lewis m. grist, proprietor, j $niepcni)cnt Jamiln ^tetuspapcr: Jfor % promotion of tbe political, Social, ^gricnltura! anb Commercial Interests of % SontJj. |terms--$2.50 a year, IS advance.
VOL. 27. 7 YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY lO, 1881. NO. 6.
?viginat f aetrw.
Written for the Yorkrille Enquirer.
MY VALENTINE ;
OR,
LOVE AND SILENCE vs. SCORN.
BY JOB.
You may mock, or deride and sneer
And shun and scorn me if you will;
But loving yon, I can but bear
Your treatment, be it good or ill.
For who can brook the gloomy thought
Of hating one ho once has loved,
And by her whims be changed and wrought
Into a serpent from a dove !
No, tnv anger thus shall never burn'
At aught that you may say or do.
Nor one harsh word for yours return,
Neither when in or out of view.
But silently 111 uear, unmuveu,
Your bitter rage and words of scorn
'Til by my patience I have proved
My love can stand a thunder storm !
I know there's blue blood in your veins,
And that you hold your head up high ;
But 'tis well poised, and full of brains
Enough to accomplish all you try.
Oh ! that your vanity and pride
And imperious will were not so great;
Then e'er with yon to be allied
Would be indeed a blest estate.
But 0 my heart, my soul, how long
Ere this important truth you learn,
That love that's lasting, pure and strong
Can never dwell where passions burn ;
But flee to a true and humble heart,
Whose throbbings warm a faithful breastWhere
joys will come and never depart,
But therein take eternal rest.
JU Original
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
THE LADY OF LINTON.
BY WALTER MORGAN.
CHAPTER XIII.
The varied feelings which agitated Cyril's
mind during his homeward journey, can be
only inadequately described ; but their effect
was visible in his pale and haggard face,
whose worn and woefui expression seemed-to I
. * .1 i ! I
indicate days, ratner man nours, 01 suneriug.
He reached home in the afternoon, and with
a throbbing heart ascended the steps, scarcely
daring to enter, in the dread of what he
might find in store for him.
His eldest sister met him in the hall, having
seen his approach from a window, and !
hurried down to welcome him. Her face was
pale and bore traces of tears ; and her quivering
lips, as she tried to utter some words of
greeting, betrayed her inward grief, which by
an effort she kept from breaking forth.
"L?u?" was the one word which Cyril
\ managed to utter.
"She is asleep now. She asked for you a |
little while ago."
"Is she no better ?"
A sad shake of the head was the only reply. (
. Heavy at heart, Cyril followed her to the j
sick chamber. A noiseless greeting took j,
place between him and the watchers round ,
the bed ; and Mrs. Hope silently made room i (
for him to sit beside the pillow.
His little sister lay sleeping ; so motionless,
so marble like in her repose, that but for tin- ,
slight laboring of her breath, it would have ,
been easy to believe that Death had already j
taken her to his icy breast. His signet was ]
plainly set upon her brow; and Cyril noted,
with a shudder, the faint, purple shadows al- ,
ready gathering about her eyes and mouth, j
The end was very near. Would she know j ]
him?give him cue glance or her recognition
and love, before it came?
Nearly an hour crept by, in oppressive, unbroken
silence. No one dared moved, for ,
fear of disturbing the sleeper. The least ag
itation, the least flutter of the nerves, might
hasten the moment to which they were all : |
looking forward with chill and trembling i ]
dread. Yet au unspoken apprehension filled j j
each one, that from this earthly slumber she j
might insensibly glide into that more pro- |
found repose from which she would never j'
awaken ; that her frail bark, launched una-1 ,
aware upon the sea of Eternity, would leave j
the shore without one parting sign, one j
hand wave of farewell. Perchance it would j
be better so?for her no suffering, no con |
sciousness of a rending pang; but their hu- |
man hearts longed for one more glance, one <
more token of the love that was being drawu j
out of their lives, which it had gladdened ;
and beautified so long.
Bv and bv. the child stirred. An exnres- !
8iou of pain contracted her brow, and a low i
moan escaped her lips. Her mother bent
over her, anxiously watching; and* directly, j
the painful look passed away, and opening j
her eyes, she met her mother's gaze, and ;
smiled.
"Has Cyril come?" she whispered.
"Yes, darling, he is here."
Mrs. Hope moved a little aside, and Cyril
took her place. Lou smiled up in his face as
he bent to kiss her?a smile that nearly broke j
his heart. "I'm so glad," she said, contented- j
ly; then in a fainter tone, "I knew you !
would come. She clung to him, as though
her slender arms would never loosen their
hold, though, even then, the frail grasp she
held upon earth and its beloved ones was
growing momentarily weaker. The dear
faces began to fade before her eyes. Cyril i
felt a shudder pass through her frame? ,
another?then she put out one trembliug
hand?
"Mamma! where are you ?"
"Here, my own one ; close by you."'
"I can't see you?kiss?kiss me?"
fii. i ti.n...I ?* .1.-. 1:? i.:? I
v/u ; hicovmciuuiij ui umi [laiuug kiss, jixcssed
by each in turn upon the sweet, pallid
mouth ! The awful hush that followed", &s
with strained glances and stifled breath,
they stood with the young pilgrim upon the
biink of that cold stream which she must
cross alone ! Yet not alone, for angel ministers
were surely waiting to bear her through.
There was a tremor of the eyelids?one low,
sobbing sigh?then an unseen hand loosened
the last detaining cord, and the gentle spirit
was free. The final moment could not have
been more peaceful. The anguish was all
for those who were left behind.
- Cyril did not liuger in the room. With j
one last kiss pressed upon the beautiful clay,1
he hurried off, longing to be alone. He shut
himself op in his own little room?how solitary
and forlorn it looked !?and gave way to
his grief without restraint. Oh ! that he had
never left home! Only misery, and grief,
and self-reproach had come of his absence. |
A record had been written upon the page of
his life which no repentence or tears could
efface. A record of folly, of wasted love, of
wild hopes blighted and crushed, of sorrow,
and shame, and duty neglected ; all crowned
now by this one bitter draught of woe. For
his home ties were very strong; and the link
which had just been severed had been, next
to his love tor his mother, the strongest of
them all. Happy Lou! he would gladly
have changed places with her if he could. |
There were 110 wild sobs, no passionate
outbreaks of sorrow to disturb the solemn
quiet of the house. The mourners went about
with noiseless steps, feeliug as though any
violent demonstrations would be out of place
in the neighborhood of that pure and peace'
ful presence, around which lingered an atmosj
phere of perfect serenity and repose. Surely
| the death-angel had never left his traces on a
| lovelier image than the sleeping face of this
gentle child. No look of pain, no rigid lines
I were there. Each feature wore its natural
expression, only more beautiful than in life,
| and just the tender shadow of a smile lingered
! on the chiselled lips. Even the mother, in
j whose heart this youngest-born of her chil
J dren had always held so dear and sacred a
i place, and to whom the parting from her
| had been like rending soul and body asunder,
gazed upou her with only sileut-dropping
tears; reading in the placid brow, the closed
eye-lids with their silken fringe, the little
hands loosely folded, and in that faint, ineffable
smile, the tokens of a peace so entire, a
happiness so deep, as seemed to make the very
idea of recalling her to earth a sacrilege, and
forbade one rep uing or rebellious thought.
Tlia ovonino umrp nn Tt WHS PrOwiUfT
late, and leaving her two daughters to watch
beside their lit le sister, Mrs. Hope went iu
search of Cyri. whom she had not seen except
in diat lirst hour of his arrival. She
longed to nave him near her, to comfort him.
It seemed to her more fitting that they should
all be together at this solemn time, than that
he should shut, himself up in solitary indulgence
of his feelings. She knocked at his
door, finding it locked, aud receiving no response,
knocked again.
"It is I, Cyril, love; may I come in ?" she
gently called to him.
After a moment's silence, a heavy step
slowly crossed the floor. The door was unfastened,
as it appeared, with a reluctant
hand, and Cyril, with averted face, admitted
her.
"Dear child," she said, putting her arm
arountj hira, as they walked together towards
a sofa where he had been sitting, "I have
come to be with you for a little. You know
I have scarcely seen you yet."
He made no reply, but flung himself wearily
down, and leaned his head upon his hand.
She took his other hand in hers and fondled
it; but it lay limp and cold, and gave no responsive
pressure to her clasp.
"I am so thankful you came when you did,"
she went on presently, trying to draw him on
to talk. "It would have been so much worse
if you had been too late; and I was fearing
all the time there might be some unforseen
delay."
"I dou't see ..hat there could be anything
worse," he answered in a dreary undertone.
"Worse than this?our loss you mean?
It is hard enough, dear?hard aud bitter for
us all. But it might have been far more
hard, far more bitter, if there had been prolonged
suffering, hours or days of agony, to
witness and be unable to relieve. Think
how calm, how peaceful, the end has been ;
and then the joy at having jrou with her.
That was the one wish, and it was gratified.
I feel that we have much to be grateful for.And
she was so saintly, so pure, 60 unfit
for conflict with the world. Surely it is
better that He who loved her has taken her
thus early to Himself.
"Aye, its better for her, no doubt," answered
Cyril. "Life doesn't hold much that's desirable,
or worth living for."
There was a depth of bitterness in his tone
that jarred upon the mother's ear. So accustomed
to read the emotions of his heart in
the inflexions of his voice, and in the expressions
of his face, she judged now from both
that it was not his sister's death alone that
caused his suffering. Instinct, that wonderful
maternal instinct, that seldom errs, whispered
to her of something beneath and beyond
this natural sorrow, that she was not able yet
to fathom. Sh^ looked at him anxiously and
long. For the first time, she perceived that
he was looking very ill.
"Cyril," she asked him after this scrutiny,
which he did not appear to he conscious of,
'have you not been well lately ? Have you
been working very hard?"
"Working? No, mother ; I have done no
work at all, to speak of."
"You look so fagged out, I was afraid you
might have overtasked your strength."
"Oh ! no."
Her tender tone, the caressinsr touch of her
hand, invited his confidence ; but he felt as if
he could not betray all his misery. He must
keep it shut up within himself.
"Did anything go wrong in the parish while
you were there?" she persisted, still watching
his face, whose changed look struck her more
and more forcibly. It seemed so much older
than when she had seen it last.
"Nothing went wrong in the parish." There
was a touch of impatience in his tone, as
though he would fain have escaped from her
importunity.
"Then something has gone wrong with you.
Forgive me, dear boy, if I press you against
your will," she added, with a mixture of affection
and authority, as she drew him nearer
to her and kissed his cheek. "But I am so
used to watching you?I can read your face
so well?and I feel that you are hiding some
thing from me now. If you are in trouble?
any trouble that I don't know of?who so fit
to help or advise you as your own mother?"
"You can't help me, mother. No one can."
His self-restraint gave way now, unlocked by
the loving sympathy which from his childhood
had led him to reveal every passing
trouble, sure of finding counsel and comfort
with the mother who had ever made her
children's joys and griefs her own. By and
by, as she urged him, he told her, in broken
tones, all his unhappy story, reserving nothing
; his heart insensibly growing lighter as
he spoke, for it seemed as if the very fact of
her sharing his burden with him made it easier
to bear.
"My poor boy !" There was no reproach
in her tone. Indeed she could find nothing
to reproach him with. It had not been his
fault that he 1 id been betrayed into so fatal
a passion ? tho he had fallen blindly into so
cruel a snare. She thought Miriam a wicked
woman, but she would not say so. She knew
.1 x u i ?i ... ... i??
mm il wouiu ue iiu bukhjc iu vjiu iu mm
her blamed. As yet, he could uot realize
how far she deserved reproach. He could not
bring himself to believe that the whole of old
Priscilla's tale was true.
"I feel that it is at least due to her that I
should write," he said, "even if I never see
her again. Don't you think I owe it to her ?"
No, Mrs. Hope could not think so. It
seemed to her as if his only wise and right
course would be blot this episode out of his
life?out of his memory, if possible?at once
and forever. But she told him she would
think it over?would talk to him about it
again, after a while.
"It seems almost wicked in me to have
brought such a subject to your notice at this
time," he said, remorsefully. "But I have
.been so wretched?and when you asked me, I
could not help telling."
"Thank God that you did, my own boy.
What am I fit for, if I cannot bear my children's
griefs as well as my own ?" she replied.
And then, by mutual consent, the subject was
dropped, and Cyril, feeling softened and
soothed, went with his mother to look on
the beautiful remains whose aspect, with all
the memories they enshrined, lifted him out
of the atmosphere of earthly passion and
strife int* a region where feverish and unholy
desires were unknown, and all breathed of
purity and peace.
The next day passed, and then Lou was
laid to rest by her father's side. Her little
room was empty, though the low willow chair,
' standing in its accustomed place, and the
' pretty trifles she had taken pleasure in gath
! ering about her, seemed yet to speak of her
presence. And not only in this one spot, but
all throughout the house, were scattered to'
kens of girlish industry, of tasteful care, that
: brought her ever freshly to their minds. Bits
i; of fancy work, a framed drawing on the wall;
ii and in one room not opened since her illness?
; sad memento !?a bouquet of withered flowers,
, gathered and placed by her in a vase, after
| walking in the garden for the last time.
| Drooping and scentless, they seemed emblems
! of the blighted loveliness of her whose little
hand, now lying beneath the sod, had plucked
i them from their parent stems. Like theirs,
| her young life had quickly closed ; but not
1 like them, she had been taken from au earthly
sphere to bloom in a heavenly one, where
her beauty should never fade.
Mrs. Hope, in her sorrow for the dead, did
not lose her sympathy for the living. She
I had made her son's trouble and perplexity
her own ; and after a little earnest thought,
| she decided to take a step which must at once
KUU ail IIUCC! LUIIIty UI surpcusc III mc ujttitbi.
She would uot take it without consulting him,
however, and one day, when they were alone,
she aaid to him?
"Cyril, I am going, with your permission,
to pay a short visit to St. John's. Are you
willing that I should go ?"
St. John's was Dr. Rexford's parish.
"You going, mother!" he exclaimed in
astonishment. "But why ?"
"Because, my son, I want to see Lady Hepburn?to
find out for myself all that you
ought to know, to satisfy you that you have
acted rightly."
"But suppose people should find outshould
talk ?"
"They shall find out nothing frcra ray
visit. I shall merely be on ray way to see a
friend, and stop at the Rectory to explain I
why you have not yet returned ; for if you I
will take ray advice, Cyril, you will resume
your duties there as soon as possible. It will
be the surest way to avoid comment of a disagreeable
kind."
"Oh mother ! I cannot go back."
"Very well," said Mrs. Hope; but on
thinking it over her son decided that she
was right. It would be but a few weeks
longer, at most, that#he would be required to
fill the post he had vacated; and during that
time he could keep himself as secluded as he
pleased. His recent sorrow would be quite
sufficient an excuse for his not going out.
Mrs. Hope started on her journey the next
morning; but she did not have occasion to
go farther than the Rectory, where she found
the housekeeper bursting with news that she
lost no time in pouring into her ear.
"Such a strauge and wonderful thing,
ma'am, as has happened since Mr. Hope left!
Sir Roland Hepburn, the husband of Lady
Hepburn, who's been called a widow these
ten years and more, has suddenly made his
appearance again, nobody knows how ; but
there he is in his own house, in the flesh, as
those who've seen him can testify. Lady
Hepburn's been at the point of death, and is
still very low, But a triHe better. She's bad |
brain fever. They do say as how he means
to take her abroad, as soon as she's fit to be
moved. But it's caused an uncommon stir in
the parish, I can tell you."
[to be continued.]
i^liscfUiincotts gtcadiag.
HOW TO MAKE OUT A BILL.
The Syracuse Herald tells the following
good story, which was originally from the
lips of a well-known sexton and undertaker:
He had a funeral to conduct for the family
of Mr. M., a wealthy but eccentric merchant.
When it was over he handed in his bill, made
out after the usual custom. Mr. M. put on
his eye-glusses, opened the bill, and read it
clean through. "I see you have a charge of
830 for kid gloves here," said he; "how many
pair did you buy ?"
"A dozen," was the reply.
"And here again you have charged 850
for scarfs used in the procession. How
many scarfs were there, and what did they
cost ?'
"I had to have a dozen of them?two new
and the rest cleaned and made over. Their
entire cost was about 835."
"And you have put down carriage hire at
850. How many carriages had you ?
"Eight in all."
"And they cost you how much apiece ?"
"Four dollars."
"Well, sir, I decline to pay your bill."
The sexton was thunderstruck. The gentleman
had never before been known to dispute
a reasonable account with any one, and
he was reputed very rich.
"I could have gone to the store and bought
all those gloves for 82 a pair myself," the
millionaire went on, "or 824 for the lot. I
could have hired ten 6carfs and had the other
two made for 825. I could have got the
carriages at the livery stable for 832. Twenty-four
and thirty-two are fifty-six, and thirtyfive
makes ninety one. You have charged
me 8186 for articles I could have purchased
myself for S91. I presume there are other
items of the same sort elsewhere in the account."
"But, Mr. M., I "
"I decline to pay the bill, sir; take it back
and make it out right."
"But, Mr. M., 1 must make something on
these affairs ; this is the only means I have of
gaining a livelihood."
"Make y.our bill out as you should, I
say."
i Sadly crestfallen, the sexton was about to i
i turn away, when the merchant pointed to a !
seat at his writing table.
"Sit down there," said he, "and I will teach j
you how to make out a bill. In the first j
place, enter the hearse, coffin, advertisement, j
&c., as you have them. Then write: "One
j dozen pairs, black kid gloves at 82?824 ; to i
! making two scarf's and repairing ten old ones,
I 835 ; to hire of eight carriages at S4?832.'
| Now you have your account correct so fur as
! it goes. But you have said nothing about.
: your own services ; so write: To sexton's
| service, 8100.' Is that satisfactory ? If not,
! m o l?o if Q 1 'irt ?9nn_ti'Ko foirflf *?#*n n/\noul?ir
umng 11 V1 vu iiiiavg?ti j uu uv/uciugi I
j a fai,r sum. We shall not dispute about that, j
What I object to, is not the amount I am
called upon to pay, but the pretext under
which it is demanded. Your first bill wasn't
] business like ; your second will do. Do you
I see the difference ?"
The sexton both saw and admitted it. He
' learned a lesson from that interview which he
j never afterward forgot.
* ? * *
I Sunlight.?The sun, if you will only open
j your house to him, is a faithful physician, who
| will be pretty constant in attendance, and
! who will send in no bills. Many years ago
; glass was a sort of luxury, but now we can all
j have good sized windows, and plenty of them,
at moderate cost, and there is no excuse for
! making mere loop holes, through which the
J suu can cast but half an eye, and from which
j one can gain only narrow glimpses of the
j beautiful outer world.
I am sufficiently acquainted with the con1
servative character of many country people
| to know that expressions of disdain will come
I from some quarters when I mention bay win|
dows. Nevertheless, bay windows are a good
' thing. Their effect is very much like letting
| heaven into one's house, at least, ought to be
! like that, for it is nothing but absurdity and
' wickedness to darken such windows with
| shutters or heavy curtains until only a strugi
gling ray of sunlight can be seen.
I If bay windows are too expensive, a very
desirable substitute can be had by placing
two ordinary sized windows, side by side, with
J a wide capacious ledge at the bottom for seats
; or for plants.
j A room with a window like this cannot
| help but be cheery, and its effect in a simple
i cottage house is quite sumptuous. There is,
! likewise, in its fuvor the fuct that it is less ex!
posed than the deep bay window to outer heat
1 and cold.
! In a kitchen or child's bed-room, or in an
j attic, where the walls are low, two half-win|
dows set side by side and made to slide or
j to open on hinges, admit a broad, generous
! light, and give an apartment a pretty and
i pleasing rustic air.
Let the builder endeavor to have all rooms
! in daily use, especially bed rooms and sitting
i rooms, well lighted by the sun. "To sleep in
; unsunned rooms is the unrepented sin of half
the nation," vigorously affirms a prominent
writer. But this should not be said of that
part of the nation living in the country far
from those towering brick walls, whose steps
take hold on basement kitchens, and in whose
depressing shadows.many lives must necessarily
be spent. . In the country, with the whole
sky to draw from, leirthere be light! If any
rooms in the house must look solely to the
north for illumination, let them be the parlor
and the spare chamber. People who come
and go can be cheerful for a while in a northj
windowed apartment, but the constant dwellj
ers in a house need its sunniest rooms.?Farm
! Homes.
t'OLD H1MLKS.
The winter of 1779-80, says the Albany
Argus, began a9 the present one did, and before
the slight moderation in the atmosphere,
Sunday, many of the older residents, whose
fathers and mothers had told them many tales
of that terrible winter, were speculating as to
whether the present one would resemble it
iu other respects. In 1779-80 the cold weath- I
er set in about the middle of November,
and continued until the middle of February, i
During that long period there was not enough ]
warmth in the sun's rays to melt the snow on i
the ground, nor to affect in the least the fet- I
ters of ice that bound the creeks, ponds and i
rivers. One snow storm followed another i
until, finally the ground was so covered that I
it was difficult to go from place to place, and
the ice upon the rivers at all convenient points I
was used by men and teams and animals in I
place of roads. The cold winds were so pier- 1
cing that wild turkeys were found frozen to i
death in the forests and domestic fowls fell t
frozen from their roosts. The deer and buffalo (
sought shelter from the blasts around the
cabins of the settlers, and all kinds of wild <
animals perished in the forest for want of \
food, which was buried under the snow. The {
fierce wolf and panther, which usually skulked
about the boundaries of the settlements i
only by night, now came near in broad day- t
light iu search of the bones and offal thrown t
from the cabins of the settlers. No rain fell, 1
and the pioneers were compelled to get water i
for drinking, cooking, etc., by melting ice and i
snow. The Northern and Western rivers f
were tightly bound by frost, and eveu as far {
south as Nashville, the Cumberland was froz- ?
en over with ice thick enough for the safe i
passage of emigrant trains. The Delaware,
at Philadelphia, had ice three feet in thick- t
ness, and Chesapeake Bay and Long Island s
Sound were frozen over. (
Another similarity between the present t
winter and that of PT79-80, was the mild f
* -i? iL.i ,i_-i uiu .
nuruinn weauier uiui preceueu iu i? ucu i
the cold began in November, 1779, the leaves 1
had hardly fallen from the forest trees, and
many 0/ the trees aud shrubs were putting s
forth new growth. The same condition of t
thing was witnessed last Fall. The winters t
of 1783, 1784, 1788, 1792, 1796 and 1799
are all reported as having been very severe, c
"It is stated iu "Hildreth's Pioneer His- t
tory," that on the 26th of December, 1788,
the Delaware and Ohio rivers were both
frozen over, and navigation was suspeuded
upon them until the 18th of the following
March.
In 1792, when soldiers were sent to the disastrous
battlefield of General St. Clair, to
bury the dead, they encamped where Cincin- j
nati now stands, January 23d. The snow
was reported two feet deep upon the ground,
and the Ohio river was so strongly frozen that
the soldiers rode their horses across from Ken- .
tucky 011 the ice.
The 7th of February, 1807, known for years
as the cold Friday, was the ground work
for many a grandfather's tale. On the evening
of the 16th, the weather was mild and
rain began to fall as night set iu. In a few
hours the rain changed to snow, which fell c
to the depth of six inches, after which, a hurricane
began to sweep over the land. It
grew colder and colder as the night progressed,
and the next morning the trees in the
forest were cracking like the reports of guns,
and everything was bound in letters of ice.
There was no thermometer to register the
cold, but the day comes down in history and
tradition as the cold Friday.
VALUE OF SNOW.
When the snow is driven against our faces,
or is piled by the wind into huge heaps,
blocking up the highways and railways aud
impeding travel, we are apt to look upon it
as a nuisance, and jbrget for the time being j
the valuable services it renders the farmer.
Snow serves as a protection to grass and to ^
flip rnrOs of all nerennial ulants. and above
" " "0 # " I I '
all this, it has a manurial value of no small j
account. There id anj old Scotch proverb,
that "Snow is the poor man's manure," which
has beeu handed down and repeated through
many generations. Plants cannot grow and
flourish without a supply of ammonia, and
this substance is contained in the snow, es- j
pecially in the snows that fall in the Spring.
Ammonia is composed of uitrogen and hy- *j
drogen, and in its uncombined state, is lighter
than air, invisible, and has a very pungent '
odor. Water absorbs it in large quantities, j
and any one who ha3 inhaled the odor of
the water of ammonia or "hartshorn," can "
comprehend one of its peculiarities, at l.
least.
Ammonia is formed by the decomposition j
of all organic substances, and more especially
by the decay of animal matter. The gas
thus formed is constantly passing into the
air, and amospheric air generally contains a
small quantity of it. Its affinity for water is <
such that when it rains or snows, it is brought 1
, to the earth and enriches it. It has been no- (
ticed that in extremely cold climates, after '
the ground has been covered with suow for | <
several weeks and the cold has prevented de
composition and putrefaction, no trace of am- >
monia could be detected in the air. Snow be- (
iug cold and porous is one of the best absorb- 1
ents of ammonia, and after a few snow storms,
very little remains mixed with the air until j <
it receives a new supply. But April snows i
come after decomposition and putrefaction '
i have been resumed, and the accumulations 1
of winter,.undergoing this chauge, supply an 1
j unusual amount of ammonia to the air, and
such snows are uncommonly rich in this im
portant fertilizer.
Prolific People.?Michael Hazzard, of
H,! + t AiMin^tr Nlinot* V* u Q QOnt tA
I iUUill lLCi IU, X I II Ik UUUlllJ, nullum, ling uv/nu .v
j the Washington Republican, a picture of five
| babies borne by his wife on the 18th of Sep
! tember, 1880, and whose combined weight
I was 19j pounds. Hazzard is 39 and bis wife
I 36 years of age. The Republican says : The
j prolific powers of some individuals among
mankind are very extraordinary. Instances
have been found where children to the number
of Bix, seven, eight, nine, and sometimes
sixteen have been brought forth at one birth.
The wife of Emmanuel Gago, a laborer, near
Valladorne, was delivered on the 14th of
June, of five girls. The celebrated Tarsiu
was brought to bed in the seventh month, at
Argenteuil, near Paris, 17th of July, 1799,
of three boys, each 14$ inches long, and a girl
13 inches. They were all baptized, but did
not live 24 hours. In June 1799, one Maria
Luiz, of Luceua, in Andalusia, was successfully
delivered of sixteen boys without any
girls. Seven of them were alive on the 16th
of the August following.
In 1835, a Muscovite peasant, named James
KyrloflT, and his wife, were presented to the
Empress of Russia. This peasant had been
twice married, and was then seventy years of
age. His first wife was brought to bed twenty-one
times?namely, four times of four children
each time, seven times of three, and ten
timpa nf twn in all 57 children, all then alive.
His second wife, who accompanied him, had
been delivered seven times, once of three children
and six times of twins. Thus he had
seventy-two children by his two marriages.
ABOUT CUSTOMS.
The origin of customs is a very interesting
study. Many of our customs are so old
that we cannot trace them, but others we can.
For example, shaking hands. This is supposed
to have originated in the days of chivalry.
If two knights joined their hands, of
course they were rendered unable to draw
and use their swords against each otherfriends,
aud no longer enemies.
Lifting the hat is another custom that no
doubt had a military origin. In old times
soldiers wore helmets ; to remove the helmet)
was to put the head at the mercy of another?
in other words, to show trust and confidence
in the honor of the other party.
After awhile, to lift the hat, which was a
remnant of the custom of removing the hel
met, came to signify somewhat of the same
thing?a trust in the courtesy and the friendship
of the person met. Of course, it is
now-a days, a mere act of of formal politeness,
and may not always be intended iu its
full sense ; but that is its meaning. "I bare
my head to you ; you are my friend; you will
not take advantage of my unprotected state
Lo do me an injury."
The military salute is said to have origina
ied at tournaments. All the knights who
nad ridden, as they passed the lady who had
aeen chosen Queen of Love and Beauty,
-aised their hand to the eyes as if to shield
,he sight from the dazzling loveliness of the
^ueen.
"Good by" is a form of the old and fuller
ixpression, "God be with thee," as "fare thee
veil" aud "good morning," or "I wish you a
jood morning."
Bowing to another is also a remnant of
nilitary days. When one army conquered
mother, the conquerers selected the chief of
he vanquished side, or some of the principal
egions or regiments, and made them pass
inder a spear laid across two others planted
n the ground. Bending the head is, thereore,
a sort of sign of humility before the
person bowed to. Now-a-days, it is a formal
ict, and signifies only deference and politeiess.
In other countries other modes of saluta
,ion and showing politeness exist. For initauce,
in some lands, two persons meet, drop
lown on their knees, aud touch their noses
;ogether! It would be very rude to meet a
Yiend and not touch your nose to his; he
vould feel that you did not care for him any
onger.
In earlier days and in Eastern lauds, perions
used to fall down on their faces before
ithers if they wished to show them great
espect.
Customs are queer things, but it is well to
ibserve all proper ones and if they are evil
o try and correct them.
m
LONUSTREET AND THE SULTAN.
Mr. Gleaves, of the United States navy,
lescribes in a letter to a relative in Nashrille,
Tenn., the ceremonial attending the preeutation
of Gen. Longstreet's credentials to
he Sultan of Turkey. '.'When," he says "an
ifficer announced that the Sultan was ready,
he minister, escorted by a pasha on each side,
tnd the rest of of us falling iu an order reembling
that in which the animals are said to
lave entered the Ark, passed out of the room,
ip the grand staircase, between files of rigid
ifficets, 'all gleaming,' like Byron's Assyrima,
'in purple and gold.' Crossing a large
aloon, handsomely upholstered and ornamened
with a glittering chandelier, we bowed
mrselves over the threshold of the audience
oom and stood in the silent presence of Sultan
Vbdul Hamid II, at present the most talked
if, and from his political and religious suroundings,
the most interesting monarch of
ill Europe. Uen. JLongstreet was nrst preented,
and made the conventional speech,
vhich was interpreted by the minister of for
:ign affairs, a shabby, stupid old fellow, enreloped
in gold embroidery. The address
vns very happily and charmingly delivered.
The truth is, we are all in love with the old
oldier, and feel very proud of America's
epresentative. He was the finest looking
nan at the palace, and the most finished
:ourtier could not have borne himself better.
\fter handing the Sultan the credentials, Mr.
Heap was presented, aud then the officers in
>rder according to their rank. Each one
laving stepped up and made their bow backid
off. When the audience was over, all
jacked out of the Sultan's presence. Several
ifficers of the palace were present during the
nterview, and stood in a fixed line on his
ight. The audience chamber wus large, but
juite plain ; there were a few landscapes in
>il and a Persian carpet in bright colors.
But the gem of the room was a superb rug of
;atin, on the edge of which the Sultan stood.
Having retired to the waiting room, we were
presented to Osinan Pasha, the hero of Plevja,
now grand marshal of the palace, and to
he minister of foreign affairs. Sherbet was
lerved and cigarettes. Soon an invitation
lame down from the Sultan inviting the minstpra
nnrf nffiners to dine next dav on the
ulmiral's iron clad. Soon afterward we left
he palace. Such was the presentation at
;he Imperial Court."
A Lightning Bolt Writing God's Name
3n a Blasphemer.?Some of our contemporaries
seem disposed to question the truth of
Mir statement that a negro man who was
killed by lightning last summer, in Campbell !
county, had the letters "GOD" on his body.
Dr. Thomas E. Moorman, whose post office i
iddress is Mt. Zion, Campbell county, furnish- j
sd the Richmond Christian Advocate an account
of the circumstance, as follows:
"On the evening of the 6th instant, Perry
Jones and George Brown, colored men, notoriously
the most profane, wicked persons in
the whole community, with three other colored
persons, took refuge during the rain, accompanied
by a good deal of lightuing and
thunder, in a tobacco barn on the land of
Mr. George Creasey.
"From their several positions, one would
have thought that two of the others were in
more, and the third in as much danger, as
Jones and Brown were. They, as their custom
was, were engaged in cursing'and swearing.
Suddenly the lightning descended upon
them, and, while the other three were comparatively
uninjured, Jones was killed, and
Brown strickeu down senseless, and almost
lifeless for a time. He revived afler a few
minutes, and soon seemed to have regaiued
all of* his strength, but was dumb and bereft
of his mind for several hours. The lightning
had set fire to his clothing, and he was burn'
ed on his chest and left side and arm before
' the Are was extinguished. In his maniac effort
i to free himself from those who were retaining
j him, the skin was rubbed from the burned
i flesh, and presented the following characters,
GOD. A very close representation, to say
' the least of them, of the capital letters used in
printing the name of Deity, while around and
between them the skin was unmoved and apparently
not burned. The above characters
occupied the angles of an equilateral triangle,
which, as you are doubtless aware, was in
ancient days the symbol of Diety. This man,
then, appears to have been branded with the
naine of his Creator in the symbolic language,
it may be, of his forefathers three thousand
years ago, and in the printed language of the
nation to which he belongs."
Inherited Antipathies.?Cows hate dogs
instinctively, from their earliest calf hood upward.
I used to doubt, once upon a time,
whether the hatred was not of artificial origin
and wholly induced by the inveterate human
habit of egging on every dog to worry every
other animal that conies in its way. But I
tried a mild experiment one day by putting a
half-grown town bred puppy into a small enclosure
with some hitherto unworried calves,
and they all turned to make a common headway
against the intruder, with the same striking
unanimity as the most ancieut and experienced
cows. Hence I am inclined to suspect
that the antipathy does actually' result
from a vaguely inherited instinct derived from
the days when the ancestor of our kine was
a wild urus, and the ancestor of our dogs a
wolf, oh the wild forest-clad plains of Central
Europe. When a cow puts up its tail at the
sight of a dog entering its paddock at the
present day, it has probably some dim instinctive
consciousness that it stands in the presence
of a dangerous hereditary foe; and as the
wolves could only seize with safety a single
I isolated urus, so the cows now usually make
[ common cause against the intruding dog,
I turning their heads in one direction with very
unwonted unanimity till his tail finally disappears
under the opposite gate.
Such inherited antipathies seem common
and natural enough. Every species knows
and dreads the ordinary enemies of its race.
Mice scamper away from the very smell of a
cat. Young chickens run to the shelter of
their mother's wings when the shadow of a
hawk passes over their heads. Mr. Darwin
put a small snake into a paper bag, which he
gave to the monkeys at the Zoo; and one
monkey after another opened the bag, looked
in upon the deadly foe of the quadrumanous
kind, and promptly dropped the whole package,
with every gesture of horror and dismay.
Even man himself?though his instincts have
all weakened so greatly with the growth of his
more plastic intelligence, adapted to a wider
and more modifiable set of external ctrcumstances?seems
to retain a vague and original
terror of the serpentine form.?6'?. James' Gazette.
Business Men in the Senate.?One of
the noteworthy features of the new United
States Senate, whieh will meet in March, is
the unusual number of gentlemen connected
with different business interests who will form
part of its membership. Twenty or thirty
years ago a merchant or a banker rarely
sought, or, if he sought, succeeded in obtaining
a seat in the Senate or House of Representatives.
Previous to the war the planter
interest was well represented in Congress, but
Northern and Eastern business men and farmers
were conspicuous by their absence.
The lawyers had a monopoly of the positions
of honor and trust, attaining to them as a
rule by a regular .process of gradation and
promotion from ti.e lowest branch in the Legislature
up the highest office in the gift of
the State. The ranks of the Congressional
lawyers, however, are being steadily reduced,
and the next Senate will contain probably a
larger number of merchants, manufacturers
and farmers, than at any period in the history
of the government. Of the seventy six members
who will take their seats in March, twenty
at least are business men, while, in addition,
three others have practically abandoned
law to engage in commercial or other pursuits.
In the elections which have just taken
Dlace. five lawvers are succeeded by five gen
tlemen belonging to the commercial classes.
The business interests of the country?the
mines, railroads, agriculture, commerce and
trade?will this year have a larger representation
than, possibly, they ever had in the
highest legislative body, and the change cannot
fail to be beneficial. In an oratorical
way the Senate may not be so brilliant as in
other days, but it will be more competent to
legislate upon the great vital interests of the
nation.?New York Herald.
Good Advice to the Blacks.?Mr. B.
P. Chatfield, of Aiken, concludes a series of
letters to the Aiken Journal and Review as
follows:
"In the series of letters which I have written,
and which you have been kind enough to
publish, I have endeavored to portray, as correctly
as possible, the direct results produced
by political changes that have taken place in
our State during the last fifteen years. It
is well Jor us to review the past and be guided
in the future by its teachings. I have
endeavored to show the colored people of the
State that their sudden elevation to political
power has worked greatly to their disadvantage
and has retarded their prosperity, and
that the true course for them to pursue in the
future is to work and accumulate property,
educate their children, teach them habits of
industry, keep on good terms with the white
people, ignore State and county politics, so
far as holding office is concerned. Until
there is a division of white votes in the State?
which event 1 think will soop take place?it
will be utterly useless for them to array themselves
politically against the party that is now
in power. It would be placing themselves on
a political color line, and they could not suc
1 T. ,1 f?r.
ceeu. is ueiLei mat iucjr ouuuiu uui>, iui
the party now in power own a large percentage
of the property, and are more competent
to govern the State and administer its laws. I
helieve that the masses of the colored people
are satisfied that it is better for them
to have the State governed by the property
owners, if they can feel sure of equal protection."
Mr. Chatfield was a Garfield elector at the
recent election. As he cannot be suspected
of any leaning to the Democracy, the colored
voters should heed what he says.
A Clever Dodge.?The story, if not new,
| is ingenious, of the careful Bloomsbury matI
ron, who, having broken the cover of a butter
! dish, went to the china shop where it had
been bought, and, with much artfulness, asked
the proprietor if he would sell her a butter
dish similar to her own without its cover.
"Yes," the shopkeeper said, he would spare
one to oblige the lady, but he must really
charge her two shillings and six pence for it.
"But the thing complete is but three shillings,"
urged the customer. "Just so," said
! the china-dealer ; "but you see, the cover is
| absolutely valueless; it is the dish itself that
; costs all the money, and the sixpence I allow
I is more than the worth of the cover." "You
! are sure of that ?" said the lady. "Quite,
i Madam," was the reply. Dear me!" exclaimed
the customer, "how silly of me, to be
sure! It is really a cover I want and not
the dish !" and putting down sixpence on the
counter, she took up the cover and left the
shop before the astonished tradesman could
recover from his surprise sufficiently to speak.
A Great Telegraphic Monopoly.?The
s New York Times of Saturday says a new
; scheme of telegraphic monopoly has been per;
| fected. A new company has been formed by
I the consolidation of all the American com*
, panies owning or controlling cable connections
with other countries, under the title of
the American Telegraph and Cable Company.
Gen. Eckert is the president. On Wednesday
last the certificate of association was filed
i in Albany. This sets forth that the company
is organized for the purpose of "owning, con*
structing, purchasing, leasing, or otherwise
acquiring, using, operating, and maintaining
i a land and submarine line or lines of electric
telegraph, partly within and partly without
the limits of the State of New York." The
capital stock cf the company will be $20,000,000,
with power to increase the same, and the
term of the association is fixed for fifty years.
The new company proposes, with the co-operation
of the consolidated Western Union
Company, "not only to increase the existing
cable facilities between this country and Europe
and to extend southward thecables which
now connect this country with Cuba and the West
Indies, so as to secure the great coffee
trado of the United States a direct telegraphic
communication with Brazil, but also to lay
cables under the Pacific ocean from San
Francisco to Honolulu. From Honolulu one
cable will be laid under the North Pacific to
Japan, connecting there with the cable from
Itoki to Shanghai, in China, and another under
the South Pacific, by way of Ellice's Islands
and the Friendly Isles, to New Caledonia,
and thence to Brisbane, in Australia, where it
will connect with the Australian and New
Zealand cable system in one direction, and
with the Australian and Straits system in the
other direction,"
4
A Fatal Habit.?The capacity of the
chest may be diminished by the habit of stooping,
or by the abominable practice of tight
lacing. The grace of the wasp like form in a
woman is almost always gained at the expense
of the lungs. The tight belt and the armor
above it fatally compress the air-cells, and
forbid all easy union of the acid of the air
with the currents of the blood. The lung
need not be enlarged from its natural size, but
it cannot spare one inch of the space that it
naturally fills. Anything which thrusts it
away from its proper dwelling, where it has
room and freedom, is bad and dangerous.
Consumption is the proper sequel of the
corset. Tney go with each other as harvest
follows sowing. A quick eye can tell the internal
state of the breathing organs from the
form of the fashionable woman, without any
auscultation or percussion, any inspection or
palpitation. And no absurdity can be worse
than for one who binds the ribs in steel to inflation
and long inspiration as tlie preventive
of disease. A lung that is compressed cannot
take in as much air as one that is free, and
the attempt to 611 it overfull only strains and
pains its delicate cells. The lung is hot to be
treated like a bale of cotton; and any wound
to its elasticity provokes its decay. The war
of hygiene upon tight waists must be positive,
pitiless and unceasing, for fashion is in nothing
more destructive to human life than in
this.
The American Girl.?The defects of the
American girl may be done away with by
giving less prominence to the purely intellectual
or purely practical side of her education.
For while one class1 of them are striving
to solve the problem of life by educating
women intellectually, there is another class
which is shouting for education in domestic
matters. While the Professors at Harvard
are reioiciner over some, eirl who can take in
#"V O " w# #
their philosophies or their mathematics, the
newspaper editor sings the praise of her who
can roast a turkey, bake bread or make her
own dress.
Neither gives the poor girl any chance to
exist, but only to work with either hand or
brain. No one says to ber: "You are not
only yourself, but possibly the future mother
of other beings. Do not, therefore, allow
yourself to be driven by either school of apostles
beyond what you may do easily, comfortably
or pleasurably. The healthy balance
of your nervous system is far more important
to you and your future family relations than
all the mathematics or dress-making, or even
roasting of turkeys. Occupy yourself steadfastly,
but without strain, without hurry and
without emulation. As the apostle said (and
it must have been meant expressly for Amercans),
'avoid emulation.' Find out first what
you do best, and even if it does not come
up to sombody's else standard, learn to content
yourself with that.?Atlantic Monthly.
Return of Captured Guns.?Capt. Jas.
T TiMiAff /?a rvimon^inrr a TTnitaH State*
I U* U'JUQ(fb| WU4Ul?uuiiig wuw
steamer New Hampshire, at the naval station
at Beaufort, 8. C., makes the following report
to the secretary of the navy, under date
of January 25 : "By order of the department,
I delivered to the Beaufort Volunteer Artillery,
the two brass field-pieces captured by
the navy at Hilton Head, November 5, 1861.
The return of these pieces, after nineteen
years' captivity, to this company, was most
gratifying, not only to the company, but the
whole community of Beaufort, S. C. Yesterday
was set apart as a day of rejoicing in
commemoration of this event; a salute of
nineteen guns was fired in your honor. As
this company represents the State of South
Carolina and her Governor, I returned the
salute gun for gun. In the evening a banquet
was also given in honor of this event.
The only invii;ed guests were the officers of
this vessel, and they were requested to appear
in full-dress uniform, which marks a most
happy and cordial sentiment on the part of x
these people. Everything passed off in the
most pleasant and cordial manner. I hope
the department approves of returning the
salute."
?? ? -
Women in Massachusetts.?There is but
one county in the commonwealth of Massachusetts
where the number of men exceeds or
even equals th at of women. This is the county
of Franklin, in the northwestern corner of
the State. In Suffolk county, which includes
the city of Boston, there are 20,00(1 more
women than men in a total population of less
than 400,000. . In Nantucket, however, the
disparity is greatest, there being five women
for every four men. The excess of women
over men in the entire State is over 75,000.
Beg* Thurlow Weed describes Aaron Burr as
quite a small man, very graceful in movement
and courteous in demeanor. A small hand
and foot. Not spirited nor dashing at all,
but his manners were full of repose and his
voice was soft and musical. He would strike
one at first as being slightly effeminate, but he
was not so; ha was a bold, strong, capable
man. In conversation?till the last ten years
of his life?he was brilliant
+
Bedouin Maidens in War.?When a
i tribe of Bedouins go out to fight, it is their
custom to place one or two young maidens on
the best horses at the front These dusky
Amazons encourage the desert cavaliers by
their cries and gestures, and plunge into the
thick of the fight Wherever the damsels
lead, the Arab cavalry follows; but if they
are killed or captured, their followers lose
heart and retreat
8?- When Doctor H. and Lawyer A. were
walking arm in arm, a wag said to a friend :
"Those two are just equal to one highwayman
1" "Why?" asked his friend. "Because,"
rejoined the wag, "it is a lawyer and a
doctor?your money or your life 1"