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/ The Bojn and Girls Paper.—It ww no Mistake.—We have received a number of leiters from Sunny Soulh patrons stating that no Runny South came to hand last week, but in its stead a copy of the Boys and Girls of the South, which they supposed was a mistake. But we beg to say again that It was not a mistake, but the bright, little paper wae sent intentionally and our object teas to show you * copy, hoping you might be sufficiently pleased to subscribe for it for your children. Notice to Our Exehanges.-In revising our very large exchange list for 1879. all papers which felled to publish ourcheap club rates during Decem ber were cut off. This was a special request, and we proposed to club with all our exchanges at a very low rate. After December it was too We to insert it. Should any have been overlooked which pub lished it, they will please send us a marked copy. Why Women love Itrcss.—Miss Austin—than whom no female writer has ever more fully under stood her own sex—says that women love dress, not as is sometimes supposed, from a desire to appear well in the sight of men, and still less that they may please the eyes of other women. For they are aware that men, while they may admire the general, rare ly scrutinize the details of a lady's outfit. and they have wit enough to know that to appear faultless in attire is far from being the best means of propitia ting the favor of their own sex. They like to dress^ says she, simply from the pleasure realized from having on fine clothes. We can hardly accept this stntament as wholly true. Many styles of dress are uncomfortable: some are actually torturing. There must be some stronger motive than a mere childish ondness for finery to make one wi ling to endure the agony of a compressed chest and tightly pinch ed feet. We suspect that in this, as in some o'lier things in life, there is a mixture of many motives— a mixture so complicated that the person herself could not analyzethem. Behoof Hoy Vows.—We suspect there were few boys in the days when the rod was an important and indispensable article of school-room furniture, who did not register vows of vengeance for wroiyrs which they supposed themselves to have suffered - Solomon, when liis wisdom had attained its utmost growth, would hardly have admitted that he ran a fearful risk of being spoiled by the failure of chas tisement for any ofVence, and we do not know but he looked eagerly forwanl to the days of manhood that he might enjoy the pleasure of wallopping his tyrant preceptor. But happily we grow, if not more wise, as leist more charitable as we grow older. The sharp edge of resentment wears off. We can tell with genuine heartiness of our school-boy frolics and feel no ris- ingof anger as we come to the sound drubbings which we received when caught. The old teacher who caned us into a. knowledge of Caesar’s Com mentaries isjremembered with reverence, and if it be our lot to mee1 him now and then, no hand is grasped more cordially. t —j» . Fiction is Power.—:‘Truth Is Power,” says a time-honored proverb, the correctness of which we will not now call in question. But beside it we would place theseemingly contradictory assertion that "Fiction is power." The things whicliare most potent among men are so through the magical in fluence of the imagination. What is that Divinity that doth hedge a king save the glamor which the fancy throws around the sceptre and the crown ? To the rude swain of Somerset or Cornwall, her majes ty, the queen, is hardly less than a goddess, at whose behest he would gladly labor or die. Enter the private chambers of Buckingham Palace or Bal moral and you will see a plain, lumpish Dutch wo man whom splendid trappings cannot make pretty, and the best society nftlie world bas not made in telligent. The simple layman whose heart is swell ing with emotion as he listens to the sublime peals oftlie organ, looks upon his Priest as he comes forth from his oratory in the gorgeous robes of of fice, as one lifted far above the stains and weak nesses of humanity. But let him look in upon his Reverence at his home and behold him eating cab bage and quarreling with his laundress and he will perceive that he is but an ordinary mortal. Many regard our legislators as men of far-seeing views, who with a profound sense of the responsibili'y of their ,-ow weigh with conscientious care each vote ere H enc|. and whose first thought in all things is the public weal. Butlethim be placed where he can see them as they are, and he will perceive them wasting the time for which they receive the peo- ple’smoney in orackingjokes'and muncliingground peas, while their only busy hours are devoted to scheme* of personal aggrandizement. So in most things there Is a reality, and a seeming which our Imaginations snpply and in most instances is this latter the more powerful. We do homage to the King, reverence the priest, and support with voice and vote the politician without admitting that in each Instance the qualities which call forth these emotions are purely fictitious—merely the creation ofour fancy. ‘‘Truth Is stranger than fiction” be- causeit Is more rare. Communism In America.—We are not sure but America is the land where Communism is to shock high Heaven with its most fantastic deeds. They err much who supposo that the spirit of med dlesomeness which destroyed the best adjustment of capital and labor that lias ever been known and devastated the finest country on the globe, is either dead or asleep. It is still alive and active, keen'y on the alert for other opportunities of mischief. In this new ism it recognizes a welcome ally and a kindred spirit. With the ballot in the hand of ev ery man, however Ignorant or debased he may be. it is possible here to subvert the whole frame-work of society under the forms of law. So far as the South Is concerned, this would already have been done had not the wealth and intelligence of the land risen in one desperate effort to preserve our civilization. Nothing shortof the worstevils which Communism can inflict would have satisfied those fierce fanatics who deem it a part of righteousness to hale our section. We have been saved, we trust lastingly. But the people of the North may yet learn that universal suffrare is a most dangerous experiment. That the half-fed and half-clothed may come from all the dens of vice and misery and with votes in their hands, insist upon an equal dis tribution of wealth, is b> no means improbable. Those who have given the ballot to the ignorant and depraved in order to wreak their purposes of vengeance on a helpless people may find when too late that they havo to reap the whirlwind for the wind they have sown. Kongr Writers.—Assuredly songs are not so high an order of literary composition as epics—yet there have been almost as many great epic poets as there have been great song writers. To make a song which shall take hold of the popular heart and live in the affections of the multitude requires tal ents of a very peculiar order. In the first place, the theme chosen must be one of deep and last inter est. Then it must be expressed in words so simple that there will be no difficulty about understanding their meaning. It will all the more likely to suc ceed if the rhythm be such as to fix the words in the memory readily. Then the thoughts must be such ns appeal directly to the heart. The intellect may approve of the words, thesontiments, the mel ody of a poem, but if the heart commend it not, it will not be a success. The song writer must feel the thoughts which he puts into verse and throw into every word that magnetism which will make others feel them. It is this power of awakening sympathy with the sentiments which he utters that renders the song-writer more powerful than sthe warrior or the legislator. But it is a question which we cannot determine, whether the preva lence of a sentiment calls for the song or whether tiie song awakens the sentiment. The rather silly but immensely popular songs of Liliebulero drove James from his throne and his kingdom, but it 1, quite sure that no such power would have been pos sessed by the song bad it not been for the previous ■date of feeling. Still More Worlds.—Some time ago it was an nounced that astronomers had availed themselves of the last solar eclipse to “yield the lyre of Heaven another string” by satisfying themselves of the ex istence of the planet Vulcan. It is a small, fiery world, revolving at less than twsnty millions of miles from the sun, and entirely too hot for one to think lor a moment of Us being the abode of sen tient beings. Small as it Is, however, it is thought another planet whirls around in its small orbit still nearer the sun* Year by year, as the construction of telescopic instruments become perfect, we learn more and more of our system; yet all that we know seems as nothing to what we do not and may never know. Paper Brielts.—It was long ago supposed that when cotton had assumed the term of paper and had thereby becomo a means of disseminating iu- telligence over the earth that its utility in that di rection was spent. Since that time however, many things have been manufactured from paper, which would have been termed highly improba ble. The latest Ihing in this way is the manufac ture of bricks from paper—and of course of cotton. What the process may be by which the soft linty fleece is converted into a substance that resists the wind and rain, we do not know. But certainly it will seem less paradoxical now when chemists as sure us that cyttou and marble are ain^st the sanv substance, since they may be both used for the same purpose. A man may now produce in his fields the material for his house. But the walls of our houses wouid be rather costly even with the cotton at seven cents per pound. The Complaints Against the Greenback Organ.—We have received complaints against the New York Advocate from subscribers of ours in nineteen States of the Union. They say they have sent money for subscriptions, sewing machines, microscopes, and other articles, and got no returns. The Postmasters’ bills show that the proprietors re ceived this money. The editor says that he dropped his large list of country subscribers after the re cent election because of a failure in one of his presses. From .the letters and explanations we glean the following information: I.— That since the countT list of the Advocate has been dropped the subscriptions of mndreds of new country subscribers have been received and retain ed. when the proprietors acknowledge that they were unable to forward the newspapers. Foraught we know the Advocate is still receiving such sub scriptions. II —That when subscribers called at the office and asked why their papers were not sent, they were told that it was owing to a mistake that should be rectified, and not told that their names had been dropped from the list. III. —That, after the list was dropped, advertisers were led to pay a dollar a line, imagining that 700. 000 copies of t lie newspaper were circulating weekly. IV. —That on Oct. 9. When letters received at this office show that the list was being dropped, the Ad- vocatesent a letter toDahlgreen, III.,placingitscir culation at nearly 1.(00,000. V. —Tliat orders for sewieg machines have been solicited on faithful promises of immediate atten tion. and the money retained, when the concern had no machines to fill such orders. VI. —That the persons who sent subscriptions and orders for machines and other articles have repeat edly written to f’e Advocate, knowing that their money had been received, yet could obtain no an swer. VII. —'That as long ago as last August, when Mr. Shurpe acknowledges his receipts were nearly $22,. 000 a month, money was taken on such orders, and no goods were forwarded. Nor was any explana tion vouchsafed to those who had sent their money and were asking what was the matter. VIII —Tint in October a letter was sent from the Advocate office to J. J. 8herman, asserting that tlie delay in forwarding the sewing machines was the fault of the Domestic Sewing Machine Company, when inquiries show that the company did not and never had supplied the Advocate with sewing ma chines. IX —That orders for tea. microscopes, and other articles, for which themoney lias been received, re- mum unfilled, without a word of explanation. X.—That repeated applications from poor girls and others to have their money returned receive no attention. XT.—That, though the Advocate has been pub lished weekly since that time, not a word ot expla nation has appeared in its columns. XII.—That the ‘Co-operative Department’of the Advocate is still in existence, and its proprietors oiler to forward various articles at given prices when scores of orders for which they have received money are not filled Is there anv rule of honesty by which such trans actions can be measured? The above is from the V. Y. Sun and shows wliat an unblushing swindle that mushroom Advocate was. Everybody should have had sense enough to know it from the beginning. Papers cannot be pub lished at any such prices. When they announced their circulation at 600,000, we estimated that they were losing $100,000 a year on the single item of pa per. Will the people never learn ? A Great American Novel.—The late Bayard Taylor Is reported to have said that a great Ameri can novel never had been written and never would be. In regard to the first part of Ills proposition he Is certainly correct. While we have a great many Cleverly written novels from the pens of American men and women, we hava not a single one of such decided worth that it could be called great. Cooper and Simms are not only our greatest novelists, but they have done more than any other authors to give to our literature a distinctive character—yet •re they little read. Indeed, there are many per sons who are familiar with the works of Bulwei, Thackeray. Diekens. Wilkie Collins, Charlotte Bronte, and many other novelists the other side of the water, who never read a page of Coopor or Bry ant. But. in regard to what is to he, we would fain lione that he is mistaken. We would like to think that In the coming time, when the national charac ter shall have assumed an assure! type, the great American novel will be written. We must howev er, admit that many tilings conspire to render tills improhable. In the first place, we cannot perceive that as we grow older the preference for tlie sensa tional over the solid grows less. Those who write tor fame or bread—and in these classes are all who are likely to write—will find a reward more assured by nrodno.in? what is flashy than by aiming at that which Is of lasting worth. Hence the best writing ta'ent of the country is now and is likely to con tinue to be employed on periodicals rather than on works that shall live. At the same time, the appe tite which demands fast writing springs from last reading. Our people glance over hurriedly, per haps enjoy for the moment and then hurry away to answer the demands of business. Were* work of trandseendant worth produced, we doubt itshnv- lng a long life In this fast age. and it is not possible, but extremely probable for ebook to be “all the rage” in reading circles to-day and be quite for- ■ gotten a few months hence. | The Mainspring.—Carlyle, whose admiration for the unfaltering energy and success of Frederick the Great, was almost boundless, says that while that hero moved towards his aim by spiral paths, he always kept it sun-clear in his sight. Jfthis were true, he was indeed a wonderful man. Spiral and tortuous enough was his course, but he had not from the beginning made up his mind as to what he most desired, nor did he always pursue the same t hing. Life was with him as it is with most of us, a tiling of circumstances. At one time Love capti vates, then Pleasure illures. Anon we chase the glittering bauble wealth and again we are inspired by Ambition’s dream to seek reputation. Eacli several phantom leads us for the time and seems that which we should most covet. Many foolish things we do while deeming ourselves wise andper- liaps some things performed in the gropings of ig norance lead to results which will cause the world to pronounce us great. Some of the most success ful strokes have been made about as designedly as that shot of Winkle's which brought down his bird though his eyes were closely shut. It may well be questioned whether any ol those whom weare wont to refer to as having made all things bend before the steady persistence of their ambition were im pelled by one controlling motive toward a fixed aim. Csesarand Cromwell and Napoleon were am bitious certainly— perhaps prominently so. But the careers which they achieved were rather the re sults of circumstances than of carefully planned and diligently pursued intentions. Discusss it, however, as much as we may, we can never know how far men are controlled by events and how far they control them. Certain we are that if tiie spir its that have gone hence are permitted to look back on the affairs of earth, they must be often sad dened, often amused to see how historians censure as blunders those deeds which they did by design and commeud those which they performed in blind ness. Survival of tile Fittest.—Mr. Darwin's theory that in tiie great struggle for existence in which he represents all creation, animate and inanimate as being engaged, the fittest survive has to be upheld in tiie face of a multitude of opposing facts. To de scend no lower than our own species, it is not a fact that the stoutest and strongest individuals out live the weaker, uor does it seem to be true of na tions. Of tiie races that have dwelt upon tiie earth since tiie historic period, none have exhibited a higher degree of physical perfection than the red man of the forest. Yet in a few years the last In dian will look upon the land which his father’s once possessed. While he is passing away, the. Af rican and Mongolian races, which are certainly his inferior in most respects, show no signs of decay The former will remain for ages to come in undis puted mastery over the vast continent which he in habits, but does not develop, and even here in our land where he is an exotic, he multiplies fully as rapidly as the white race with whom he is com mingled. The dusky races will, we expect, event ually give place to the white man as the red one has already don e;—but the yielding does not take place in the order of their strength. Tiie first to disappear will he the one which has stood second certainly in physical strength and perhaps second also in in tellectual power, while that which stands lowest in the scales is likely to remain for many ages yet a factor in the great problems which Time is to solve. Special Mention. THAT K r tPK! -T2s- i- —No paper that was ever started on the earth ever had such a run as that mushroom affair called the Advocate and sent out from New York at 25 cents a year. Everybody took it because it was cheap. The clubs went in by thousands until within a remark ably short time they were printing nearly a million copies. No one considered the impossibility of publishing a weekly paper at that price, nor the fact that the more copies they printed the more money they lost. When they announced that they were publishing 600,0)0 copies we made a low esti mate of the actual cost of each edition and found that they could not be losing less than $100,000 a year on the blank paper alone, without setting a type or printing a sheet. This of course was based upon tiie presumption that they paid for the paper, which we now see was not done. In another col umn we give from the Sun, the manner In which they have swindled the dear, unsuspecting people. Beware of cheap news papers. ONE EIGHT. BY MABY E. BBYAN, A pale mist clang to the far-away hills, the damp odor of decay filled the atmosphere, the walks were sodden with yesterday's chill rain, the frost-blighted flowers hang shriveled on their limp stems, the large leaves of the paradise tree drifted down to her feet, dead-pale. So bad tbs years drifted to her in her latter life—jast ■o colorless and wan. She looked away beyond the hills, beyond the pines where a tired wind rocked itaelf to sleep. Her eyes seemed fixed upon a clond that was Blowly drifting towards the west—a clond shaped like a bird with a bro ken wing. She watched it as though it were the messenger that was bringing her the evil tidings she had forboded all day. A step sonnded on the wet walk behind her; she turned, there stood the messenger with the evil tidings in hisieyss, in his hand. Her fing ers closed over the slip of paper he pat into them. She read the words apon it: 'The hoar iB near, come to me.’ She read it and gave no sign beyond growing deathly pale—white ts the frost-touched white rose that hang on its stem close to her. ‘The hoar is near'—the one honr in which those tv o could meet again—the hoar apon whose thres hold stood death and the end of hoars and dayh to one ot them. That had been their con pact when they parted—these two whose sonls con’d never be divided. Thsy would not meet aga ; n until the hoar that ushered in the last. That had come to him first. She had feared it would, for she belonged to a long-lived race. Strength of vitality was in the black hair, the dark eyes, the firm-kint though Blender frame. Then wo man’s power of endnrence is greater than man’. ; so is her power of adaptation, of resignation. Years Uy between the night of their last meet ing—that glowing aaid-snmmer night-aad this The Magazine of Art, Illnstratcd.—This is tiie title of a monthly publication of great merit is sued from the house of Cassells, Petter & Galpin o f New York, in which the theme Art is enlarged upon by presenting conceptions ol an higher order car ried out by a more subtle skill. From month to month are given the most attractive examples of what art is doing for the world in the present day, and what it has done in the past. Artists and authors of the first rank supply tlio subjects, texts and drawings. The price is very cheap, only S3.00 a year. Address the House at 59G Broadway, New York City. The Life of Son. A. II. Stephens.—In our last issue we began an able review, by Judge Archer Cocke, of the interesting Life of Hon. A. H. Stephens, by Johnson & Browne, and promised the conclusion in this issue, but it lias been unavoida bly left over because of the difficulty in reading the MSS. The Judge, like most judges and lawyers, does not write a handsome fist. The Shorter College.—The inscription on the corner stone of the building of this nourishing in stitution is in these words: ‘‘A gift to Our Daugh ters,” from “Alfred Shorter, 1877.” Our able and worthy friend, R. D. Mallary and his accomplished wife, daughter of the distinguished scholar, Rev. J L. Dagg, D. D., are at the head of this college, and we trust are having the success to which their great merits entitle them. Atlas Series.—A. S. Barnes & Co., have begun the publication of a series of volume- with the title Atlas,” in which they propose to bring out, at a moderate price, and at various times, important Essays, 8tories, etc., bearing upon contemporary events of current interest and of permanent value. The contents will be original and prepared by emi nent writers on both sides of the Atlantic. The northwestern farmers admit that the se vere weather has killed their peaches, but they rejoice in the fact that the deep snow is the best possible protection of the winter wheat. They antioipate an unexampled crop of wheat next summer. Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.—This grand old play of the immortal Bard of Avon will be pre sented to the people of our city on the 23rd of this month by Mr. F. C. Bangs, the young Southerner who has elicited great admiration wherever he has appeared, supported by a troupe of great ability. Mr. Bangs is a first class actor and we are assured tliat lie renders this great part in a manner that places him in the very front rank of actors. The play of Julius Caesar abounds in line scenes and splendid delineations, and no production of the great dramatist lias been and continues to be more popular. Mr. Paul E. Bleckley, son of Judge L. E. Bleckley, holds a position in this troupe of Mr. Ford and this fact will doubtless contribute to increase the houses in our city. ■Portrait of Alexander H. Stephens.—By spe cial request, Mrs. Gregory, who is making a fine rep utation as an artist, has placed her admirable port rait Of Hon. A, H. Stephens on exhibition in the li brary. It is pronounced oue of the moat accurate that has ever been painted of the distinguished Georgian. pale November day. A waste of years they had stretched before her in appalling prospective on that never-forgotton night. Bat they had not been a waste; they had been crowded fall of da- ties, progressive thonghts and sacrificing deed?, compensations, happiness even, of a sirt—sat isfaction in fullfflling her part in society and in her home, in being trae to the claims apon her, in having worked loyally and endured si lently, cheerfully. If her life had lacked its completeness, few gnessed it. She made it so much a harmony that few bat herself knew that the octave was not complete, that one chord, sweeter than all the rest, was missing. Bat all duties, all ties must give way now; none mast hinder her obeying this summons— the voice she had heard cailiDg to her all day— across the wide distance—over hills and plains and rivers. She must go to him. She went. The night found her sleepless, looking out at the dim stars and the fleetirg panorama of woods and fields,lighted cities and pine muffled mountains as she was borne away toward the voice she had heard calling to her, ere the wires had flashed to her the summons ‘Come.’ So tally has human art triumphed over space, that before the morrow’s sunset, she was in a land straDge in its climate and its aspect—a land whose plains stretched wide and level under a broader sky. The rustle of palms and the sound of the sea were in her ears. She walked under magnolias hung with hoar moss as she neared the tall, dark, narrow structure, stained with years and gloomy with shadow and solitude. On either side of the long flight of stone steps that led up to it, were hyderangea plants, tbeir j?road leeyaa pale «od spotted with ter heir great panicles of flowers faded, dry—the ghosts of blossoms that had been bine as summer hea vens. With trembling feet she ascended the time-stained stair. A venerable black servitor met her at the threshold and bent his gray head be'ore ber. ‘Does he still live?' she found voice to ask. 'He lives,' was the answer, in tones so quiver ing, from lips that trembled so with emotion that she graspea the wrinkled black hand and pressed it gratefully. She then followed him up another flight of stairs in this tower-like struct ure. At the landing, he paased and opened a door. ‘She has come,’ he called out softly, and clos ing the door behind him,left her standing there in the room that was lit only with the twilight and the dull, red glow of a smouldering fire. There was silence, so deep she trembled lest death should have preceded her coming; then a deep voics said: ‘Margaret,’ and she saw him sitting in the shadow, saw his arms extended to her, went to him swiftly, knelt by him and laid her head against the breast where it had rested onoe, ODly ones before. She knelt there motion less and silent, with his arms aronnd her and her head against his faintly throbbing heart for minntes; then he said, low: ‘Light the candles, Margaret.* She rose and saw close to hor on the table a bronze figure of Time that held up an hour glass and a torch; both sconces for two tall wax can dles, such as burn at the head and feet of the Catholio dead. Margaret lit them and turned to him. And the two who had not met for so many years looked into each others faces. Wast ed! Yes, he was wasted and wan, but bis eyes were unchanged, they looked out from their long lashes with the same deep,true,tender look; and the brow was as broad and pure, and the rings of brown hair clung to it as lovingly. And ehe—the years that had left tbeir footprints upon her face,had Btamped no ignoble meaning there. Her eyes answered his sadly enough,but clear and trne. And there was an added strength about the mouth, always so sweet. He saw it and was satisfied. In the old days he had been the stronger. It was he who had upborne her resolution, who had enconraged and strength ened her, though to do it, he had put aside the cup of a most sweet temptation. But when once she saw the ideal he pointed her to, she climb ed to it earnestly, steadily in the face of adverse winds. ‘I am satisfied,’ he said after he had looked at her in silence; and she felt that he knew she had not only tried to be loyal to all onter, ap- pearent claims upon her, hut faithful to an in ner trust, a higher one, known only to them selves and the Being who had made them. She had not let the muddy current of time and change sweep away or soil that royal lilly—that ideal of lofty life and love—that had sprang from her deep, fresh heart ot yonth, ‘I am satisfied.’ There was such living sweetness in his eyes when he said the words that involuntarily she stretched her hands towards him. ‘Oh, Albert, can it be that—?' ‘That I am dying?’ he said. ‘Yes, I shall not live till morning. I think.’ ‘And yoa will leave me alone?' ‘Not alone: I may be with yoa still.* ‘Then you have a hope,’ she cried eagerly, •you believe—?’ ‘I believe that we live after the change that we call death. Once as yoa kaow, I had no such hope, bat solitade and commune with oar own Tjoaght tell as strange things. This hope has come to me through the teachiog of no creed, but from my own consciousness—the whisper ol the God within me. It has come from the fact that we aspire—we aspire always to tome- thing thai is beyond ns, and we feel that this bodily flesh is not the best of as, that it is of- tenest a clog to thought. Such feelings are not given in vain. Nothing is wasted by the Great Economizer. Sach feelings point to a contin uance of the Thought—point to its immortality when the problems that torture it here shall have answer, when its aspirations shall be satisfied. This is the ray of hope that comes to me through the darkness of mystery that else envelopes me. For it is mystery, it is all mystery! It is mys tery to me still though I have shut myself _ here ia this solitade, and read and thought till it seemed my brain would burst. Look at all these books Margaret —books that represent ev ery phase of thought—the thought of the scien tific plodder and thepoetio dreamer; of him who gets down to study patiently a faint footprint of truth on the ground, and him, who boldly pro jects from his imagination a Bhadow that he dreams may entline the truth. _ I have gone with modern Science searching in the dim laby rinth of life for the beginning—aearching.till the broken clues drop in the band and all beyond is derkaess, as those deep thinkers own. Here is a late ntteranoe of the boldest and) best spirit among them; I had been reading it an boar before yoa came. •If asked to dedaoe from the physical inter action of the brain moleonles, the least of the pbenomena of thought, we mast acknowledge oir helplessness. Between these there is a fissure over whioh the ladder of physical reas oning is incompetent to carry ns.” *To me this is most pathetio. The mortal, dropped by an unknown hand in the labyrinth of mystery, bat groping for his Creator, reaching rever ently, patiently, finding as he thinks a cine, and having it fail him, mocking his eager ness. Yet there are theologians who call this reverent, earnest searching of the creature for his Creator blasphemy; who class it with the shallow infidelity of a superficial past They shonld watoh and wait; it may put a lamp in the hands of him who really seeks to show God to man in his largest and noblest light This little rash-light of trath, which science holds in the hollow of its hand, blowing apon it with the breath of earnest resear jh may barn brightly, fanned by the breath of future gener ations, may shine out with a light that shall uveal the chain of life complete in all links, fastened in tLe lowest earth, but reaching np through inconceivable space and innnmerons sU.rry links to the unapproachable Source of Life. Yes. this rush light may be a revelation. It may show* us the sublime system and order of the great Architect. He makes man systema tic; 3hall His work be less harmonious ? Shall the Great Builder also not build from the ground upward? I ceased trying to follow these Thinkers who are searching for the low-sunk foundations of the temple of the Universe. I felt life growing too short, the shadow of death crossed my path. I was fain to look up from the foundation to the spire—the spire of aspira tion, half hid in clouds but pointirg up—np to the hope that life is immortal—that all these yearnings and aspirations are not in vain ’ His voice that Lad been growing fainter, gave way and a spasm of pain crossed his brow. The next moment he smiled reassuringly into her aaxioua face. •It is not yet come dearest,’ he said. ‘The shadow steals over me gently, almost painless ly. Suffering has almost ceased. Even when Pain trad its power, Thought and Will conquer ed it in part. Death could not triumph over man, except that his Will is weak. You know what dealf a blow to mine; what weakened my life's hold. Thought preys on itself when it is not fed from the heart—fed by love end happi ness. I h' vo had only a solitary memory, sweet, but barren as sands upon the shore, Life could take but shallow root in such desolation. Yet the memory was sweet. And this night! its solemn sweetness compensates for much. See, I have tried to have it graced with flowers—tie flowers you leva—pale Egyptian lilies atid helic- thrope, with ite celestial breath, and these vio lets,’ lifting a bunch of them from the table and the bad of damp green moss on which they lay. ‘Put it on your breast till my heart ceases to beat, then lay it in my coffin and bnry it with me Do not shudder dearest; do not think of death as such a dread thing. Gome closer to me her*. With my arm aronnd you and your face to mine, I shall not fell the shadow fall so cold and isolating. Your eyes have hope in them, is is not so? Do you not believe that we live after the death-change?’ ‘I do believe it.’ ‘And that we shall meet again ?—that a love like onrs knows not an earthly knelling ?’ ‘I believe it ? ‘It is well. That cheers me. Let ns believe it dearest; let ns dare to believe it, atoms as we are on the little island of time; believe it though the great ocean of mystery murmurs mockingly around us.’ He was silent a long time with his arm around her and her face olese to his, as she sat motion less on the low footstool close to the lounge, against whose crimson pillow his face was out lined, white and still as carven marble. In the deep hush of the room, she could hear the moan of the sea without and the sound of the with ered oak-bongh, flapping like a vulture’s wing against the pane. He was silent for many minutes, when he spoke it was so low, so spiritual in sound, that his tenes seemed scarcely mortal, and his words were strange and sweet, such as one might speak in a wonderful and over-awiogvision. Nowand then there was a word of tenderness, a clasp of the fingers around her’s to tell that in this half trance, she was nut forgotten—that her presence sweetened the solemn mystery of the hour. Time passed; the night changed, the sea had withdrawn its complaining tide and was heard no more, the dead bough rested motionless against the pane, the wind slept. The white fare on the pillow seemed to sleep also. Or wrs he dead? The hand that held Margaret’s had grown colder as the moments crept on, the breathing to which she listened had grown fainter. Suddenly his eyes opened; what a light waB in them ! what a sweetness in the look that rested on the anxious watcher, what a radiance in his smile ! She bent her face close to his. ‘Kiss me Margaret,’ he said, and her lips were pressed to his that were already cold. In that kiss bis breath passed from his mortal frame for -ver. When the venerable black servitor opened the door an hour afterwards, the room was silent as the grave. Tbe candies had burned down and were expiring in their sconses. Tremblingly he opened the shutters of the window, and the dim chill dawn, streamed into the dusky room— there lay a man’s white still face upon the pillow, and a woman’s head bowed near, half veiling it with her hair. ‘Are both dead,* he muttered fearfully. But the woman lifted a pallid, tear less face, rose and took a bunch of violets from her bosom and laid it upon the breast of the dead. Miss Rosa Solomons, a beautiful Jewess of Hopkinsville, Ken., while on a visit to some friends in Nashville committed suicide by tak ing strychnine.. She was impelled to this fatal step by disappointment in love. The evening before she received a letter from the vonng man to whom she had long been engaged, saying that he eould not marry her. She immediately left the house, went to the drag store and purcbai* £ ed 20 grains of strychnine, and at nine o’clock 1 ^ that night wus fonnd in a dying condition, lied - > ioal aid was summoned, bat failed to do any good. Mr. J. B. Goodwin succeeds, as Alderman at lafije, Mr. O H. Jones who has to the deep regret of every citizen, been long incapacitated bv sickness f* r oc cupying his seat in the meetings of tiie General Council. Mr. Goodwin has formerly been Counc l- l.ian from the first wart . He is a lawyer by protes- sion and an acknowledged leader in our municipal politics. He is an industrious worker and a Wan of brains.