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Influence. The morning broke upon a sullen world; A heavy mist encompassed sea and land; The city’s smoke hung low on every hand; The roses stood with vel vet petals furled, Like pouting maids with pretty lips half eurled, Waiting, with drooping heads and checks un fanned, Their zephyr-lovers—a dejected band; While listlessly the languid windmill whirled. Then, suddenly, a ray of golden light Fell on the earth; the gray mist slunk away, The smoke sped upward in majestic flight, The zephyrs sung a merry roundelay, The roses laughed, the windmill whirred de light, The sunbeams danced, and all the world was gay. — Emma V. Donx! in Youths' Companion. THEIR NEW NEIGHBOR, BY iSTE M. CLEARY. ‘Girls!’’ cried Margery Kearney, ‘‘I've seen him!—Clive Sterling!—Our new neighbor!” In quite a whirl of excitement Mar gery hifl dashed into the cozy room where her three sisters were sitting. She was shining with rain, from the hood of her silver-gray gossamer to the very tips of her rubbers. The JGufly brown curls across her forehead were sprinkled with bright drops, and her -cheeks were glowing from her rapid walk. “You did?” interrogatively cliorussed three eager voices. “I really did! ’ “Is he handsome?” asked Janet, who appreciated all beauty as intensely as -only a plain-looking person can. I. “Intellectual-looking?” inquired Cio 'tilde, who dipped daily into Emerson, and professed to adore Ruskin. “Jolly?” queried little Bertie, who was at the age when jolly people seemed created for her especial amusement. “No—no—no!” laughed Margery. “Not handsome—or learned-looking— or even jolly. He is simply the most awkward-looking mortal 1 ever be held!” And she broke into a peal of heartiest laughter at recollection of her encounter with their new neighbor. i » You see it was this way, girls, t 1 jerking off her gossamer, and disclosing a form attired in a dress of chocolate cashmere—a form that was trim, slim and willowy as that of sweet seventeen is apt to he. “I was running home in a great hurry—for it’s chillier out than you folks imagine—and just as I came opposite the gate of ‘The Oaks,’ I stopped very suddenly. For right there was (he mo3t tremendous black dog I ever saw. I said ‘Go way!’ and he didn’t budge. I shook my umbrella at him. He wasn’t a bit afraid. I said: ! 4 lf you don’t get out of tho way I’ll hit youl’ and he actually grinned. There was nothing to do but step out into the the street—it was so muddy, too—and walk around him. But just then—I suppose my dilemma was apparent from the house—down the path he came run ning. Oh, lie looked so ridiculous! He is about as tall as Jack's beanstalk, leau as a lath and brown as an Indian.” “Well! ’ exclaimed Janet. “He must be charming.” «i Oh?” cried Margery, going off into a fresh paroxysm of laughter, “What with his glasses, and his coat-tails fly ing straight out as he rushed to my res cue, he looked like some great, curious, comical bird!” “Birds don’t wear glasses,” corrected Bertie. “Was his coat a swallow-tail?” The appeal for information was ig nored. “Well, he callel off the dog, and apologized for the monster, and—that’s all.” “I wish he’d offer me the use of liis library,” sighed Clotilde. “They say ‘The Oaks’ is a perfect palace as far as furniture goes,” mur mured Janet. “I think I’ll ask him to loan me the lovely little white pony,” decided Bcr tie. But this rnsh resolution was ruthless ly crushed. “The Oaks” had been shut up so long—ever since the Kearncys had come to live in the gray -green cottage near iby. Its owner had gone abroad on ■the death of his mother, three years ago, leaving his handsome house in the care of a couple of servants. But noav that news of his return had spread, curiosity ,was rife in the fashionable suburb of Itivcrview. And not tho least inter osted were Clive Sterling’s new neigh bors. SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS. A pleasant room this in which sisters sat; a hemo-like room, even if the carpet was threadbare, the chairs venerable, the damask curtains darned —perhaps all the more home-like for these suggestions of social service and experience. Janet went on with her task of re modeling an old dress, C.otilde went over to (he window and looked wist fully through the drizzling rain to the red brick chimneys which rose above the house which held the coveted books. Margery, obeying a sudden impulse, had snatched up her ever-ready sketch book from the table, and was scratch ing vigorously away. An ecstatic gig gle from Bertie, who was peeping over her shoulder, called the attention, of the others to her work. “What is it?” asked Janet. Margery looked up with a nod and a smile. “Wait a moment.’’ On her brisk pencil flew, the dimples in her pretty cheeks deepening as her mischievous smile grew. “There!” She held up the open book. The others flocked around to her. “Oh, Margery!” i i He can’t look like tint l” “What a caricature!” Indeed, comical and grotesque was the drawing of the long, lank figure, with the spidery extremities, the flying coat-tails, the tremendous goggles, “Oh, just a trifle accentuated—not quite a caricature,” she said, laughing ly, as she scrawled under the picture the words, “Oar New Neighbor. > t “The rain is clearing off!” cried Bertie; “I’m going to run and ask mam ma if I mayn’t go out.” And off she rushed. Soon, with her kitten in her arms* and her little spaniel at her heels, she was out on the wet road. The rain had quite ceased. The afternoon sun, weary of sulking, was coining out in splendid state. In its radiance every drop on every clover leaf was a glitter ing jewel, and the pools in the street reflected bits of the brilliant sky. On and on wandered Bertie, her scar let skirt blowing backward, her yellow hair tangling flossily as the breeze caught and played with it. As she passed “The Oaks” she paused to put her small, inquisitive face against the iron railing, aud peer through. What a grand big house it was! And how smooth aud green was the large lawn, all lovely with beds of bloom! And how sweet the flowers smelled after the rain—the geraniums and carnations, and sweet-brier, and “I should so love to see the funny man Sister Margery saw,” she said to herself. And then, just as if she had had a magical ring, her wish was grati fi e d. For out on the main walk, not twelve feet away, from a small side path came Mr. Sterling. He saw the little maiden outside the railing—tho bright-eyed, curious face. He liked children. He sauntered towards the gate. “Hello, little lassie! what is your name?” “Kearney, sir.” “Oh, you’re one of the Kearney sis ters, are you? Which one? ’ Bertie hugged her kitten more tightly and looked very important. “I’m not tho clever one,” she said. He smiled. “No?” “No. Clotilde is the clever one.” “Well.” “And I’m not the good one. Janet is the good one.” “Indeed!” “Yes,” with a nod. “And I’m not the pretty one, either. Margery is tho pretty one.” “And you?” “Oh, I’m the bad one. At least that is the way Uncle Dick says we ought to be dis-dis-distinguished!” She w r as breathless from her strugglo with the big -word. “Then,” he said, laughter lighting up lm quiet brown eyes—“then it was Margery I saw to-day?” “Yes, and I think,” indignantly, “she was all wrong. I don’t think you’re one bit awkward.” “Eh!” “I think you’re downright nice. And some day—not now, because the girls said I mustn’t, but some day, when we’re better acquainted, I’m going to ask you to lot me ride ou your little white pony.” He bowed gravely. “Certainly.” “JU’a so sweet!” growing friendly and confidential. “Do you know that last summer—keep still, Kitty Kear ney?'’ to the pussy, -which was vrith ingly attempting to escape—“last sum met- Margery, who is the grandest artist that ever lived, 1 think, made a sketch of it when it was out at pasture. Just wait here aud I’ll run and get it. Come on, Twig!” Away she scampered, her little dog after her. Smiling amusedly, the tall, brown gentleman by the gate awaited her return. In about fifteen minutes she was back with a flat book under her arm. ‘It is in there; and he is eating grass!’’ He took the book rather diffidently, but very curiously, too. It could not matter. Sketches were made to be looked at. And this wa3 a sketch of his own pet pony. “By George!” He almost dropped the book. “Oh, please, please,” cried Bertie, in an agony of remorse, “I quite forget your picture was in there. What won’t Margery say! Oh. never mind the pony’s p cturc now!” She snatched the book, turned, ran home as fast as her feet would carry her, leaving Clive S erling crimsoning and laughing as he never had crimsoned an 1 laughed before. “Well, I’ve seen myself for once as others see me, thanks to the pretty one!” He dropped his eye-glasses and saun tered back to the house. For several clays he neither saw nor heard any thing of his neighbors. Then he chanced to encounter Bertie. “Oli, please, I can’t talk to you,” the child said, “Tne girls say I’m so unreliable. Y'ou know Margery caught me when I was sneaking her sketch book back, and made me tell her where I had taken it to.” i t And then?’ “Then,’’ confessed Bertie, with a contrite gulp, “then she sat down and cried!” “Isay! No!” “She did. There die is now! Oh, Margery, Margery! ’ ’ The girl had come unexpectedly around the corner. To avoid a meeting was impossible. She was quite near her sister and the master of “The Oaks.” “This is Mr. Sterling, Margery. You know you weren’t reg-regularly intro duced before. I’ve boen telling him how you cried about—’’ A delicious blush of mortification, regret, pleading, swept across Margery’s wild-rose face. Frankly she held out her hand, lifted her clear eyes. “I am so sorry for having been so rude! Will you forgivo me, if you can? And come over and play tennis this afternoon?” “Thank you. Y'es!” he said. “Why, Margery,” the others said to her, when he, after a rattling good game, had returned home, “he is just splendid? ’ “Good-looking, too!” “And a gentleman!” “All three!” decided Margery, promptly, as she sought the sketch ot their new neighbor and deliberately tore it up. She is Mrs. Clive Sterling now. Bertie was her bridesmaid. — The Ledger. A Desirable Name. “In tho jmar 16154,’’says tho Leeds (Eng) Mercury, “ on tho 5th day of December, the English ship Menai was crossing the straits, and capsized in a gale. Of the eighty-ons passengers on board but one was saved; his name was Hugh Williams. One tho same day, in the year 1785, a pleasure schooner was wrecked on the Isle of Man. There were sixty persons on the boat, among them ono Hugh Williams and family, Of the threescore none but old Hugh Williams survived the shock. On tho 5th day of August, 1820, a picnicking party on the Thames was run down by a coal barge. There were twenty- five of the picnickers, mostly children un der twelve years of age. Little Hugh Williams, a visitor from Liverpool, only fivo years old, was the only ono that returned to tell tho talc. Now comes tho most singular part of this ntory: On the 19th day of August, in the year 1889, a Leeds coni barge, with nine men, foundered; two of them— both Hugh Williams, an undo and nephew—wore rescued by some fisher men, and were the only men of the crew who lived to tell of the calamity. These are facts which can bo substan tiated. A LUMP OF OLD. The Largest Piece of Auriferous Metal Ever Found. Its Discovery Cost Three Men Their Lives. IIow many know where the largest single lump of native gold ever seen in America was found? In California? No. In Colorado? No. In the Black Hills, Coeur d' Alene, Nevada, New Mexico? No. In Old Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, in Potosi, in the Callao of Venzaela? No. Where then? In North Carolina. And its story is as weird aud fateful as the Rhinegold’s. A poor and ignorant Irishman, living in the mountains, solitary and lonely, propped open the door of his cabin with a lump of metal. He had found it sticking out from a water- washed gully and carried it home as a curiosity. Though no larger than a small cymling, it was a weighty lug for a mile. It wa< a dull yellow, irregular in shape, and pieces of stone were imbedded in it • For over two years a fortune lay upon the floor of his hovel, while he toiled, early and late, making a little whiskey and digging giaseug root to earn a scanty living. A companion mountain eer, who had known more of the out side world, thought this strange stone might be sold at Asheville as a curiosi ty for a lot of money—ten dollars per haps. This was in the flush days be fore the war. He had seen quartz crys tals from Roan Mountain bring that much. A third mountaineer was called in consultation. Ten dollars was a lot of money. The third man had been a traveler, a regular globe trotter. He went to Asheville four times a year, aud had been clear to Wilmington. Walking aronnd the dump he gazed at it from every side, touched it with his toe, spat upon it, aud breathed heavily. “Hit air with nuthin’, er hit air a pile,” said he. “Hit air nothin’ but brass, er hit air-” He looked around on the other two with a queer expres sion— 1 ‘goold. ” “Ef hit air brass’’—ho drew a clasp knife and scraped the dull metal till a new surface glittered—“vinegar’ll rust hit. Ef hit air goold, hit won’t.” He poured some vinegar from a jug which was brought to him, upon the fresh facing of the lump. The three men hung over it intently. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed and still the metal shone clear and untarnished. 4 t Hit’s goold!” “And I’ve heerd goold was wuth more’n two hundred dollars a pound!” said the second. What a d—d fool I have been!” groaned the owner of the cabin. “For two years I’ve worked, an’ wealth 1 never dreamed of kickin’ undher my feet.” “I claims a third,” broke in the as sayer. “Ye’d never a knowed what hit war, but for me.” 4 t An’ a third for me,” said the other. The owner of the gold gavo a sullen assent. They obtained a pair of steel - yards and weighed the gold. It turned the scales at over a hundred poun ds avoirdupois and they roughly estimated it to be worth $25,000, over $8000 apiece. That night all three sat up and watched the treasure, unable to sleep from excitement and thoroughly sus picious of each other. The next day they rolled it securely in a cloth and started for Asheville afoot with the gold slung to a pole and carried between two. It was the devil’s gold. At the first halting place the Irishman and the sec ond mountaineer conspired to kill the third and he was shot dead from be hind. Hastily throwing his body into a clump of busho3, the murderers faced each other in the road. Suspicion roused in each guilty breast saw treach ery in each other’s glance. “Here,” said one, forcing an uneasy laugh. “There’s only one way to set tle this. Let’s divide the gold and each go his way.” “Agreed,” said tho other. The lump was laid in the roadway and chopped in two with a hatchet. “Take your choice,” said one. As the other bent to lift his half his com panion split the head of the stooping man with his hatchet. The gold was his. With blind fatuity ho dragged tho second victim to tho side of tho road, lifted the bloodstained treasure and went on. At Asheville ho took it to the Lank and had it shipped to the United S ates mint. In less than a week, and before any return couid be had from the mint, the bodies of the two murdered men had been discov ered and the crime traced directly home. The miierablc wretch was thrust in jail, and there he died within a year. The witch goll fortune never crossed his hands, remaining in the Federal treasury for lack of owner shi p. The region where the lump was found has been scoured foot by foot, but not another lump like that has ever been discovered in that or any other section of America. It is said that a few weeks ago an English company, which is working the Nacoocheo mine in Georgia, took out a nugget weighing 1000 pen nyweight, yet the North Carolina lump weighed over 1503 ounces. — Washing ton Post. Concerning Cassava. With regard to the new bread plant, which has attracted so much attention of late from the milling journals, a newspaper in Florida has this to say: “The cassava thrive! and produces splendidly. The eat able portion of the cassava is the roots or tubers. When the roots are grated or mixod in equal proportion with flour, nice dishes can be made of it, fit to be set before a king. In custard, puddiug, pies and fritters it can not be beat, whib mixed with equal quantity of corn meal and made into fritters it will deceive an old oysterman. It is enormously productive, producing many tons per acre. It is fine feed for hogs, catt e, sheep and poultry; hogs will quit corn for it, and thrive and grow fat on it. I candidly believe there is no single article of food on the globe that will produce more to the acre. It succeeds well on good light soil that is well drained. It re sembles in growth the castor bean, and is an ornament to any garden. It should be planted on wide ranges (six feet) and set four feet apart on the ridge. First cut your stalks in pieces four inches long, with two or three good eyes, and set them perpendicularly, just deep enough so the end may be even with the ground. Cultivate as you would sweet potatoes, except in the latter p–rt of the season give shallow culture, so as not to cut the roots, which usually ex tend four or five feet around the plants in all directions. The tubes •will not keep a week in the open air. We dig them as we want them, or turn our hogs on them. The roots or tubers will keep all winter in the ground when planted on well-drained soil. We keep the stalks through winter by sawing them close to the ground an d banking them up with sand, a layer of sand and a layer of cassava stalks, until It is made steep; then put a shed over that so as to shed off the rain. It will stand a certain amount of moisture, but no •water-soaked soil. It stands drouth well, without wilting a leaf. Cassava, no doubt, will be largely planted in tho South when better known.” Educating a Worm. Last March, says a writer in Bon Bells, found some children going to kill a poor little slow worm they had un earthed from the hedge. Giving them a few pence, 1 rescued the pretty thing, and explained to them how harmless it was and how useful in a garden. Aftei I thought they understood something about it I took it in my hand to carry it home, when there came a chorus of voices: “Oh, put down the gashly (ghastly) thing; he’ll bo sure to sting ’ce. Kill’un—kill ’un!” A man coming by was just as bad, and would not believe it was harmless. “What do you call him, ma’ am—-a rc pU!° or a Linsect ? “Neither; a hanimal that was a piece of natural history improved,” but I couldn’t help it—the temptatioa was too strong. The slow worm I kept in a basket half filled with moss, and every time t fed it with little flies I whistled. II was then half torpid. When the warm weather set in I made it a snug retrea 1 in the rockery, warm and dry, and now if I go out and whistle tho little fellow comes to me, and seems to like being fondled. I have tamed several before this one; they are very tractable. Tsvo Birds. He: “Will you marry me?’ She: “No.” He: “Then will you marry Bob Saw ycr? lie wanted me to ask you for him, too, while I was about it.”—