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v 4 • - If yon are already taking tlae Savannah Weekly News, please hand or senal this copy to a Friend or neighbor wlio is not a subscriber.. IF yon are not a reader oFtlie paper examine this copy careFnlly, and see it it will not l>e a good investment to sabscribe tor it, The Weekly News is sent to any address, postage tree, tor 0 months for §I.OO, or for I year for §2.00. f m « ti'i a 1 Uplift cl cl El 11 till « CffflLc A Weekly News VOL. 31. WIIBERED KOSES. Withered rose-leaves in an urn— Everywhere our glances turn, Time old graves uncover. Many a dainty perfumed note, Hands long cold once warmly W?o'i,e, Hidden here by lovers. Ah! the manly hearts, now coli, Ah? the mem’rfos, sweet and old, This quaint room discloses. All the warmth is ch.ll to-day, All the life has passed away; Naught is left but roses— Hoses withered now and dead. All their ancient sweetness fled With their ancient splendor. As X bend above. I feel A vague fragrance from them steal. Like a mem’ry tender. Os their olden pleasant days, When the sun’s rich golden blaze Kissed their cheeks to glory. Ah! the pain these raem’ries give 1 Ah! the pain that one must live When our life’s sweet story Holds no more the olden joy! Os what use a valued toy When its charm is broken? Os our life when youth is o’er— Os the past which comes no more, Are these flowers the token. When the sun has lost his light. When tho fall of winter’s night Our autumn-tide o’ercloses Call we then tho nmm’ries sweet— Os those vanished moments fleet Ashes of youth’s roseß? — Chambers' Journal. QHWH—M———C—BKOWM—IIWW—IJ WJIIWIIWaMB—WWUMM'M iewus trials. ONLY NOEA HEARTLEY. A NOVEL. BY MRS. OPHELIA NISBET REID. CHAPTER I. “Though it make the unskillful laugh, Cannot but make the judicious grieve.” —Shakespeare's Hamlet. “Attention!’’ calls out the teacher, knocking on the desk with an inverted lead pencil, looking very stern, hut making very little noise with her im promptu baton. ‘‘Get everything into your desks—books, pens, papers, pen cils, before the clock strikes ‘Five’ ” Thirty-two pairs of eyes glance at the clock, and thirty two pairs of little hands go to work, lor there are only threo minutes, and soon one desk lid after another goes down with a startling ‘bang!’ showing with what expedition this task, at least, is accomplished, and the big school clock, after a preliminary wheeze, as if to clear its throat, strikes its only musical notes —the five strokes that tell of freedom, rest, dismissal, home, mamma and night. After this the children rise simultaneously and wait expectant, for there is still an inter esting ceremony to be gone through with, and who can tell on whose small head trouble will lay its heavy hand. Mrs. Pace takes up a little scrap of paper, and looking resolute and execu tive, says; “All leave the house quietly except Lula Harris, Thomas Stone and Nora Heartley—they will remain.” Every eye glances at the unfortunates for an instant, some with regretful, some with indignant, pity, which last class comprehend the teacher in the one swift look, and then comes a deafening con fusion of boot heels and childish voices, and then absolute quiet, with three small delinquents looking anxiously at the _mi stress. She, iiasfon nerisskm, which she has taken niucf pains to c.i'ty - vate, and which she considers a success. It consists in drawing a pair of pale eye brows together in a pretty good frown, and setting a pair of full pleasant lips into a thin, compressed line. This look she keeps with rigid fixedness until she believes each little heart is quaking with fear; then, relaxing, she opeus the siege. “Lula Harris, come here!” The child comes quickly—as when one has to have a tooth extracted, he prefers to be called before the other waiting patients —though she has not recovered from the effects of that awful look. “I am not going to keep you in. lam worn out body and soul with that; but, I have this to say, I will wait one day more, and see if you can make up your mind to do better. If you miss your Geography to morrow, I will send you into the boy's room to Mr. Pace, and you will see if he will put up with your care lessness.” “Oh! Mrs. Pace, please ma’am, don’t I I’ll study. I declare, I’ll study. I—” “Hush! I’ve heard that too often before. Get your bonnet and go home.” This sounded better, and the child obeyed, only turning at the door to make a face at the teacher, which caused young Tommy Stone, already deep in disgrace, to laugh aloud. “Come here, sir!” calls the mistress, who has intercepted the little perform ance at the door, and whose temper, a little hasty at all times, asserts itself now in a deep red flush on her face. “You bad better laugh, you bad boy; you had better," she exclaimed, speaking very fast, as angry women always ao, and with a quaver in her voice almost sug gestive of tears. “Your mother win have you stay in my room with the girls, because you are so little and so timid, and you, you vex me all day long, and are as troublesome as you can be. I told you yesterday never to bring your marbles into the school room again, and to day you not only brought them, hut had to tumble them all upon the floor. Os course, every silly child had to laugh aloud, and it took me a half hour to get quiet restored. Now, if you just (fare to bring them again, I’ll give you a good whipping, sir, as sure as you’re born.” “I was jest gettin’ my hankeher, and—” “I don’t care what you was jest doing. Bring them again, if you like, and see how you will fare. Go home! I don’t want to look at you.” He did not distress her prejudiced vision long, and decamped without more explanations. The child who was left had sat motion less, eyeing intently every movement of teacher and pupils, hut with a heart swelling, burning, and dumbly suffering with a pain hard to bear, a pain which has sometime vexed the souls of the great, the rich, the proud, and the good even, of this world—the cruel, harden ing pain of injustice. She had been retrospeeting the whole day from the roll-call at 8 a. m. to this weary moment, but fair and truthful as was the exami nation, she could find nothing, absolutely nothing with which to accuse herself— nothing to warrant this disgraceful ex posure to the contempt and pity of the whole school. And her proud, young heart, stung and wounded, burned within her. She hated the mistress, whom she did not understand, and who never for a moment had understood her, but she did not make a face at her. She framed no excuses. She would make no defense. Her heart felt hard—her power of en durance strong. She felt perfectly will ing and able to bear anything that might come; but not one word of pardon or pity would she ask. No, not if she were kept all night in the school room, or as a last and supreme indignity, sent into the master’s room for discipline. The worst had befallen her. She had been dis graced before the whole school, shamed, •Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1881, by J. H. Estill, in Jfce office of the librarian of Congress at Waldington. j 3, H. ESTILT-. Publisher, I \ 3 WhjtakEu Street. I humiliated—there was nothing more to fear. It was the unyielding spirit of very martyrdom that strung the childish nerves to suffer and be strong, sustained by the consciousness of absolute inno cence. She would have studied every hour of her waking life rather than fail in a single recitation. She was conscious of no unkindness to her schoolmates, for they all loved and respected the brilliant scholar and generous child; who, if she did take all The prizes, was always too modest to be boastful and too kind to be vain. What was it then? Why had this unexpected woe fallen upon her head? There were no tears in her eyes, no bitter words on her lips, but on each little round cheek burned a bright scar let spot, and ha*" small hands were tightly clasped together beneath the desk, as, steadily watching the mistress, she waited her call. Mrs. Pace felt this keen, scrutinizing look and it troubled her. She wished the child would wink her large burning eyes, or look somewhere else. She had often thought this little girl, with her precious intellect and curious ways, a worrying problem to solve. About her lessons, she never wanted help, but went into every sub ject with the exhaustive, steady investi gation of an adult student. Knowledge came to her by a curious intuition, and did not seem the result of labor. Tasks, which required the steadiest work of her classmates, she accomplished readily and apparently without effort. She had been promoted from one division to another until now, at twelve years, she was at the head of the most advanced class in the girl’s room. Her deportment was unexceptionable, hut she was somehow a mystery, a curious, unsociable, re served chiid, about whom nobody knew anything—who never talked of her home or her belongings, who seemed to feel interested in nobody—and Mrs. Pace, though neither cruel nor unkind, did not like her, and this evening, feel ing that at last the strange child had fallen into disgrace and really needed punishment, was a little afraid that striving to do justice to the fault she might, on account of her curious preju dice, overlook the claim of mercy. “Come this way, Nora!” The child obeyed instantly, but with out moving her eyes from her teacher’s face. “I thought you knew all the rules of the school?” No answer. “I thought you knew that it was posi tively breaking an important rule for one of the girls to speak to one of the boys at recess?” Still no answer. “Who was the large boy you were sit ting by on the bench almost all the re cess?”* “1 don’t know his name, ma’am.” “Don’t know his name? Why I saw you myself talking to him and showing something you had in your hand, though from this distance I cbuld not see what,” The child made nb answer, and Mrs. Pace, impatient to get home and much irritated, exclaimed; “Nora Heartley,, tell mo this minute what I’ve a good right to know, or I will expel you from the school,” The child was brave and strong, and conscious of no wrong, but the oue aim, the one purpose of her life was to get an education. Her plans for the future were all fully mapped out and coolly de termined upon; but, for success, they all depended on her thorough education, and, much as she hated to give in to this inquisitorial process, she could not risk dismissal from school, and with a quiet, controlled voice she said: “I never saw the big buy before to -The.cysier Lin? about failing in his arithmeTTc every day. I was sitting on the bench nearest their play ground and heard them. After a while they all went away, aDd he sat down to study, hut he only cried and said it was no use, he couldn’t learn ‘interest,’ and I took his slate and shoyyed him how to do his sums. I knew we were not to play with the hoys. I did not know we were not to help them.” The teacher looked perplexed and thoughtful. How was she to punish an actual disobedience, which yet was the result only of a too generous impulse. Still Nora must have been seen by the other children, and an example must he made After thinking impatiently a moment, she said: “The rule, Nora, is to have nothing to say to the boys. If a stupid dolt of a boy can’t learn, it is no business of yours. So don’t even help another hoy again; and, as there was no intention of wrong, I’ll overlook it this time. You look as angry as if some great wrong had been done you when I have tried to be kind and indulgent. I’m sure it is no pleasure to me to keep you all in. I’d a thousand times rather go home to my children. Now, get your things and go home. I’m going to lock up—and, mind you, remember the rules admit the boys." Nora remembered the disgrace before the whole school, but she said nothing, only put on her waterproof and hat and walked quietly out without a word. “Didn’t even say ‘good evening,’ after I was so kind to her, too 1” exclaimed the teacher, as she locked the door. “There never was just such a curious child. I can’t like her to save my life.” In the next room, Mr. Pace, Principal of the village academy, was struggling with the stupidity or idleness of those two or three inevitable ne’er do wells who are to be found in every male school, and who are the bane ot the master’s existence —boys who either cannot learn or are possessed with such an uncom promising laziness that every idea which Anally gets lodgment in their brains is the result of marvelously and persistent drumming on tho part of the teacher. Perhaps we can all- recall just such in our own school associations, who, nevertheless, have gotten on comforta bly enough iu life, and have made aver age citizens. Attrition with the world seems to have sharpened their vita and has been a far more efficient help than the whole curriculum of both academy and university. They are, as school boys, entirely familiar with threatening words and frowning looks, and consider ‘remaining after school’ as tire inevitable result of each day’s skirmish with text books, all of which they take with an indolent, acquiescent philosophy, and, altogether, may be considered more happy than their fellows. Mr. Pace was an excellent, conscientious teacher, a good disciplinarian, and, during an ex perience of ten years, had not altogether lost control of his temper. When he married he had made his choice with an eye to business, as well as comfort, and, in marrying a young girl who had been educated expressly for a teacher, he felt that he was only fulfilling her manifest destiny in putting her at once at the head of the Female Department in hi 3 flourishing school. She also proved a good teacher, even an excellent one, until her thoughts were forcibly turned into another channel. Since she had become the mother of children she had taught under a sort of moral protest. Maternity with her was a passion in which was swallowed up every other possible interest in life. Conscientious and brave she was, and took up her cross of teaching each day with the cour age and devotion of a martyr, but her soul she left in the nursery at home. Every word a scholar spelled, every fig ure on the blackboard, every stroke of the clock, iii short, every conscious beat of her pulse, was mixed up in some un definable way with her two little ones at home. If the Are burned brightly in the schoolroom it only suggested t.he horrible possibility that the careless nurse at home would fall asleep and one of the darlings would get too near the fire and be burned. If a school child looked a little tired or feverish, she fan cied she was just developing some con tagious disease which she should cer tainly carry home to her little ones. This poor young mother coveted neither wealth nor honors, but her constant long ing prayer was just to be able to live at home with her children in her arms— “only this, and nothing more.” It is no marvel then that she was less successful and popular than she had been, and less marvel that those who compelled" her to remain with them after school and so encroached on her own time, found her irritable and cross. The time was when she had always waited for her husband and walked quietly back with him, but he had long ago abdicated his claims in favor of his children. She never thought of him now, but, always, as this evening, locked up and ran, rather than walked, across the two broad fields which separated her from her little home. Nora Heartley had walked quietly out of the academy, thinking to go straight home as usual, but on the same bench she had so rashly occupied at recess she found little Tommy Stone seated, very busily engaged in weeping. Notwith standing the awful circumstance of his being a real bona fide boy, and notwith standing the added fact that she had just been warned to have no dealings with such, Nora stopped and said; “What’s the matter, Tommy? Why don’t you go home?” “ ’Cause, ’cause she done kept me in so late. I’m ’fraid to go by the saw mill by myself, dog-gone her!” “Don’t talk so—get up—l’ll go past the saw mill with you. What’s the mat ter with the saw mill?” The child jumped up pleased and willing, and in a very different tone, said; “Lor’, don’t you know? The boys telled me.” “No, I don’t know.” “Well, all day long when the saw mill is going nothing ain’t there to hurt no body, but jest a3 soon as the men goes home the old devil comes aud sits on the big wheel all night. Joe Grant and John Smith saw him and they telled rae if I didn’t believe ’em I could go in and see for myself, hut—but —I didn’t, ’cause, you know, mar telled me to come straight home every evenin’, and Joe and John goes with me; but this evenin’ old Miss Srnarty had to keep me in for nullin’. ” “Joe and John told you a story. There’s nothing there. But run along fast now; I’m going as far as that red house there with you and then you must run by yourself.” “Yes, that’s all the fur I wants you. I ain’t ’fraid at all when I’m past the saw mill.” The children walked on very fast until they had reached the red house Nora had spoken of, where, without a word of thanks, Tommy ran off as fast as his short legs would carry him to his home which was in sight, and Nora hurried back, for this walk had taken her in a directly opposite direction from her own home, which was almost two miles away on the outskirts of the village. After two minutes of rapid walking the child stopped very suddenly and stood still. She was now close by Mr. Pace’s little cottage and something she saw arrested her steps. It was this: At the little front gate stood a tall colored girl with one child in her arms and another wee thing holding to her skirts. The children were both beautiful, rosy dimpled things, bright and healthful, and nurse and lit ilai-nes had-their eyes fixed same^ direction,HLaiting audwutching intently' without a word. Nora followed their eyes and saw a sight new and strange. The schoolmistressT whom she only knew as a formal routinist, working against time with clockwork regularity, as much like a machine as a woman could he, she saw now running fast across the fields, her bonnet thrown hack, a red flush of excitement and pleasure on her bright face, and her lips parted in a happy smile. She was coming rapidly, but never once took her eager eyes off the group at the gate. Iu a minute more she had snatched the largest child from the ground and covered it with kisses, and then takes the infant from the nurse’s arms with a suppressed exclama tion of passionate fondness. The little creature knew her well and clasped two tiny arms around her neck with a little inarticulate crow of baby-joy. The stern teacher seemed transformed. At this moment she looked as lovely a young mother as oiie would care to see as she ran with her treasures into the house. Nora seemed to wake up suddenly from a strange, fair dream. “And I have always thought her cold and hard!” she said to herself. “Poor young mother! I will remember this and try to show her some sympathy. How pleasant it must be to bave something to love, something to look forward to when the day’s work Is done!” It was growing late fast now, and the child hurried homeward. In five min utes she was on the country road and had left the village behind. A long stretch of white path lav ahead of her, losing itself in the dim twilight distance. She was the only living object to be seen for a while, until close behind she heard the noise of wagons, two large vehicles, each drawn by six mules, and each filled with negro men. They had been to the village to sell their cotton and were now returning home, driving at a reckless break neck pace, laughing and talking uproariously and every oue obviously drunk. Perhaps this was not tho best or safest place for a little girl, but she was not in the least nervous or fright ened. She met just such a merry crew every evening, aud it never occurred to her to fear them; so, in blissful ignor ance of even possible danger, she watched them pass and when the dust of their heavy wheels had somewhat subsided, she continued her quiet walk. Now, of all hours of the day this child loved this solitary walk home the best. Here, in the quiet of falling twilight, she could dream her own dreams, think her own thoughts. Verily, they were her own, for, in all the wide world, there was not one to whom she believed it possible to tell them, for in all the wide world she did not know one who loved her. She was a lonely child—of course a motherless one. Os real tenderness she knew nothing. As far hack as as she could recall herself, she had been the same reserved, dreamy child, who had always somehow been “passed by”— passed by, and left by the gay and happy, by the loving and good, shut in, as it were, with her own thoughts and feelings. There seemed no niche in the great temple of life fitted for her filling, and she struggled along, unhelped and unhindered, working hard at the great problems of life, and formulating the best theories she might from her own consciousness. It had inevitably resulted, this solitary living, in making her self reliant and helpful. As no strong hand had ever stretched out for her help, she never looked for one, never considered herself as needing one. She had easily discovered in testing her intellectual streugth by that of her schoolmates, that she was well equipped for the encounter with life. Difficulties fell conquered be fore her clear conceptions and persistent energy, and she felt a certain confidence in herself which was not vanity but the actual result of experiment. She had done what she had tried to do easily and well, and she had thereby learned courage. Into her childish mind had SAVANNAH, SATURDAY, MAY 14, 1881. easily grown the determination to be suf ficient for herself, to neither ask nor ac cept help, and her proud little spirit gloried in her strength. If a difficult task was assigned her, she bent her strong brain power to conquer it, and her in domitable will wrought the rest. But she walked the earth a stranger, unloved aud really unknown. All traits of love ableness, all acts of sullenness, might be natural to her, hut circumstances rarely brought them out. Her rearing had been hard. Her life seemed cold and severe. She was always helpful. To overcome difficulties for others was common enough to her hands, but she did it on the general principle of “strength lifting “weakness,” and not from universal love. She believed all the rest of mankind, like herself, more or less strong, more or less brave, but she did not know how a common humanity moved the multitude. She needed ten derness. She was starving for warm, human love, the love which other chil dren found in their mother’s eyes and voice; but she did not know it. She had never had it and could be hardly said to miss it, and the nearest approach she had known to happiness was a quiet sat isfaction in her accomplished work. She consequently marveled at the indiffer ence of her classmates to their work, and wondered what they liked better. Sun day was, by far, the saddest and dreari est day of the seven, for two reasons—be cause she was shut in a weary and un lovely home, and because she could not work. This evening she does not, as has al ways been her custom, take curious and critical note of everything on the earth and in the sky. She does not heed the fragrance of the pines, nor the brilliant green of the low-lying ry r e fields. She does not even glance up at the loDg line of village cows returnmg lazily home ward, nor hear the loudlaugh of their ragged drivers as they crack their long whips and worry the patient cattle. She is thinking of something fairer and better than these—of that joyous, sotfiftil mother and her happy baby. She is trying to recall the mistress at her desk, hard-worked, hurried, exacting, cross! Like a fresh young tree even, strong, prosperous, holding out firm armij to the breeze, she never suspected the fruit clustering among the branches—she did not dream of the flowers blossomiiuydl over her young life. It is a to the child, this overflowing, g<*sSig, passionate maternity. “I wonder if they are all muses, “these men and women ancrUilil dren, I see every day. Have they alrtrtffr lives to live—one stern, cold, hard, and pittiles?; the other, soft, warm, tender and loving? ’ She thought of all the grown-up peo ple she knew (they were few eriomrb,). and wondered if each had a reserve of sweetness and harmony kept until wanted, unknown to their fellows. If they had, what was her si What joy waited the close of her day ? What hape illumed her morning? Alas! she kne'w more. Perhaps her life was exceptional, or, if she had a perfect joy, it waited, waited far off in that dim and not tc|j| brilliant future toward which her fell were surely stepping. One thing she big lieved—the great God, toward who:H her soul instinctively turned as towa’fig light, and life, and help, He had create® her for something, possibly for something! great and greatly good She would till to be patient and see what He wouis show her. Every day as she trudgM along alone, her young brain is struggling to" unravel the tangled web of perpleiH ing thought which besets her—trying t@ study out the purpose of her Wh— to findiustlhe right path Jffiat Ik‘Q ffiignt it. Sometimes that if an Omnipotent Hand write on the clear evening sky just tw<o words of guidance, and she could inter pret them, she would ask no more help, but, sure of her duty, might go on bravely to the end. Just now in the distance she hears tl|e measured footfall of a horse. She do4gp not even turn to look, for this is a certafi incident in her homeward walk every da/f and she knows both horse and rider well. Gradually into full sight comes a gentle man on horseback—a gentleman, because a certain indescribable refinement of pefes and appearance indicates him such, ra birth and education. He is tall and thiSi his long hair and large beard are liiS? snow, hut he sits erect and firm in *lf|| saddle as a man of thirty might. Bp! tall thin figure outlines itself 'distinctf! against the clear evening sky. He seeftf intently thinking, or some way engrossea* and turning neither to the right nor left, rides slowly along looking straight ahead, and yet," with eyes that certainly take note of nothing, with eyes that for ever look within. Now he ie so close to the child that she can hear breathing of the horse,hut he never knows it. Just so he passes her daily, in Spring, Summer, Winter, and not oncs£ ; d his eye fallen on the pretty little wSy m close by his side; and just so he pass through all time, for all sign that the child will give of her presence. This gentleman is Judge Heartley, Nora's father. Even the slow pace of the horse outstrips the child’s short steps, and soon she sees only a dark object ahead, and then, in the “dim obscure” loses them altogether. Soon before her a bright lamp, newly lighted, throws a long brilliant line of light towards her path. This iB her home, but the sight of its beckoning lights does not quicken the child’s feet, does not stir her heart. It is her objective point and must be reached—that is ali—for within.no tender mother waits and watches for her tardy darling, and no word of joyous welcome greet her coming. Oao oppressive shadow darkens this entire household, kilis out every joy, drives off every cheerful thought, it is the Demon ot Discontent. It is the use less, unprofitable, unchristian rcstrospec tioa of “better days,” of a time when all the blandishments of life were theirs; when wealth with its sufficiency and honors, with their dignity and youth, with its fullness of hope, "were their proper birthright. From under the cold shadow of exile, of bankruptcy and dis appointment, they looked back perpet ually to the green pastures and pieal&nt waters where they once disported, nor spent one care on the prosaic present ex cept to deplore its nakedness; such re grets are perfectly natural, are inevitable as thousands in this stricken country can verify, thousands who, having “fed on the roses and lain in the lilies” of life, are especially sensitive to the thorns of a relentless poverty. But there is a sad waste of strength in lying supinely down in demoralizing inactivity, to recall the comforts which are gone, the glories which are no more. Certainly it is hard for persons, habituated through long lives to elegance and luxury, to encoun ter the nakedness of hopeless and un graceful poverty; hut it is harder, more intolerable, to meet it with the refining spirit of ceaseless regret. It is hard on little children, who otherwise would be happy iu their blissful ignorance of bet ter things, to he continually reminded of the painful disappointments and hu miliating changes of life. As far back as this little one could re call her home, it had been an uncomfor table place—not, indeed, that it lacked a sufficiency of healthful necessaries, but the moral atmosphere had been un wholesome. An oppressive, restless dis content pervaded,.each life, and its out ward expression was either a morbid and unbroken reserve, or a ceaseless sigh of weak and unavailing regret. The late evening was warm, although it was December, and the child threw open the folds of her little waterproof cloak and quickened her pace. Soon she has reached the gate, then the door, and now she walks quietly into the hall. It is already dark, but under the nearest door she sees a streak of light. Noise lessly she unbuttons her cloak, takes off her hat and haDgs them on a rack, then quietly opens the door and walks in. The room is quite large, perhaps looks larger from its scant furnishing. In one corner i 3 a grand piano, evidently once a costly and elegant instrument, now as evidently superannuated, for on its closed lid tops are piled a number of books, not such as are every day picked up and carelessly thrown aside, but standard works thickly covered with dust, lazily suggesting the fact that they are not often molested. The furniture in the room has oDce beeu covered with scarlet reps, and the wood work is handsomely carved, hut the upholstery is faded and torn as is also the thick Kidderminster carpet on the floor. Ou the mantle is an elegant small clock, from which, how ever, the bronze statuette is partly broken, and its hands are motionless, as if the record of these insignificant hours was a task beneath the dignity of a time peace which had chronicled more bril liant days In the centre of the room is a small round table holding a student’s ■amp, and the scattered pieces of some white needle work. In an arm chair by the small fire sit a lady in widow’s mourn ing. She does not look old, and yet all expression of the hopefulness of "youth seems to have left her face forever." She might be six and twenty, though she hardly looks so okl. She is sitting in an attitude that is curiously suggestive of the state of her mind, tired, bored, care less, hopeless. Her small feet are stretched cut toward the fire. She has slipped down in almost a lounging posi tion in her chair, and her two hands are clasped over her head. Her face would be pretty it it evidenced anything love able in her character. She is delicately featured, and her complexion is good, but there is a miserable want of life, of hope, of cheerful energy in her whole appearance, and as noticeable a lack of trim neatness in her dress. Her pretty brown hair is rough and uncared for, and even her small boots are only half but toned. Life seems over with this young woman, as completely as if she were aged and infirm. She locks painfully broken and hopeless. She is at this mo ment doingjiothing. Her work is thrown aside and she is fretting. If there is any thing in life Mrs. Carroll may he said to on jfiy "'ft' is this pastime. If she can complain of life, and can have any sort of an audience, she may at least be said to be engaged in a congenial occupation. She waxes almost eloquent on her wrongs, and grows complacent over her injuries. Looking backward always on the thorny way by which she has come, it never occurs to her that there might be a possible future to a woman“of twenty-eight years. There is another lady sitting opposite, like, and yet very unlike her sister, Mrs. Carroll. She has the same delicate hair, and blue eyes—so family resemblance ' . A h,VY Indirectly opposite clmrac- BMHRHK out identical features and no other respects do these HRKs suggest their close relation i|||||lipKis one is faded aud broken with MHipoinUnent and trouble that has met ■■Strongest and most vehement protest Bfirst to last, with woes that have felt and fiercely fought, but rap have conquered in the end. Miss face is one to fear and dread, is neither cruel nor rash. bn ty d d-aw y <>real harm YYv/s'crcaluve. nut it is 'y-mf*** strong will to wilgjp, auu strong sense, too, thatv*j%- chi<y has not come by her hands. ?shfl has reasoned herself out of revenge, but it h%. been only the work of reason— hc'i heart has counseled far differently. Had she been weak of heart, or weak of gffill, she had beeu a formidable enemy, for she is too emphatically a good hater; <iut she is too wise to gratify a longing vengeance at the expense of ail other earthly and eternal considerations. So she has clenched her hands and mi«£ie no sign, -though the fire that burnoa 'in her thoughts, could it have reached its aim, might have shriveled into ashes those who had crossed her will. Her face, l once certainly pretty and youthful, |shows plainly the paths by which she has \ome. It is severe, hard, arid prema iHircly wrinkled, and yet she is only now ißSier thirtieth year. Her life, closely out, would make a stern record of crosses illy borne, of disappointments met with rebellion, of griefs passionately fought, and neglect remembered with ■bitterest vengeance. Her father’s—all iibr family’s trouble she had felt, for she is not a selfish woman—but her own, she conceived, not only heavier than theirs but far more severe than any one human creature had struggled under before. She rarely spoke of them, rarely per mitted them spoken of, but the thought of them always, until her whole life had become one vengeful, morbid regret. People said “Miss Heartley is becoming a soured old maid,” but this did not half express the bitterness of spirit which had effectually killed every blossom of hope in her life. Her sister’s childish murmuring she despised and yet she pro foundly fitted her, as belonging to a family on whom the curse of “failure” had been so certainly laid. [to be continued.] STAR SERVICE. TSie JKlns&ter* Attacking tiie £.-*ost luestsr General, A Washington special to the St. Louis Republican says; "Brady’s organ, the National Republican, is playing a great variety of tunes. It had for some days accused the President, and not Postmas ter Geueral James, of being directly responsible for Brady’s removal, but this morning the organ makes a column attack on James, accusing him of du plicity and falsehood, and charging him with having written a letter to the President urging Brady’s prompt displacement. It is noteworthy that the star route ringsters are thus letting up on the President and turning their hot test fire on James. It is also noteworthy that some of those who have been most active and efficient in exposing the swin dles are iu private expressing more con fidence in the President’s alleged resolu tion to hunt all the rascals down than in James’ firmness and persistence in pur suing them. Doubt is expressed as to whether the Postmaster General will prove to be a big enough man for the emergency, a man of sufficient courage and penetration to hold his own in an aggressive fight against one of the most powerful cr'nbination of plunderers ever fastened the government; but James should ba given the benefit of the doubt, and despite the distrust felt here by some of tgose most earnestly engaged in exposing the swindles, it is but fair to say that the Postmaster General has thus far done vigorous and effective work. The fact that all of Brady’s batteries are turned upon him speaks well for Mr. James.” Two crows' have built a nest in one of the two fine plane trees in the centre of the city of London, inside the arch way in St Paul’s Church yard. The plane trees in question are remarkable as the home each night of from 5,000 to 6,000 of the London sparrows. PREMIUM ON DEATH. The SpecnlaSive Insurance MLn«ia 4 Pennsylvania—Astonishing Iteve lations. In its Sunday issue the Philadelphia Press gives a striking sketch of the growth of the life insurance or rather the death insurance, mania in Pennsylvania. The business is carried on by companies i regularly chartered under the laws of i the State, which profess to insure lives i upon the mutual plan. A premium is c paid to the company when a policy is is- r sued, and when a death occurs a pro i rata assessment is made on each sur- l viving policy holder. There is noth- t ing particularly objectionable in this s method of insurance as long as the con- t tract is confined to the beneficiary named 1 in the policy and the company which i issues it. When a policy is assigned for i a valuable consideration, such as natural 1 affection, dependence or indebtedness, i the transaction is legal and proper. It is 1 only when third parties, who are Strang- i ers to the original contract, and who ■ have no insurable interest in the assignor, j are permitted to claim as assignees that the so-called mutual insurance com- i panies become dangerous to society. i MUTUAL AID SOCIETIES. 1 Among the first of these companies , started in Pennsylvania was the U. B. Mutual Aid Society of Lebanon. This society furnished the model for a large number of mutual insurance companies 1 which have grown up in the same neigh borhood. There are to be 165 of these companies in Pennsylvania, most of them being located in Lebanon, Dau phin, Berks, Lehigh, Lancaster, Snyder and York counties. BAD EFFECTS OF THE CKAZE. In some neighborhoods the mania for speculative insurance has taken such a hold upon the masses of the people that it has actually paralyzed business. Even laboring men invest their earnings in speculative policies, and when the per son insured lives longer than was antici pated, the assignees are sorely pressed for the means to support their families. Many of the speculators have been re duced to want, and are obliged to use the transferred policies as a sort of cur rency to pay their debts. These compa nies are often presided over by gentle -1 men who stand well iu the community, and who try to persuade themselves that they are conducting a legitimate and honest business. Harrisburg is one of the centres from which policies are dis tributed, and it seems that gentlemen connected with the State government do not hesitate to lend the weight of their names and influence to the promotion of “death-bed” insurance. The following are the officers of the Commonwealth Company, located at Harrisburg: Hon. John C. Everhart, President; Lane S. Hart, State Printer, Vice-President; Ed ward Herrick, chief clerk AuditorgGen eral’s office, Secretary; George W. Sim mers, Treasurer; T. J. Dunott, M. D.. Medical Director and Commissioner; S. Boyd Martin, General Agent. In its ad vertisement the company refers to the following gentlemen" by permission; Exelleucy Henry M. Iloyt, Governor; Hon. William P. Sche’l, Auditor Gen eral ; Hon Samuel Butler, State Treasur er; Hon. Lyman D. Gilbert, Deputy Attorney Gener l; Hon. William A. Wallace, ex-United States Senator. LEGISLATORS AS SPECULATORS. It is charged that members of the Pennsylvania Legislature are engaged in the business, and in the course of a edn versation with a an agentafcba C o m ?n o u G . tors for the purpose of insuring diseased and dying people with a view of profit ing thereby. There is an old man,” he continued, “living near Siegersville, Lehigh county, named Heffenfmger, seventy years of age, a worn out maD. Representatives Seiger, of Lehigh, Hig gins and Schlicher, of Schuylkill, have ordered a policy on him. They have already paid me fifty dollars for other cases, Mr. Schlicher drawing the check. Other members are after me, and I will have to accommodate them.” “Then there is not much hope for the passage of the bill now before the House designed to prevent this speculation business?” was asked. “Not the slightest; it has no more show than I have to be President of the United States. I tell you, sir, everybody is in the business, from the highest to the lowest, hut there are none that take kindlier to it than physicians. There is no trouble to get a doctor to pass a doubtful case if you give him a share in a policy on a rotten subject.” “What kind of a case do you recom mend as the safest and quickest paying investment?” “One with the heart disease, my boy,” with a cautious look around; “it takes them off so quick, you know, and they don’t last long once they get it. But I must be off; i have au engagement to write up an old snoozer in the country. He is eighty-nine years old, and I’ll put him in the Peerless of Shamokin. It is the only company which takes them at that advanced age.” ASSIGNED IN ADVANCE. Some of the country companies main tain agencies in Philadelphia, but as yet the mania has not made much headway in the cities and larger towns. Most of the “subjects” are found in rural neigh borhoods. The speculators generally pay the “subjects” $2 for every SI,OOO which he allows them to put on his life. For instance, an aged man who will con sent to sign an application for a policy for SIOO,OOO on his life he gets S2OO from the speculators, v/ho undertake to pay the cash premium and all the assess ments made by the company. When the application is made the “subject” sign 3 a transfer in blank, by which all his interest in the policy is "vested in the assignees, who of course are the persons who solicit the insurance. From the list of aged aud infirm persons upon whose lives huge insurances have been effected the following specimen cases are taken; John Mease, of Lebanon county, eighty-five years of age, and bed-ridden for sixteen years, ha 3 been insured; has risk 3 upon his life in various companies amounting in the aggregate to two hundred thousand dollars. The policies have been traded around by the persons for whose benefit they were issued, and are now in the hands of bankers, store keepers and farmers, who are obliged to take them in payment of debts owed them by the speculators. James Heinrichs, Wernersville, Berks county, who is supported by the county, is insured for one hundred thousand dollars, the amount being divided among three of the Snyder county companies, and two of the Dauphin county com panies. John Heck, of Berne township, Berks county, old and bedridden, was insured a few days ago for SIOO,OOO, and an aged widow, Mrs. Dundore, for $50,000. John Rex, of Lehigh county, aged 87 years, was induced by false representa tions to sign an application for a $5,000 policy. Os course, whenever these mushroom companies are called on to pay any con siderable number of the policies which they have issued they will collapse, and the bankers and storekeepers who are hold ing the worthless paper will be the losers. The thousands of deluded people who have paid assessments will get no return in the final winding up except a good stock of dearly bought experience. TRADE STATISTICS. Comparative Statement of the Com mercial Situation and Outlook— Encouraging; Comparison with hast Year—The movement in Grains and Provisions. New York Public. With full exchanges for April before us, in which business actually transacted in all parts of the country has recorded its own volume, it is not possible to con clude that everything is going to the bad. The comparison, it should be noticed, is with the month of April, 1880, in which business was extraordinarily large, al though much of it resulted in loss, in stead of profit. The amount of transac tions was much larger than had ever been in the month of April, and the re action from a period of extravagant inflation of prices had just begun. On the other hand, the current reports have indicated that the business of the coun try in April, 1881, was completely pros trated by disaster, as many roads were ruined or blockaded, many farms and villages desolated by flood, and vast quantities of grain in stock destroyed, and that almost every branch of trade was stagnant, and wholesale dealers waited in vain for buyers, who were crippled by the widespread disas ter. llow did it come to pass then, that $4,820,128,080 was paid through the banks, against $4,382,427,259 in the same month of 1880. The speculation in stocks does not account for this, for as will be shown, the exchanges arising from the sales of stock were precisely in the same proportion to the entire trans actions of April, 1879 and 1880, nor can it be said that New York operations, possibly inflated by speculation in mer chandise, account for the increase, for the aggregate of exchanges at twenty two other cities were $111,418,655 in April, 1881, against $100,814,926 in April, 1880. At New York the increase was 9.8 per cent,, and precisely the same, if double the value of stocks sold be de ducted for both years. The following shows the amount of exchanges for the week ending April 80, and for the four weeks ending on that date at Hartford and New Haven, with returns for the full month at all other places: Week. Month. New York $ 879,862,835 $3,706,053 025 Boston 80,149,257 333,529,942 Philadelphia 46,155,650 215,353,110 Chicago 28,335,676 138,600,847 St. Louis 15,779,019 69,115,635 Cincinnati 15,000,000 65,000,000 Baltimore 12,665,167 58,095,987 New Orleans 7,566,044 41,310,505 San Francisco 9,438,742 44,272 868 Pittsburg. 2,790,069 31,031,929 Louisville 6,451,096 30,561,216 Milwaukee 4,058,932 21,193,622 Providence 3,515,000 16,584,100 Kansas City 2,200,000 9,000,000 Indianapolis 2,174,903 9,016,028 Cleveland 1,515,881 7,624,790 Plartford 1,368,200 5,856,216 New Haven 1,025,684 4,774,691 Columbus 3,961,610 “Worcester 3,127,097 Springfield 2,899,077 Lowell 318,123 1,079,685 Syracuse 255,263 1,439,702 Totals 51,124,626,901 $4,820,128,680 Outside of N.Y 244,764,066 1,114,078,655 The conclusion to which these returns irresistibly lead is that the public has been greatly deceived by the current re ports in regard to the condition of busi ness throughout the country. There is only one city, Milwaukee, at which a considerable decrease in the volume of business appears.' The snow and floods seriously affected operations during the past month there and in the region tributary to that city. Philadelphia and New Orleans also fail to exceed the record of April, 1880, .behind, anf*4he transfer ness alone irom’New ton, a city from which no reports are given, fully explains the de cline at that point. At Providence, Lowell and Columbus the volume of business was slightly smaller than in April, 1880, but not enough to indicate any important change in the situation. Everywhere else more business was transacted, as proven by the statement. If the decline in the prices of many leading articles of commerce be taken into account, it will be seen that the vol ume of business measured in tbe quan tities exchanged was larger than ever be fore at every city, with the possible ex ception of Milwaukee. There is a better demand for lard for France and Germany than for some time past to cover short" sales made on the market for May delivery. Predictions are freely made of 12ic. and even 13c. for lard before tbe month closes. Five thousand tierces were taken for export yesterday, and further demand is report ed to day. Notices were posted at the Produce Exchange this morning for 16 car loads and one boat load of No. 3 corn, in all 15,000 bushels, out of condition and musty. The decrease in the exports of grain attracts the attention of way-off shippers, merchants, brokers and all connected with shipments of cereals. There is “plenty of vessels, but nothing to ship.” The feature in shipments of grain to Europe is the growing prepon derance of grain carrying steamers. Out of a total of 172 vessels employed in April to cany grain, 70 per cent, were steamers. During the corresponding month last year, out of 235 vessels em ployed, the percentum of steamers was 42 per cent. It is predicted that in a short time all sailing vessels will be driven from this port to seek a market elsewhere. It is predicted that as soon as the large fleet of canal boats frozen in the canal during transitu last fall, reach this city, about the 20th, shipments will become very active. ———— The Minersville (Pa.) Republican states that Miss Ida V. Reed, who was the young lady actually selected by tkeFore paugh combination, as the prettiest lady in the land, refused the honor on liuding, as the alleges, that the SIO,OOO offer was “Pickwickian.” She was offered s‘o a week, which was afterwards raised to $75,. in addition to the expenses of her self and a companion. The same paper states that the lady now '’filling the posi tion receives only S3O a week for a term of thirty weeks. ►+-<>-*»■ —■■■■ . Here is encouragement for the young author. Scribner's, Harper's and the Atlantic magazines get each day enough of original matter to fill the entire num ber. Besides this, Harper's has about $35,000 worth of matter in the safe that has been accepted and paid for, and wbicb is patiently waiting for a chance to see the light. The other magazines have a proportionate amount on hand, and yet the young author who sends his first manuscript to'them is mad if he does not receive a check b/ return mail. Such has been the frightful mortality in the children’s department of the Phil adelphia Almshouse that the matter has been investigated by the grand jury. The report that during the last year sixty-six foundlings were received, thirty of whom were taken out for adoption, and the rest died, and that the rate of mortality during the last ten years, in cluding deserted children as well as foundlings, has been fifty-three per cent., all the foundlings not adopted out of the institution having died. “The thruble wid the country, sor, is absenteeism,” said an Irish cardriver to a tourist. “But there are not many ab sentees in this part, I hear,” w r as the reply. “Not many absentees, is it? Well, thin, let me tell ye the counthry’s just full of absentees!” —London Punch, i SUBSCRIPTION 82 00 a Ykab. I TvTYY 4 A 1 SINGLE COPIES 6 Cents. f iNU. ID. A NOVEL DUEL. Two Louisiana men meet Where tbe Owl Hoots and tbe Wood pecker Drums. Vicksburg (MiiS) Commercial. We have beard of a very singular and almost fatal duel which occurred on Monday last near Waverly, Madison parish, Louisiana. The circumstances are so unusual and the event so unlike the requirements of the code that we give the particulars as they have been related to us. Joseph Richburg and one Brewer, whose given name we fail ed to get, are small planters over in Madison parish, and up to a short time ago were apparently very friendly neighbors. A dispute arose, however, about some meat Richburg had been owing Brewer for, and out of this grew bad feeling, which nothing but gore could satisfy. The debt for the meat Richburg was unable to pay, and though be explained that his crop had hardly been sufficient to carry him through, and made promises to do the best he could in the |premises, Brewer not only indulged in personalities to the neighbors, hut taunted Richburg’s children on the dishonesty of their father. This was more than he could stand, so he sent a note to Brewer saying he was tired of hearing of his abuse and inviting him to meet him at Willow Ditch to settle the matter. Willow Ditch is located in a lonely swamp, between Pawpa Lake and Joe’s Bayou, where the only noise that breaks the monotonous solitude is the mournful tooting of the owl and the knocking of the woodpecker. Both were determined men, and nothing but blood could ap pease their wrath; so they met in the dismal swamp, each armed with a double-barreled shotgun. Besides his gun Brewer had brought with him his son Wash, aged about twenty-one, and Richburg brought his gun and a friend, Mr. Willis. Richburg’s little son, about fifteen years old, accompanied his father to the scene of the fray. It seems that by the persuasion of Willis a parley was agreed upon, and he and Brewer’s son went towards Richburg to have the mat ter amicably settled. While the armis tice was being held Brewer jumped from behind a tree, and, calling to his son and friend to “look out,” blazed away at his man. The contents of one barrel tore away the front of Richburg’s coat and the second shot did the same to his pan taloon's. Quicker than a wink old Rich burg brought his gun to his shoulder and fired at Brewer, who had taken to his heels, and then turning to the son of his treacherous enemy was about to give him the contents of the remaining barrel when the young man dropped his guD, threw up his hands and begged for his life. It was truly magnanimous in Rich burg, bat he held his temper and his weapon and bidding the young man to follow his father allowed him to go. In tbe meantime Willis had also skedad dled for dear life, leaving old Richburg master of the field. Strange to say, the only damage done to Richburg was the loss of the front part of his coat and breeches. Brewer received three buck shot in his arm. At last accounts Rich burg was seen plowing in bis field, with his trusty shotgun standing near by in the turn row, expecting an attack from his cowardly assailant, but determined to act entirely on the defensive. The Sulphur Sluves of Sicily. Social Notes. The sulphur is extracted and brought Jo thcsurfaceAr human beings, and, m-. children. Mrs. Brown ing’s “Cryffi the Children” might have been written in the sulphur mines of Sicily. Hundreds and hundreds of chil dren’ who have scarcely the form of human beings, are sent down tbe steep, slippery stairs into the muddy, watery ~ depths. Here they are laden with as much material as they can sustain, and they must reascend with it on their backs, stumbling at every step, often falling back into the bottom of tbe pit with broken limbs, or even death. The elder ones, writes an eye-witness, arrive at the pit’s mouth shrieking, the little ones crying and sobbing. The mortality exceeds’ that of any other province of Italy; the statistics of the leva show an incredible number of lame and deformed, and of young men of one-and-twenty totally unfit for military service. At tbe Congress of Milan, Duke de Cesaro di Colonna, one of the wealthiest proprietors of the island, and Deputy Luezatti, have raised their voices in pro test against this barbarous, inhuman system. In other provinces laws have been passed to limit the number of working hours, to pre vent women and children from en tering on occupations that endanger their lives and health, but in Sicily every thing is in an abnormal condition, and people answer that remedy is impossible. The contractors protest that to deprive them of the cheap work of children would be a violation of their contract. The mothers themselves exclaim that to prevent the children from working in the mines is equal to a sentence of star vation, and even members of Parliament prate of the “liberties of the individual,” of the “right of free trade,” and meanwhile the children toil and suffer, are maimed and murdered in the name of “right” and “liberty.” Philan thropic Europe shuddered at the scenes in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”—now, that slavery is abolished, let the abolitionists go to Sicily, and they will find fresh food for their philanthropy. For in the Southern States the little slaves were property. There was a profit to be gained ’by feeding, clothing, rearing them for the home plantations, or for the market. But in Sicily no one is responsible for the children. When one drops or dies, ten are ready to take his place, and the burden that falls from the lifeless skeleton of the one is strapped on to the shoulders of another without pause or murmur. ► -*-<►-*-* ■ - The late Czar appointed as executors of his will the Grand Dukes Michael and Alexis and Prince Suwarrow. Forty eight millions of roubles ($34,432,000), deposited with English bankers, are dis tributed as follows: Thirty millions ($22,020,000) to his successor, the present Czar, and the remainder ($12,412,000) to the Princess Dolgourouky. —— > ■ ♦ »< A new biography of Rouget de T Isle, the author of the “Marseillaise,” says that he had the misfortune to kill his be trothed July 17, 1780. He was celebra ting her birthday with fireworks, when one of the pieces that he had directed struck Mile. Camille on the head. He could never forget the terrible loss of his bride nor be consoled. The celebrated cypres.? tree that had stood near the city of Sparta, Greece, for over 2,800 j'ears, and was described by Pausanius 400 years before tbe com ing of Christ, has been destroyed by a band of strolling gypsies who camped beneath it and left their fire burn ng. It was 75 feet high and 10 feet in diameter near the ground. There is a crematory in South Boston, in the form of a time kiln. Tramps crawl into it because it is warm, go com fortably to sleep, are overcome by gas, and finally are burned to a crisp when the fire is freshened in the morning. Sixteen lives have thus been lost within a few years.