa
put1 an advertisement m a paper about it.
It would take a large book to tell all of
Nannette's experiences in taking care of
"mny baby" as she called the little girl,
wlhonm she afterward named Victoria in
honor of the then young queen of England.
Victoria is now a woman, and she lives
as does Nannette, in the city of Philadel
phia. She hits a little girl of her own,
"mes' six.'' who is' named Nannette for
the good little ''sister-mother," who once
upon a time bought her mamma of a strange
woman for a quarter of a dollar, as she
thought. And this other little Nannette
never tires of hearing the romantic story of
the indlent "D)idy" id the "real little
live baby that ill cry."'
St iry of i Faithful Sorvant.
Many years ago, there lived on the banks
of the Brandywine, in the State of Pennsy
lvanii, an old Quaker gentleman, who pos- d
med an old faithful servant. This servant
was a horse, and his name was Charley. t
Now Charley had trotted before the family e
,linise for many a long year, to the village
poatolllce, to the Sabbath-day meeting, and
upon all kinds of errands. Old Charley
might have about the farm. Tle river di
vided the farm, and it was at times neces
sary to visit the lot on the other side; there
wis a bridge a mile and a half from the
house, but there wi'5 '. good ford just down
by the bank, whicl' was always used when
the water was not too high. One (lily in
the Springtime, graodfathcr had to go over t
the river, it the fresliet bad come, the
banks were overllowed, and the ice ii great
cake and fields was coming down with a t
rush, so he mounted old Charley, and set 1
oil by the wiay of the bridge. Arriving
safely on the other side, lie spent somlte timte
on the business which had brought him I
over, and it was nearly sundown when he
got ready to go home. lie looked- upl) toward
the 'bridge, said it was a long three miles j
around, and that lie would try the ford.
"OlMd Charley cani swim," lie satid, as lie
rode down to the bank of the stream, "and1( i
it is but a short wvay over."
Charley looked reluctant, but after con
sidlerable urging lie enitered the stream. In
a moment lie was striking out bravely for
the opposite shore, but In another moment
a great cake of ice came pounding along,
overwhehning both man and horse. TIhey
l,othi rose, but grandfather had lost his seat,
andl as lie wa.; swept along by the powerful
current, he caught the diroophing branches of
a large sycamore tree, and wais soon safe
from immediate daniger.
Th'le riderless horse pursuied hIs journey
toward the house, and soon reached the
shore. HIero, appearing to miss his famuil
har, friend, he looked aroundl, and, as it
accens, dlscoveredl his master clinging to the
branch of the tree; Immediately, and1( wIth
out hesitation, lie turned around and swaini
boldly for the tree, and beneath the branch
ho stop)ped arid apermitted my grandfather
to0 get on his back, and then, although quite
exhaunsted, lhe started at once for home.
Theli whole scene had been witness by the
entire family, and they got ready with
boats anid went to meet tho-noarly exhaust
ad horse; lie was caught by the bridle when
miear the shore, and the old gentleman re
lieved from his perilowe position.
Etiquette of Letter-Writling.
As a rule every letter, unless insulting
Ia its character, requIres ain answer. To
neglect to answer a letter when written to,
is as uncivil as to neglect a reply when
In the reply acknowvledgo first the receipt,
of the letter, mention!ng the date and after
wards consider till the poiints requiring at
If the letter Is to be very brief, commerre
sufilelently far from the top of the page to
give a nearly equal amount of blank paper
at the bottom of the shect wvhen the letter
Should the matter ha the letter continue
beyond the first page, It Is well to coim
mienee a little above the sheet, extending
as far as necessary on the other pages.
It Is thought Improper to use a half-sheet
of paper in formal letters. As a matter of
economy anti convenIence for business pur
poses, however, It Is customary to have the
cardl of the busIness man printed at the top
of the sheet, and a AIngle leaf is used,
In writing a letter, tihe fanswer.to Wiilc
is of more benajft to you.rself than the per
son to whomn you write, ficelose - postage
stamnp for the reply.
Letters should be as free from e'ahures,
interknmeat,ion, blots and postscripts as pos
sible.. It is decid,edly better to COPY .the
lotter thtan to have these appe 1r..
IA letter'of inttoduettoil 6 tc@finletad,
tion shouildnever be sealed, ae"thebrt
to whomit i gven~ Qught to knowttie 'on~
FOOD FOR TIIOUGHT.
h'll( pillow is a silent albyl-despise
not its oracles.
Employ your time well, if you mean
to gain leisure.
Frequently review your conduct and
not your feeings.
Flattery is like champagne-1 soon
gets Into the head.
Every dog has his day, but the nights
belong to the cats.
It is better to live on a little, than
outlive a great deal.
Man's knowledge is but the rivulet,
his ignorance as the sea.
How to get a good wife-take a good
girl amd go to a parson.
To read without reflecting Is like eat
ings without digesting.
A good manl will never teach that
which he does not believe.
Experience keeps a dear school, but
fools will learn in no other.
A slip of the foot may be recovered,
but that of the tongue, perhaps, never.
We should take abundant care for the
future, but so as to enjoy the present.
"Whatever is, Is right," except w hen
you got the right boot on the left toot.
Love elevates or debases the soul, ac
cording to the object which inspires It.
A man may have a thousand ac
quaintances, and not one friend among
Never count on the favor of the rich
by flattering either their vanities or
"Mankind," said a preacher, "in
cludes woman ; for man embraces wo
Jealousy is the height of egotism,
self-love, and the iritation of a falev
The boat penance we can do for en
vying another's merit is to endeavor to
I reckon him a Christian indeed who
Is neither ashamed o' the gospel nor a
;hane to it.
Look in thy heart and write. Hle
hat writes to himself, writes to an
When the world has got hold of a lie,
t is astoiishing how hard it is to get
t away from it.
What is that which never asks any
l,nestions but requires ntany answers?
Lhe street door.
When a tooth begins to feel as if there
vas a chicken Mcrateltitg at the rot,
t'a tie to pullit.
"Figures won't lie." That'sanother,
low about the human figure atter a
lay's hard work?
'I'hey who are very in.lulgent to
hemselves, seldom have much consid
ration for others.
Kindness is stowed away in the heart
Ike leaves in a drawer to sweeten every
We are more prone to persecute.oth
irs for their faith t,an to make sacrl
Ices to prove our own.
Those who pray with an unforgiving
pirit curse themselves every time they
ay the Lord's T'rayor.
Adversity does not take from us: our
rue friends; it only disperses thosQ
vho pretend to be such.
Speak lut-le, speak truth; spend lit
le, pay cash. Better go supperless to
>ed thian to run in debt.
When one man has a prejudlice
igainst another, suspicioni is very busy
it coining resemblances.
Those who are most addicted to satir
ze others, dislike most to be tasade ob
ects of satire themsnives.
The height of all philosophy Cs to
enow thtyself, and the end of til
Enowliedge is to know God.
Never th ink the worse of another whlo
mi occount or diifertn g with you In re
igious or political 0op iions.
It talking, everything is uinreasona
)le that is private to two or thre6, or
my portion 01 the company.
T1hte grocer oil'ered htim a frozen ham,
>nt heo said hte'd rat,her not take the
sold shoulder fromn any onto,
rThere is no man so frlendiess. but
hiat Ite can find a friend sincere enough
o tell 1dm disagreeable truths.
A lot of bootblacks slttlilg on a cnrb
tone may not be India-rubber boys,
thtough they are gutter pereigprs.
It can be as pleasant for power.to ex
e'reise power, and( for see dto dievelop
seed, as it is to rust, vhenu rest in needed.
"Dying in povery," 'says ajrm'orn
moralist, "Is nothing; it is livIng in
poverty thtat comes hard on a ,fellow."
"You are carrying tIl thing too
far," said a-polieemah, as he arrestedl a
thief running off witht -a dian's watcht.
All ment are bett9r thtan thelr iebulli
tions of evil, bitt the.y are .also.. worse
thtan their outburst ot npble ent,hnsi
What is the digerence bf,ween A tr'ot
ting-park and A tribe of savagea? One,
is a race course an~d.the other a coarse
Books like proverbs, receive their
chief valu4 from the'stamp and esteem
of agei through whleh they have
Blessed is the hand that preparbe a
pleasure for a child, 'or there is, no
saying when and wlgere it may again
Mabe 'ting todta e oe
in, r.eplied: "The hArdwear business;
look at ngy wardrob,
"D)1ped into a weak,solution of a'
(cornplishmensts," is thte terni fow ,ap
plied -to those oft our girls piofessing to
be so highly educated. * '.
In the South the boydscott'-go int
swimmaAr a.Wtha,sa5rtr than can
the juveniles In tihe North. This is
another douthiern outrage.
A graduate of West' ,wo wedt
Weost to startle the eby e6me
matvelou erform ge,fn#t.h
"Is this afr-tlght$" I 1igg st$ au
in ahardwva're t4re,S nokned
stove. "No, sit " 11le k
"~aIr never gets t1Wh'." d us~
,"syour -house ad arpVi ole,lji.