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WATC’HIKCJ.
BY BIDE.
An ancient town by a river’s side
Whose towers, brown and grey
Are washed by the sullen, rushing tide,
And crumbling fast away;
In a dim old attic, bleak and cold
With the chill November rain,
A weary woman, brown and old,
Sits by the window-pane.
Her tear-dimmed eyes are watching far,
Where the light-house beacon glows,
Her withered Angers slowly move,
Knitting a pair ot hose;
A blue eyed child stands listening
To the ringiug vesper chimes,
And h tring again the story old,
Hhe has heard a thousand times.
“They offer me home t—the neighbors do;
’Tis kind, but 1 cannot go;
For here I saw my husband's ship
Set sail for the land of snow;
Out of this window 1 watched her go
Till her masts were lost to sight,
And her floating canvass, white as snow
Was hid in the deepening night.
“Eight months would bring her back, they said,
When the gladsome matin chime
Was ringing clear, and garlands spread
For the holy Easter time.
The months wore on, but she never came,
And I sat watching here.
Till my baby blossom drooped and died
With the dreary, dying year.
«'I always knew my sailor’s brig
By a hank of flax that streamed
... i..... irviiit and thi ends
Bv a hank of flax that streamed
From her miz/.eu mast, and threads like gold
In the summer sunlight gieamca*
A yellow flake on the western wind
Like a tress ot my hair, he jaid- ,
And when lie was with me, safe and sound,
The flax into hose I made,
“Eleven voyages come and go,
And ever my watchful eye
Would see, as the western breezes blow,
The flax at the masthead fly;
And hear my sailor’s cheery voice
Ere the ship could anchor heave,
“Annemie, here is more flax to spin,
And here is more hose to weave
“One day in the dark midwinter time,
A coaster, drifting in.
Brought tidings, how in the Danish seas
Ttaev boarded a brigantine,
And found her 1 ull all riven in two,
Her crew all drowned, and dead.
And a hank of flax, with seaweed twined,
Tied fast to her mizzen-head.
“But I do not know my boy is dead,
And some day, who can sav .
He may not leap out on the wharf below,
And call in his cheery way—
* 4 Annemie, here is more flax to spin,
And here is more hose to <*-cave—
So let me watcli by the window pane,
For you see I cannot l ave.
“I shall see again the smile so dear,
Ami the love in his clear blue eye;
Tne angels tell me that 1 shall hear
His voice, before 1 die;
He was not drowned—my strong-limbed lad—
With ills brave, true knightliht od;
It cannot be—he was all I had —
And they tell tne God is good
Meagre, and brown, and old. she sits
By tlie river’s singing chime;
Blind to the whiteness of her hair,
Deaf to the bells of Time—
Blind and deaf, to the tales they tell
Of bitter, saddening truth .
Thinking alone, of Die sea slain love
She knew in her ea.ly youth.
W itch n for ryes whose loving beams
Dark seaweed covers o’er
Bv the fir-clad Dills and rushing streams ©
Of the snow bound Sweedisli shore;
Watching still till the welcome breeze
The floating signal show,
From a masthead sunk in northeu seas
Full fi ty years ago.
They found her once, in the twilight grey,
And the chill midwinter rain
Fell on the silvered head that lay
By the broken window-pane:
A pipe, and pouch beside her lay,
On the little cundle stand,
And a pair of hose was tightly held
In her withered, stiffening hand.
“Look for the brig—” she muttered low,
As her life ebbed fast away:
vyou cannot see the masthead now,
For the fog is thick and grey;
But his pipe is ready, his socks are dry,
And the fire is clear and bright;
Keep watch! keep looking! the brig is nigh
She will be in port tu-niglit.”
He never came—her sailor boy—
But out on the twilight dim,
The weary soul, with a song of joy,
Floated, at last, to him:
Under the window the white ships go,
Freigli ed with hopes and fears.
Without one thought of that night of woe,
And its watch of fifty years.
Huntsville Ala, Feb 79
THE
MISTER OFJED1B CLIFFS.
An Autobiography.
By ltett Winwood,
Author of ‘Nobody's Wife,' 'The Broken Mar-
rim,e Bond,' ‘Ethel Dreeme.' ‘The White Spectre,'
‘Sweetheart and Wife,' ‘The Chilton Estate,' ‘The
Wronged Heiress,' etc., etc.
CHAPTER VIIL
HXJSBAND AND WIFE.
Before I could utter another word, he hurried
me along the corridor to a little ante-room at the
upper end, where a dim ligh* wis burning.
A dead man’s faco oould not have been more
ghastly than that he turned upon me the next
^H^did not speak at once. He could not. His
livid lips unclosed, but no sound came from
them. He made a saoond effort, and this time
^Curse hYmfcnrse him! It would be a mercy
to rid the world of such a villain. 1
The words were spoken rather to himself than
to me He seemed scarcely conscious ot my
presence. F.e stood leaning against the wall,
tie Goiog up U to V him and clasping his ice-cold
h8 ‘ctlm you welt Ob, pray, calm yourself, Col-
OD He^ooked W d e own at me, long and searchingly,
and slowly the flame faded from his eyes,leaving
them only stern and sad.
•I wonder I did not rush in upon him and
take his wretched life.* he muttered. f
•It was God’s mercy that restrained you.
•Gods mercy?’ repeating my words slowly
•I don t know. I believe it is His will that we
should take vengeance into our own hands
sometimes.'
‘No. never.’
•There are some injuries from man to man so
deep that only blood can atone for them.
His eyes were begriming to bar “ “8“°;
turned quickly away and advanced towards the
door with a heavy step. The thought of hls
wroDgs almost made a madman of him.
•What is to binder me from going back this
moment and demanding the satisfaction that is
m ''l d will ? !' I cried, flinging myself before him.
•Yes 0 ? I am no weak girl; I can be strong when
an emergency like this arises. Ion shall not
pass that door until yon are yourself again.
P He glanced down at me with a strange smile.
•Child! child!’ he said, ‘I conll crush your
very life out in a moment.
‘But yon will not?* . , .
•How do yon know that, if yon stand in my
way V
•Because you are good »Dd true and noble,
when no demon has possession of yonr soul.
For the whole world yon would not sully your
self by a mean or cowardly action.’
He lifted me up, almost tenderly, and carried
me to a eeat.
‘Yon have conquered,’ he Slid. ‘I willdo'noth-
ing rash. I can afford to learn wisdom, even of
a girl like yon.’
A great lord seemed to have been lifted from
my heart. The dreadful fear that had oppress
ed me was goDe. I breathed freely again. He
had fought a teriible conflict with himself and
came off victor. I could see it in his softened
expression and the sadly-sweet smile he gave
me.
•Now you are yourself again, Colonel Fan-
sbawe. I am very glad.’
‘You think yen can trust me?’
‘I know I caD.’
‘And yet, any other man living, coming home
as I came to-night, aDd finding bis deadliest
enemy stealing like a thief into the bouse to
rob him of wl a‘. is dearer than life itself, would
have slain him on the spot.’
He beg.in to pace restlessly up and down the
little room. His spirit chafed brit~rly under the
restraint he had laid upon it. It was most pit
iable to see him writhe under the strong mental
agony that was burning into his very heart.
At last be stopped and addressed me with an
air of forced calmness.
‘Yon have seen and heard enough to guts’
the secret that has bowed my head to earth with
shame. Have they told yon the whole story ?
‘I have asked no questions, and no one has
made a confident of me.’
‘I am not strong enough to tell if. But yon
can see how I suffer. H-avei s! there is no name
expressive enough to tell the tortnre I endure ’
He shuddered and resumed his restless prom
ecade.
‘God knows I loved her once,’ he muttered,
in a hoarse whisper, ai he hurriedly paced the
room. ‘She held all my heart. I could love
her again and forgive everything, if she were
only disposed to be a true, faithful wife to me.’
‘Be patient,’ I said, ‘it will all come right in
time.’
good fight with himself—who had foregone the
vengeance fate had placed within his reach-
stifled so bravely the rage and despair that were
consuming his heart and for dear honor's sake
would be magnanimous and kind.
I knew he was safe and went to bed and slept
peacefully in that conviction.
Husband aDd wife met at the breakfast table
the next morning. As usual, a cold Dod was
their only greeting. Colonel Fanshawe sit si
lent and abstracted during the meal, bnt he was
always so, and his manner excited no suspicion
in the mind of his wife that be had discovered
her duplicity.
But there was a change in Mrs. Fanshawe.
Though pale, there wss a subtly concealed rap
ture in her face that made her eyes lucent. It
even quivered in her voice when she spoke,and
fluttered in her pretty, slender hands hat could
not keep quiet two consecutive minutes.
‘Ah,‘ I thought, as I sit gazing at her, how
soon your delight would change into terror, did
you but know that yonr lover's presence under
his roof was known to your Husband. ‘
But I was resolved not to tell her. She would
only think that I had betrayed her, and perhaps
precipitate the very catastrophe I was anxious
to avoid.
In the afternoon I coaxed Lottie and Tressy
out for a walk. They needed the out-of-door
ex -rcisa sadly.
We had been rambling about in the shrubbe
ry for nearly an hour, when a hasty footstep
came up behind us, and Mrs. Fanshawe laid
her hand on my arm.
•I was looking for you’, she said abruptly.
Send the children back to the house.’
‘Why—’ I begaD, hat she interrupted me
with a quick gesture of impatience.’
‘Little torment*! you can walk with them
any time. I want to talk with you.’
She was not in a mood to listen to reason and
so 1 reluctantly dismissed my little charges.
‘Now I am going to thank you for being so
kind to me,’she said, whan we were quite al ine,
•I shall never forget it. I would have been iD a
pretty pickle if you had been less reasonable.’
‘It was not for yonr sake alone that J. took the
course I did, Mrs. Fuashawe.’
‘I know tha‘,’ she answered, with alow, herri-
‘You shall not pass that door till you are yourself again,”
He shook bis head.
‘It will never be right again. I do not delude
myself with false hopes. I know too well the
nature of the woman with whom I have to deal.’
•She must have loved you once, and—’
•No,’he interrupted, bitterly, ‘she never lov
ed me. Oa her part it was wholly a marriage
of convenience. She was poor and I was rich;
my wealth offered a temptation that her shallow
nature could not withstand. And so she got up
an ephemeral passion that only lasted until her
object was attained. Since we were married
she has made no pretence of affection for me.’
The hopeless misery in voice and faoe fairly
turned me heart-sick. Wbat oonsolatioD could
I offer to a man so shamefully misused ?
‘You see now,’he wentoD.sftei a brief silence,
‘why I said what I did about my nieces, Lottie
and Tressy, the night of your arrival. Louise
is not a fit person to direct them. She would
not do it if she were, for she dislikes the little
pets, and caDnot bear to have them near her. I
felt sure, from your fac", that you would prove
the friend they so sorely need, and could not
refrain from biutiDg what was in my mind.’
‘Trust me,’ I said, in my eager sympathy.un
wittingly dropping my hand upon his. ‘You
shad find that your confidence has not been
misplaced.’
I saw him start and quiver under my touch.
‘God bless you,’ he said brokeDly. ‘I do trust
you. Hmd heaven must have sent you to this
unhappy house as its good angel.’
Then, after a slight struggle to regain his lost
composure, he added:
‘Sit down again, Miss Palgrave. I brought
you here that you might tell me the whole story
of this meeting with Louis Remington. Per
haps it is a long one?’
•No,’ I answered, ‘I will makeit brief enough.’
Perhaps I wss wrong—I do not believe it,
though- but I told him everything. He sat
with his face turned away from me while I was
speaking.bat he put his hand to his throat more
than once as though he were choking.
‘I hoped be was away—in France—until I saw
his name among the arrivals in one of the morn
ing papers, a few days since,’ he said.
Of course he was speaking of Louis Remington,
•You will not barm him,’ I cried. ‘Remem
ber he is ill and under your roof. It wjuld be
cowardly to assault him now.’
‘Yes,’ hissiDg the words between his teeth.
‘I can bide my time.’
‘You will snffer him to go away in safety ?’
‘It is a hard thing you ask ot me. Could you
let him go, if my portion were your own ?’
‘I think I could,’ was my answer.
‘Then I promise to be no less heroic. ‘ These
words came with difficulty,and I could see great
drops of perspiration on his brow. ‘But she—
Louise—must keep her promise not to see him
while be remains. If she breaks it, woe he to
them all. It is enough to be a despised, unlov
ed husband, without the shame of being a dis
honored one.*
He turned as he spoke and went slowly and
wearily from the room, with the step of one who
had suddenly grown old.
I listened at the door until he entered his
dressing-room, and all was still again. When
I fell upon my knees and wept and prayed as I
had never done before.
My whole heart was full of admiration and
reverence tor this man who had fenght such a
ble laugh. ‘You had my husband's good In
yoi.r mind, quite as much as mine. Bat I am
not jealous, you may coddle him as much as
you please so long as you keep my secrets.’
She looked at me as she said this, there was
a baleful glow in her sunny blue eyes that told
me, plainer than words oould have done, how,
in spite of her protestations, deep down in her
heart, she hated me as she did the devil.
‘Mrs. Fanshawe—’ I began indignantly.
She put up one of her pretty, slender hands.
‘Don’t trouble yourself to deny anything. You
are too innocent to flirt, and so I am not afraid
of you. Besides, I am really grati ful for the
consideration you have shown. You might
have told Colonel Fanshawe everything, last
night, and then murder would have been done
—my poor Louis would have been sacrificed.’
•How dare you bring him to the house at
all ?'
•You never truly loved, Miss Palgrave, or you
would not ask such questions. It would have
been like tearing out my own heart to send him
away. So I resolved to risk everything.’
‘You deceived me shamefully in regard to yonr
intentions.’
A smile eurled her pretty red lips.
‘That was all ycur own fault; you drove me
to it.’
I was silent. My heart was too full for many
words.
•I dare say you are dreadfully shocked at
what I have done,’ she went on, presently. ‘You
would pity me a little, too, if you knew the
whole story. I met Louis, long ago, in France.
It was there we learned to love each other. Bat
I was already married to Colonel Fanshawe and
we conld only meet by stealth, after my hus
band began to grow susp'ciius of us Ah, how
I suffered, during that memorable time But I
was insanely happy, too, at odd moments, so
thatiquilibrium was mantained. Do you think
me paradoxical ?’
‘I think you very wicked,’ I burst out.
She smiled again, and shrugged her shoul
ders.
‘Bab! I never cared for my husband. I mar
ried him because he could give me wealth and
position. Since I knew Louis, my whole being
hes been wrapped up in this new passion. I
was ready to fly with him once, in FraDee, but
Co onel Fanshawe found it out in season to spoil
our programme. He would have called Louis
out, but for the scandal that must have ensued;
so he contented himself with bringing me back
to this country. Poor fool!’ and she shrugged
her shoulders contemptously. ‘He might have
known Louis would be sure to follow us.’
‘Why do you tell all this to me? I did not
wish to hear it.’
•No matter. The secret's out, and I‘m not
sorry. Besides, I thought you would be more
considerate with me if you knew'everything.’
‘If you thought I would help along yonr in-
trigne, you were mistaken, ‘ I cried passio r ately.
‘If you break the promise you gave me not to
see that man, you do it at your peril. ‘
She caught my hand with a gesture of disap
pointment and anger.
‘Don’t be cruel with me, Marian,’ she pleaded.
‘Cruel? Oh, Mis. Fanshawe! my firmness is
your best safe guard. I wish you could look at
this sffair as I do ! I beg you, as you love ycur
own soul and your husband, noble man, to be
very cartful 1’
Then I hurried away from her, not trusting
myself to utter another word. I pitied her,
but pity could not take away my unreasoning
dislike and distrust.
As I entered the house, the library door6tood
ajar, and I could see Colonel Fanshawe pacing
tne room with saoh a wan, white troubled face
that tears sprang involuntarily to to my eyes.
Oh, what a wreck and tortnre that selfish woman
was making of his life ! I almost wondered that
God permitted it.
One more incident, and the record of that
day is done. I had paid my last visit before
retiring to the nursery, that night, and stepped
outside the door again to return to my own
room, when a light on the upper flight ot stairs
caught my eye.
It was the girl, Rose, going to bed. The glow
of the lamp she carried fell brightly upon her
face. By its aid I saw that her eyes were swollen,
and there were tear-stains upon her cheeks. The
fingers of her right hand clutched a moss rose
bud very like one Richard Yann had worn in his
button-hole, that evening. Was it the same ?
CHAPTER IX.
A HOBBIBLE SUSPICION.
The next day Colonel Fanshawe was quite ill.
The first interpretation I put upon his indispo
sition was that his physical nature had suc
cumbed to his mental sufferings. But when
several days had passed and he grew worse in
stead of better. I began to feel distrustful and
anxious. I did not see him, but Susan brought
me frequent reports of his condition.
Directly after dinner, the fourth day, he sent
for rue. I found him lying upon a couch in .he
library, looking sadly changed—so worn and
haggard, in fact, that 1 should scarcely have
known him.
’You perceive I’m getting to be quite an inva
lid Miss Palgrave,’ he said, forcing a smile as
ho held out bis hand.
'I am very sorry to find you so ill, sir,’ I re
plied, controlling my features so that he might
not kno w what a shock his appearance had given
U16.
‘It is nothing. I have something to say to
you.’
‘I’m going to talk quite plainly with you,’ he
went on, after a pause, speaking in a very low
v iea. ‘I need a friend just at the present time
in this house and you are the only person I can
fully trust. You have exhibited remarkable
discretion for a young lady, or I should be less
ready to confide iu you. You see how helpless
I am; may I a.-k you to look after my interests
while I am unable to*do so?’
I understood him—nndeistood all his doubts
and i: us. Ah, what torture that illness must
have been to him ! He needed all his strength
of body and mind so sorely ! In a few broken
words I promised to do all that could be done
to save his noble name from the breath of slan
der.
‘Louise is so childish, so impulsive,’ he said,
half apologetically. ‘She is not wicked, only
weak. I pity quite as muoh I blame her. She
is not wholly responsible. Her moral sense has
been -terribly blunted by a bad bringing up.
She needs to be watched like a spoiled child.*
I did not agree with him in thinking her less
wicked than weak. Wholly undisciplined she
might be. Bat I had already detected in her
nature latent tendencies to evil that filled me
with disgust and abhorrence.
And this man, so kind, so lenient, so forgiv
ing, he seemed more like a martyr than ever in
my eyes while thus attempting to excuse his
wile.
‘One word more, if you please,’ he exclaimed,
for I was already rising to leave him. ‘I want
you to promise something before you go away.’
‘What is it?'
‘If anything should happen to me—mind, I
say if anything should happen—will you remain
with the children, Lottie and Tressy, shielding
and caring for them as far as lies in your power?’
I stared at him, feeling the blood turn icy in
my veins.
‘What do you mean ?’ I cried.
‘Nothing,’ with a low sigh. ‘It is only an in
valid's whim. Bat will you not humor it by
giving the required promise?
‘Of Course,’ I conld not help showing how
mnoh his words had startled me. ‘Do yon think
you are. going to be very ill ?’
‘I hope not,’ he answered, sighing. ‘But I
feel very strangely. And this has come upon
me so suddenly. My heart is heavy with fore
bodings.’
‘No wonder,’ I cried, pretending to be angry.
‘You lie here day after day, nursing morbid fan
cies, and perhaps take no nourishment whatev
er.'
‘Mrs. Yann brought me a glass of lemonade
this morning. I was easier for a little while af
ter drinking it, and then felt worse than before.
It had an odd, sickish taste that was very disa
greeable. '
Something on his face, as he said these words
quite took away my hreath. Our eyes met for
an instant and then his were quickly averted.
‘Has Mrs. Vann brought you lemonade more
than once ?' I asked.
'Yes, every day. Sometimes I think I might
have been well again if I had not tonched it
But she always urged me to drink it.'
‘Have yon consulted yonr family physician ?’
He nodded.
‘Dr. Stanley has been here twice and is com
ing again to-day.'
His words, and his strange, troubled look,
frightened me. He had the appearance of a man
weighed down by some awfnl fear which he hes
itated to make known.
I began to tremble and conld not go on with
the conversation.
‘You need something nourishing,’ I said, ris
ing hastily to hide my agitation. ‘I will run
down to the kitchen to see what I can find for
yon.’
I was anxious to get away from him. I want
ed a moment to myself to reflect upon what he
had said.
However , reflection only increased my be
wilderment. When I returned to the library,
after a brief absence, laden with tea, toast, and
a bottle of lare old wine, I knew no better than
when I went away what I ought te say to him.
And yet a strange suspicion, as horrible as it
was unaccountable, had been awakened in my
mind.
‘You are very kind,’ he said, giving me a grate
ful glance, as I wheeled np a small table to the
conch, and left the neatly arranged tray upon it.
‘There is only one way in whioh you can show
your thankfulness acceptably,’ I returned, forc
ing myself to speak in quite a gay tone of voice.
He smiled and b’egan to nibble at his toast.
‘You see I understand yon; and I want yon to
know that I appreciate your little acts of kind
ness and attention.’
■Courtesy costs nothing.’
•Seriously,' he said, quite abruptly, ‘I am not
hungry, and I do want to talk of the children;
and of other things.’
•You must wait (or a less gloomy mood.’
‘Am I g oomy now, little tyrant?’
‘Yes. I c*n see it in your eyes—they are full
of shadows; about the corners of your mouth—
they are depressed.’
He sighed and leoked thoughtfully away.
‘I believe I was getting fanciful when I sent
for you, just now. It is unusual for me, too!
But somehow a gloomy fear came over me, which
my mind was too morbid to dispell. Everybody
has suoh experiences at times, I suppose.’
‘You have been left alone too much. Invalids
ought to be kept cheerful. But you have not
told me the nature of your forebodings.’
He shook his head.
‘Perhaps I had better not. But I‘m glad you
gave me the promise you did—to be a firm
friend to Lottie and Tressy. You will keep it ?‘
‘I always keep my promises.*
‘I believe you do. ‘
Promising to s°nd Susan to read to him, I
now went away. But the terrible suspicion in
my mind was gaining ground, though for my
life I could not have told why it should—it
seemed so far-fatched, so utterly absurd. Never
theless, it was strong enough to decide me to
keep a close watch upon everybody who went
near Colonel Fanshawe—above all, upon Mrs.
Yann and his wife.
It is a dreadful thing to write—indeed, the whole
experience of those days, from beginning to end,
was dreadful. But the horrible con viotion grew
stronger with every moment's reflection, that
ColoDel Fanshawe's, life as well as honor, was
in danger in that house!
Absurd, improbable, far-fetohed, dreadful as
the suspicion was, when it had once firmly seat
ed Itself in my mind I oould not get rid of it.
It turned me sick with horror. Unable to
gain my own room, I dropped into one of the
hall chairs fairly gasping for breath. Oh, how
would it all end—the plotting and planning,
this treachery, seoret hate and hypocrisy ?
I could not tell whither I most suspected Mrs.
Fanshawe or Mrs. \anu i hough it was difficult
to fix upon any reason why the former should
wish to compass the death of her son-in-law.
There was never any great display of affection
between them, but they had always seemed to
be suflki ntly good friends.
But one remark I had heard Mrs. Vann make
to Richard, only the day before, now ciuiebaok
to my memory with terrible distinctness. They
were standing by an open window in the draw
ing-room, at the time, and happening to pass
along the verandah outside, the words reached
my ears before I was aware, or had time to think,
they were intended to be confidential.
This was what she s lid, and the tone was far
more significant than the words :
‘While that man lives, we are walking on a
bridge of glass. I don't like it, Dick, and things
can’t go on in this way muoh longer.’
This was all. Looking up just then, she had
caught sight of my startled lace, as I paused
before the window, undecided whither to beep
on or turn back; and her own features had
grown ghastly as death could have made them.
She glare ! at me venomously for a moment,
her eyes seeming to search my inmost soul, and
then, muttering some unintelligible words, she
had quickly retreated from the window.
Though somewhat startled at the time, I had
given little thought to her words, until after
wards, and it did not occur to me that the ‘man’
to whom she alluded was Colonel Fanshawe.
Now, I felt sure of it. Bat how he was in her
way, or to what extent his death might benefit
her, was still a problem 1 found myself unable
to solve.
In Mrs. Fanshawe's ease. it was different. He
was her husband, and while he lived an impass
able barier existed between herself and the
man she loved. It was plainly evident in what
manner his death would further her own selff ih
and wicked ends.
They might both he in league against him for
aught I knew to the contrary. Indeed, if Mrs.
Vann had learned of Louis Remington's presence
in the house, it became quite probable that
there was an united effort against the unhappy
master of Cedar Cliffs.
And oh God, against all this cunning and
secret treachery—if they really existed any
where save in my disordered imagination—there
was only my woman's wit to shield him !
TO BE CONTINUED.
Items of Interest.
Forty-nine millions of us in 1880.
The cradle is a woman’s ballot box.
Cut-nails were first made in this ccuntry.
Bio Janerio, averages fifty days of thunder per
year.
There are fifty substitutes for coflee and 129 for
tea.
The lighthouses of the world are estimated at
2814.
One-third of Chicago's population is German,
or of German origin.
Forty-one ministers cf various denominations
emigrated] to this country last year.
Shipment of horses and mules to the West In
dies are being made from New York.
The Chinamen on the Pacific coast number
130,000.
The mercantile marine of the whole world is
reckoned up at 63,000.
The notes of the Bank of England, are all sign
ed by machinery. -
There are but two cotton factories in the whole
of Mexico.
It has been a remarkable year for snow storms
all over Europe.
The American lakes contain more than half
the amount of fresh water on the globe.
According to the calender. Winter is already
over, but in tact we must wait a little longer.
The Chinese carry on a theatre successfully at
San Francisco. Long Yow gets a salary as lead
ing performer of67000, per annum,
Noah was the first man who strictly observed
Lent. He lived on water for forty days and forty
nights.
Nineteen masquerade balls in one day in New
York lately, which sounds rather “fast’’.
The press from Maine to Georgia, without dis
tinction of party, denounce, the Chinese prohibi
tion bill.
It seems that the women of the Oneida Cum-
munity “all wear the bloomer costume, and cut
their hair short.” They must look like chim
panzees.
Cotten picking still going on in some parts Of
Texas.
There are pending in the courts of Memphis 120
divorce suits.
A Shermanite, Texas, man rejoices in the clas-
si cal name of Hossapple.
There are 261, turpentine distileries in North
Carolina.
Wilmington, North Carolina, is to have a new
market house to cost $30,000.
There are 151 prisoners in the Memphis, Tenn,
jail.
In 1880 the state of North Carolina will have a
population of 1,200,000.
The recognized debt of Virginia is $30,000,000, on
which she tries to pay six per cent, interest.
Red cedar is now largely shipped from Florida
to New York and Europe for making pencils.
The bridge at Marlin, Texas, was recently sold
at trustee’s sale. It brought $4,000. It cost when
new $30,000.
Rock Hill (South CarolinaJHerald; There are five
persons, all living within a radius of a mile, in
the country five miles south of this, whose ages
aggregate four hundred and twenty-five years, lack-
ng bnt twenty three days. The following are their*
names and ages respectively; Mr. Wm. Boyd, 90
years old 15th of last March; his wife, 88.12th of last
March; Mr. Joseph Steele, Sr, 88, 18th of March; his
sister, Miss Annie Steele, 80, the 2d inst, and Miss
Margaret, another sister, 76, the 24th inst.
INSTINCT PRINT