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MeD | M C p u ffj fi Journal. SWOi * Every Wednesday at Thomson. ’* *_** AS SSCONO-CLASS MAfVTMt slkOH’B that office in Tilts'- about to expire, your paper will be No Local Advertisement will be in serted unless paid tor in advance. The Editor is not responsible lor the statements or opinions of Correspond ents. HARD TIMES PRICES AT T. A. SCOTT’S THOMSON, - - GEORGIA. The long continued financial depression necessitates tho rcdiicti >n o* prices to the vory lowest living figures, so that the BEST goods to bo obtained in the market, which are always tho CHEAPEST, may he with in the reach of all With those facts in view, I assure my customers and j the general public tha* tho extensive and various lines of merchandisi j ■which I am now offering to the trade, will give entire satisfaction as to superiority in QUALITY anti PRKI2 do not doal in SHODDY GOODS of any description, but guarantee tnu tnv customers shall receive their purchases jus* as repi ceeut-ed. in the general Bet Good* Department Will bo found every article usually offered in a first-class establishment D Q M E STICS! Cheaper than ever before. Now is the time to buy ]? K I In” 'V 8, A splendid assortment, from 4c to 5o per yard. These goods are selected and purchased after a ioug experience with an especial view to the wants and tastes of the people of this section of tho country, and I am confi dent that 1 can minty the most exacting and please even the most fastidious, if they will examine ..nd price my goods. o LADIES’ DRESS GOODS DEPARTMENT In this Department 1 am offering tho largest and most solect assortment of Silks, Satins, Caslimeres and Worsteds, of latest colors and styles. Also^^ r 8 .• m < i: nuM >s os. a stock of Ladies’ Cloaks and Walking Jackets, and Russian Circulars, Which must bo sold and are offered ut remarkably low figures. Also A beautiful lino of (iloves, Handkerchiefs, Ac., Beautiful Millinery Hoods of every description. Hosiery Dei.*a iotmeito, In this Department I am offering a large an 1 varied assortment of Ladies’ Misses, Gents and Childrens Hose AT THE MOST FAVORABLE PRICES. SHOE! 3. My stock of Ladies’, M isses, Men’s and Children’s Shoos s vory large and ol the best and most popular styles. o NOTION DEPARTMENT, Button* of every Variety, Mens Ties, and Scarfs, Handkerchiefs, Combs Brushes, Suspenders, Perfumeries, and Novelties of every duscriplio —■ —o Gents I<Tirnisliing G oods, tSgfe My stock In this department is as full and complete as can bo found in any store, and must bo sold; therefore, I am offering the most favorable inpucements to the trade. CASSIMERES, JEANS, &e, of all the Best grades and beautiful styles, SHIRTS, Laundered and Unlaundered, Best Linen Bosoms, and all material of the best quality, —o Clothing ! Clothing! For Men and Boys in groat variety, OVERCOATS at Bottom Figures. Beautiful and stylish .Hints of best goods and to fit every size, Handsome, Durable and Cheap. Boots, Seqes axn Mars, In this Department my stock is very complete, embracing GENTS’ FINE BOOTS and SHOES, BOYS’ FINE BOOTS and SHOES LABORERS' BEST BOOTS and SHOES, BROGANS, &c., All from tire best manufactures. GROCERY DEPARTMENT In this Department will bo found constantly in stock every article o sadly kept in a first-class Grocery House, embracing everything necessary to supply the wants of the trade, and I am confident that my prices will be entirely satisfactory to every purchaser. I do not keep or offer for sale any light-weight or second-class goods, bat o ly the BEST to be had lu the market. In .Staple Groceries I have a Tory large and well selected stock of Com, Bacon, Meal, Nngar, Coffee, Rico, Lard, Cheese, Salt, Syrup, Mo lasses, Mackerel, Bagging and Ties. Tobacco, Cigars and Snuff, an. Shelf Goods too numerous to mention. Hardware, Crockery, Glasswar Cutlery, Grass and Colton .Rope, Powder, Shot, Wads, Shells and Caps or Breach Loading Guns. A Bettor Selection of these goods has never ne brought to this market, and at Prices that lead them all Thomas A. Scott, Nos.l and 2 Brick Bow. <£l)c ittcPtifjh* llrrklij Jlumruul. VOL. XVI. THOMSON, GEOEaijfL, SEPTEMBER V, J. 537. SONNET. Flitting between the two Eternities, Forgotten Hath-becn ami unknown To-be, An atom lost iu the immensity Of I ime and space, into the dark abyss Still groping, peering; conscious but of this. That thou bast missed the track, if track in sooth There be—nor all thy dreams o? faith and truth But ignes fatui (dread hypothesis!) Of thine own kindling. Yet the unconscious world, Frail atom, too, on the vast surge of Force That buoys the universe, hath its destined course. Nor therefrom swerves. Art thou, theu, blindly hurled I* f<> the void to gasp—and perish? Nay: Gol guides Mice also on thy j*eriloUß way. —Noel I‘aton in Englisii Illustrated Magazine. the notewaueTiouse. Long years ago, .a child, I lived for a time in a town whose environs 1 learned to know well, in many a long ramble thereabouts, with tho father of my mother, who was a man much given to the study of nature. By far the most of our tramps followed, for the first part of our route, a street that led out of tho town to become a road, when it had dipped over a stoop plunging hill. Then traversing a wide glade that was almost a plain, between forest land on either ride, this road again ran with a long, gradual ascent toward the blue, glooming sides of Pilot Knob. At a distance of some four miles from tho town, to the right of tho road, and several hundred yards distant therefrom, stood a house that has always seemed to rue a typical abode of w eird dreariness mid ill omen. It was a large, squarish structure of rich brown stone, and, as I now know, it had some architectural pre tensions. I remember that my grand father was wont to scan its proportions with approving eye, although it needed all my pertinacious persuasions to induce him to tarry near the spot, which, sooth to say, had a wonderful fascination for me. There was no fenco about tho grounds, though here and there a splin tered post told where had run the in closing line, whoso timber had lieo carried away by foragers in the then comparatively recent civil war, or else by the predatory negro population. In all this slow lapse of years, with any reference to abandoned human habitation, lonely and forbidding, my thought has always flown swiftly back to the Note ware mansion, silent and grew some on its little upland. Not long ago, from the descriptive bits of detail in my frequent allusions to this house, and from an ill drawn little sketch of my own from memory, a clever artist friend, im pressed by the persistence with which tho picture haunted me, painted it, adapting to it tho surroundings of Tennyson’s “Mariana.” Tho accuracy of tho work wns wonderful, i>erftent, it seemed to me, in every detail, and it composed so well that “The Moated Grange” was the focus of attention at the art exhibit where it was placed. For myself, 1 never tired of studying the picture, which seemed to mo to have some esoteric, supernatural charm, the fascination of the mysterious and dread ; ami as 1 spent before it all of my leisure time, T had opportunity to discover that others than myself had felt the spell. Thus sitting there olono, one day, at an hour when the gallery was little fre quented, I was roused from a long reverie bv the sound of deep, sobbing sighs, and turning, saw a woman of more than mid dle age, garbed in deep black, and with a face whoso strong, forcible lineaments, indicative of deep passions and intense affections, were limned heavily by the mighty hand of sorrow, whose strokes are most unfailingly skillful in indicating their origin. Tho woman’s bright black eyes, deep set and somewhat strained in gaze, were fixed upon the picture with agonized concentration. Tho thin, firm lijis of her large mouth, whose normal expression must lx? of resolution, were piteously tremulous now, and her hands were clasped so tightly that the gloves she held were torn across. “it i.-> the same,” she murmured; “tho same house, sinister and doomed—the grave of hope’s and loves, the scene of ruin and blood. Yes. Omy Godl even on canvas the blood stains will appear!” She staggered and fell hack as if faint ing. I caught her, and as well os I could sustained her heavy frame, easing it back against the row of benching along the room; but even with tho woman in my arms I could not forbear casting a glance upon the picture—a glance that made me shudder. The artist had pointed with a conscientious regard for detail, and, for greater effect, had chosen i the hour of sunset after a day of storm. ! Breaking through lurid clouds, the crirn | son sun looked out on the somber scene, and the red light was reflected in pools of water before the great main entrance, and in irregular, broken lines that marked the roadway to the door. Homo alteration had been made in the windows of the gallery—a slat of the blinds had lieen turned or had dropped apart, and a long, slanting sun ray came in, and, fall ing coincident with that rain soaked ave nue, touched the reddened pixels, that gleamed with a smoothness and transpa rency which gave them the resemblance of palpable, fresh spilled blood. The stranger presently and by degrees recovered her composure to the extent that she was able to inquire tho source of the picture that had so affected her. “I have a right to l>e curious about it,” she said: “my name is Dinah Note ware.” It is useless to chronicle the absorption, amounting to almost mania, which con tinued to be inspired in her by tv bit ing, which work she eventually and and carried away, insisting on | an excessive price. * Suffice it to record here the history of tho original house—a His tory so sad and shocking in its tragic de tails th: t I readily understood why it should have been suppressed from me as a nervous, excitable child, already unduly impressed by the uncanny aspect of the theatre of those deplorable occurrences. Miss Noteware had been a southern woman, but on marrying a northerner she had emancipated the slaves, who con stituted a large share of her patrimony, and the newly wedded pair emigrated to the west, making for themselves a home in what afterward went into history as one of the hottest Abolition states, while separated only by the boundary river from one of the strongest pro-slavery en tities. Their circumstances were pros perous and their life conditions favorable. Richard Noteware was a man of brains, of energy and of fine principle; his wife, while gentle and very quiet, noble qualities of tho Best type of south ern women. The mansion of my child hood memories, which would be recog nized as imposing to-day and in old com munities, was regarded as little less than palatial amid the crude surroundings of ; that day iu that section. Then, too, its j hospitalities were wide and generous, j Two children, a girl and a '*oy, were bora j to the Note wares, and their family com- ! prised, moreover, Richard j\ T oteware’s sis- j ter Dinah, but a few ye us older than! her brother's children, jshe was a gay and somewhat frivolous giri, who made i pleasure her only object in life, and who ! appreciated and improved to the utmost i the social advantages attending her brother's jxxsition. When the civil warbrol ■:? out, Richard Noteware was one of the fjrst to join tho Federal army, after mak ig the neces sary provisions for the sate-v and comfort of his family. Edna, the 10 year old daughter, was an inmate < fa boarding school at Chartres, across Gig border, un der the tuition of Proi'esso" Dodd, famous as an instructor throughou t the southern states. Lot, a year the jhnior of his sis ter. was left at homo w ith to. Noteware and Dinah; three servants-a woman and two men, formed tho gar ison, and tho house was amply provided with arms and ammunition, although it pas not antici pated that the day would come when re course must be had to them, as tho tido of war would hardly set bit way. But though the regular armies never invades! that region, from the first day of the war it was contested ground qiuongtho bands of irregular guerrilla comb dants, who un der the cloak of the great i ationnl strug gle indulged in their m ’ural propensi ties for robbery, muiv*Y, rapine—all deeds of disorder and vioY uee, claiming ixsutxlb justification ol' ail tv lance to one or tin; other army. The refugee or “con traband” negroes too, shortly spread ter ror throught the country by tho mon strous atrocities they coaf’nitted, and af ter the proclamation of X this class was frightfully numerous. The one great terror of Kjrs. Noteware’s life was the fear of these negroes. She had in childhood witnessed *■ \ uprising of the negroes in a slave fefclte adjacent ho her home, in which the house of her hosts was besieged and many of tho neighboring planters nmustered; and the scenes of horror of that |Jisode haunted her memory and overlain/ her like a dark cloud. At this time sIT redoubled tho precautions to protect hB household, and absolutely refused to lent the house, not withstanding the urgenM of Dinah’s en treaties. 1 >inah herself.-ia too obstinate in the gratification of li pleasure loving instinct, and too recklen with the inex perience of danger, to Iwd tho alarms of her brother’s wife. Naß rally, diversions were diminished by thcnrovaUiug condi tions, and whenever a tstivity did tako jilace, Dinah was take part in it. Therefore, m arms warn of a festival to be held bypEe Confederate local branch of tho satjtary commission at ( Hiartres, which lilfe city • had sent forth an ample contiirsnt of the finest flower of her young ■uinhood to the southern army. Whesyall other means failed to obtain Mrs. L faware's consent to the expedition, Dinajt averred that a young friend lately from Chartres had communicated to her ho suspicion that Edna Noteware’s healtj was somewhat impaired, although she would not admit the fact in her letters ijbme, to spare her mother distress. To yiait the festival w ould, so Dinah urge*" J afford an oppor tunity to visit Edna , and learn if she were really ill. The mothrt’s tenderness at once rose superior to by personal inclina tions and fears, and ah*) consented to the trip, which was to bo pade in company with several carriage the town near by, whose citizens kill availed them selves of every opening to continue their bocial intercourse with the Chartres peo ple. On the day of the fc% and just before tho hour of starting, 1 here came to tho Noteware house an Antiquated gig hold ing two aged ladies, who lived some fif teen miles away, poor, obscure and in firm, their greatest pleasure being the occasional visits of a day to Mrs. Note ware. Under these circumstances it was inqiOßsible for the hostess to leave home. Her apprehensions for her daughter, how ever, would have moved her to discourage the abandonment oi die trip by Lot and Dinah, if that young lady had entertained such an idea, tho which was, however, far enough from, her mind. Accord ingly, aunt and nephew drew away, and joining their friends at the ad jacent town they went on to Chartres without incident on the way. As the distance was less than twelve miles, it was thor oughly practicable to enjoy a reasonable amount of pleasure in the early part of the day and then return, reaching homo by the set of sun, according to agree ment. But Diuah Noteware wan too greedy of pleasure to act in conformity with this arrangement, and she managed to avoid the retiirn party, reassuring Lot, after the departure of their friends, by reminding him of the immunity their immediate vicinity had enjoyed, and making light of his mother’s nervous fears. The lx;y hrul his misgivings, but he was very young, and he shared in some measure hfa aunt’s mercurial tem perament. Besides, as Dinah urged, they had not seen Edna; for the aunt, on hearing that the .academy girls wPre to be brought in the evening to the fair en masse, bad voted it useless and foolish to waste enjoyable time by driving out to the suburban school. Thua Lot was overpersuaded. Great was the astonishment of Edna Notew are when on arriving at the evening session of the fair, she found her aunt and her brother there present. But when she leafed the want of con wider a ; fcion they had exercised toward her mother the young g indignation knew no bounds She was oast in heroic mold, of conspk ntioiiH tmd Jin selfish duty, courage-an 1 aiiection/without alley. “And you haVj* kfft.my mother there? with only the tw o. servants !”sh‘* cried in thrilling to;ies. -One of the men, h!*g knew, had been rnisring for some days, presume I Jysediucell to the guerrilJa./orcefl. “You ha.Ve left her like that, so nervous, afraid and dtr tl Lot, go and get out tho j carriage.” j “You are i?over gob)g over to-night!” j Dinah protected; “you know the road is unsafe fr u single carriage by day; to morrow' w© shall have the protection of , a cr<r’.<te fatty is quite safe, what • tftxxl esu. out going dp her?’ ’ i ’lf nr oilier good, it will, relieve her Wreadful Mure tore* turn as you had promised. You can stay until to-morrow, if you like. lam going to my mother. ’ ’ And, by her devotion moved to a tardy repentance, Lot Noteware brought out the horses, and they left tho place, Dinah, for very shame’s sake, going with them. On through the night they went, through, the wide, lonely river bottom, ho heavily wooded they could not see the team that drew them, for the shadow’; across tho perilous ford, with its shifting quick sands, and on over the higher county roads of their own state. Meanwhile, all had gone ill with Mrs. Noteware. Her guests had tarried until very late, hoping her people would return; when, at last, the old ladies reluctantly decided to leave her, fearful of not reaching their own home until after dark, their horses mani fested such signs of unruliness, that Mrs. Noteware, ever thoughtful for others, feared the feeble old ladies could not con trol tho animals, and sent her man ser vant with them. Left with only the old woman who was her cook, tho poor lady had made every effort to tranquillize herself, subdue her fears, and explain by some matter of fact, prosaic reason tho non-arrival of her son and Dinah. It was, perhaps, 10 o’clock when tho cook, s all wild with terror, informed Mrs. Noteware that someone was trying to effect an entrance. The lady took a rifle, and cocking it, awaited the coming of the intruder, whose successive move ments of progress into the house were in dicated to her by the serving woman. At last the door of the apartment they were in was wrenched open, and a large and burly negro entered, most diabolical of expression. At his appearance, the ser vant afterward confessed, she was over come by an uncontrollable paroxysm of terror, and she rushed from the room, from the house, out into the cover of the darkness, leaving her mistress to her fate. Mrs. Noteware was of good, bravo blood. As the black brute approached, she instantly leveled her rifle and fired, and ho close was the range, and so heavy the charge, that the wound in his fiend ish breast would have given exit to tho life of three such, even, as he. Bleed ing, gasping, dying, the negro turned and lied. After such an experience, what must havo been the life for the next few hours of that unhappy lady? What her agonies of mind? Alone, unhearing, not know ing whence or at what moment she might expect further attack, racked with ap prehension for tho safety of dear ones, her senaoß.iill overwrought by the shock and the nervous strain, and tormented by the thought that she had slain a fel low creature, whose death, though in self defense she had inflicted it, would not fail to lie heavily on her tender oil science. It was easy afterward to her movements —to see ho\f sift barred and barricaded the avanue&^dijfl tude end susjiense had until the house had seemed like a trap, a prison, a tomb, and following the exam ple of her servant, she had thrown open one ol the wide front windows, and stepped out into the refuge of tho night, still hovering, however, under tlio shadow of her home. It was almost midnight when the party from Chartres halted at tho gate, and Edna, bidding her brother hasten to moot and reassure their mother, herself set about fastening the horses pending the arrival of the man to stable them. She had just turned toward the house, with Dinah cowering fearfully at her side, when she saw her brother at the angle of the mansion, in relief against the lesser dark news of the starry sky, and at tho same moment a shot rang out on tho night, its flash showing the light colored raiment of Mrs. Noteware, standing at the opposite corner with leveled gun. Edna sprang forward with n cry of horror. Before she had gone half a rod she stumbled and fell over some object lying across tho path, and, reaching out her handi to help herself to her feet they rested upon the woolly head of a negro—the man her mother had shot earlier in the night. The girl was quick and bright, and like a flash her intuition taught her what, hail happened. She gasped a few words of explanation to the horror struck Dinah, and again flow to ward her mother, thinking naught of self, nothing of tho danger she incurred, only of bringing relief to the stricken woman. Taller then her mother, tho girl throw her firms about Mrs. Notewaro as she reached her, gasping: “Oh, mother! darling mother! it is I—Edna! Are you injured? and oh! have you killed Lot?’ * But the poor child’s breath was faint from running and excitement, and her voice rose not above a hoarse and husky whisper, which her mother could not hear: nor, in the alarm and haste of tho moment, did her sense of tact assist her. She struggled in the clasping arms of her faithful daughter, wrenched herself free, and raising the already twice fatal rifle, fired again. As Edna fell, another shot rang almost like an echo. None can ever know whether the flash of the former discharge had showed Mrs. Noteware, all too late, that she had killed her child; o/ whether she had, in her frenzy of fear, fancied herself Ixisat by odds against which she could no more contend. But this last time her gun was turned against herself, and her lifeless body was found across the corpse of her daughter, while, a few yards awny, the son and brother also lay stark and cold, Dinah Noteware waa the next morning revived by kindly care, that might almost bettor ha ve left her to drift into obliv ion from her long, death like swoon. For the frightful cries that rang in her troubled brain indexed another awful act in the tragedy of tho night. That morning Ric hard Noteware came home, on leave for an illness the knowledge of which he had kept from his family until ilia presence should reassure them. The ; t unc of dread disorder, the eight of the deal negro, the inanimate bodies of all his dear ones—for Dinah lay on the lawn, apparently as lifeless as the rest, seemed to tell darkly of conditions even moro awful than the real facte, and the shock was too much for the man weakened by battle and nines s. From that day on Dinah Notewarj^H onV aim in life was to care f^g maniac brother, cm wlnim diction had ccmic> tliroi-•. c hc^ttß ■ dmk just ceased, with fU l.appy Uoiiier. - g'jxiuui, 3STO. 3© THE GREAT AMERICAN LAKES. Whore Do Tloy Supply oi Water .Change of Level. It lias long been known that the great lake are subject to remarkable and seem ingly capricious changes of level. These changes are roughly registered in tho va rying volume of the St. Lawrence—that remarkable river, itself the outlet of these great lakes and in a sense a continuation and part of the lakes themselves. In ! some years the St. Lawrence, which drains a watershed of over 500,000 square miles, is much fuller ail summer than in other years. It leaves Hake Erio already a broad river* forty feet deep. At the great cataract of Niagara it de scends with its enormous mass of nearly 400,000 cubic feet of water in every sec ond of time. This almost incomprehensible mass of water, the drainage or overflow of all tho great lakes, varies in volume with tho level of the lakes of which it is a part. A Milwaukee paper gives some interest ing facts relating to these mysterious irregular tidal movements, or change of level, in Lake Michigan. This, tho second in size and depth of these great lakes—the largest bodies of fresh water on tho glolie—is subject to strange fluctu ations, being several feet lower in some years than in others. Lake Michigan is a deep lake—about a thousand feet deep, or practically as deep as Lake Superior. It. lias been, it seems, for fiearly thirty years tho practice of tho government to take daily measurements of the height of the water at Milwaukee. The water— which at that point (;is the clinging memory of a plunge into it at tho close of July, 1849, still attests) is almost as icy cold as it is at Mackinaw—is usually a foot or two higher in summer than it is in winter; but in some years the varia tion is equal to three or four feet. This represents, on so great a body of water, an enormous difference. Lake Superior alone is almost as largo as the grout state of Ohio, while Lake Michigan, the direct receiver of its overflow, is about as largo ns Massachusetts, Vermont and New 1 lampshire put together. A change of three or four feet in tho level of these great lakes ini]dies a difference in tho amount of water too great to be fully understood and appreciated. The other lakes necessarily participate in those fluctuations; hut those appear to be most marked in Lake Michigan. Their enfiso is not yet wholly under stood. Various theories have been ad- A’anood to account for them—even to the ij'surd extent of connecting them with chVa ocean tidal movements. But a far Vjaiplor explanation seems more probable, it wpuld seem that the higher level in Lake Michigan ia summer and autumn may bo caused lsi>Ue spring and summer grains and the late jlefdng Haßof ffco m " ! vJ X-dtcf Kmfrkm ’dpi ' the groat 4nhill !>’ irn ‘qilar/finow^SH level in some years than in otraWvniigiit well bo duo to the varying May and Juno rain in different and to tho greater quantities of sa maining in those hyperborean to be only transformed, in into water. Of course the ijflH I ' ' ■ I' I :la- v lowest in winter if/id j and autumn. Whtjj bo, tho iltK'tnations in l.<>.|no; ot u-.'it'-r^p 111 tin* WOl-M’ii^Bgt tent, and torn nr ])*■ yr at rfl most iiitoiß gn itost perior isa’J tho level of ■ J 1,500 squal 1,000 feet. J course throi v tian system, j it receives ml waters of tho.] Monltil t o many : a! lie In i bioiio oa (ho dial i: may be ’ '* ‘lh a tool. 'J )i*• l<>w'B|| oi' ! ill ■ Mi’i’gui u il li O ia. 1.;, ■ key, ]>robobly wliteh infi sts these the shoro when tho rock oystei with R the lia.se of the locates and breaks upJ a-U/ i i! " • >-G Hlv-'l. <m <i o - apj.mviitiy for iVH luuidiVing than for iu value end it was smaller in proiiortio^B ’a human being would have solecH proportionate amount of work. 11l it was usually a stone they could fingers round. As the rocks crop up through the water mud, the stone had to be brougW from high water mark, this distanced varying from ten to eighty yards. This monkey lias chosen the easiest way to open the rock oyster, viz., to dislocate tho valves by a blow on tho base of tho upper one, and to break the shell over the attaching muscle. The gibbon also frequents these islands, but I never saw one of them on tho beach.—Commander Alfred Carpenter in Nature. Tlio Liirge*t I'lnning Machine. A Glasgow engineering firm havo co strut ted what is said to bo the larca planing machine in tho world, esnecil intended and designed to !*> emplodfl connection with tho steel plates for the bridge ;n 111 ■ H Z' 1 One Inch, 3L C', : - Kw h MibsT 7 >,, / r '• - inch, f one inch. jg|K: (>in‘ inch. A gW‘ One Inch, twelve months V* \ w One quarter column one 0 no One quarter column twelve nmnt,Mßs- 85 00 One half column one month • 10 00 One half colulnn twelve, months go oo One column one mouth „ 15 0;> One column twelve months 100 00 !R'“ Local notices 20c. pete ln|Bualnsertion. NOT AVERSE TO . - An Important Trait Instinct*—Kxi>ltra As Rochefoucauld :;doy> thinjif in the misfortunes .Very friends that does not aUgggtjjwßtepß’SW* us, and an apostle of' po*w - certain vicious thrill run 7h qra* him and enjoy a vicarious bnJtalfnfrsiß ho turns to the column in his uwstsjajfcer at the top of which stands printed in largo oapitals./jHfdiow the crowd llocks round tt Btreef VfciwlL Consider tho enormous annual revolvers to persons, not oijtria - whom has any serious them, but of whom each one ‘hnsAaEMßi nivorous self consciousness af'r tickled by tho notion, oa ho clutolfilftd handle of his weapon, that ho wls; !x‘ rather a dangerous customs' to ihetfijj See tho ignoble crew that escorts great pugilist—parasites who feel asif ifcie glory of his brutality rubbed off Sf them, and whoso darling hopu from tfeiy to day is # to arrange some set to, of v hmn they may share tho rapture withqtifigE during the painsl The fust blows at a prize fight are apt to make a refined spectator sick, but his blood is soon up in favor of one party, and it will seem as if the other fellow could not be hanged and pounded and mangled enough—the re fined spectator would like to re-enforce tho blows himself. Over the sinister orgies of blood of certain depraved and insane persons let a curtain bo drawn, as well as over the ferocity with which otherwise fairly docent men may be animated, when (at the sacking of a town, for instance) the excitement of victory long delayed, the sudden freedom of rapino and lust, tho contagion of tho crowd, and the im pulse to imitate and outdo, all combine to swell the blind drunkenness of the killing instinct and carry it to its extreme. Not Those who try to account for this from above downward, as if it re sulted from tho consequences of the vic tory being rapidly inferred, and from the agreeable sentiments associated with them in the imagination, have missed the root of the matter. Our ferocity is blind and can only bo explained from below. Could wo traco it back through our line of descent we should see it taking moro and more the form of a fatal reilex re sponse, and at the same time becoming more and more tho pure and direct emotion that it is.—Popular Science Monthly. Oyitflle. lilinrovcit by Prosperity. The fact is that tho prosperity of tho American gypsies has permanently soft ened the asperity of thoir natures typified in some of Greilman’s olden gypsies, in tensified in Scott’s “Meg Merrilies” into a dreadful witch, and given a most un fair and prejudicial grotesquenesH by even so earnest a man as Barrnu^^ypsies may oce sioually sing tree^J