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BY T. B. ARTHUR. A murmur of impatience came from the lips of youngWentwortli, as laying aside his palette and brushes, he took up his hat and with a worried manner, left the studio, where, with twoor three young men, he was taking lessons and seeking to acquire skill in*the art of painting. He was at work on the head of one of Raphael’s Madonnas, and was, with the warm enthusiasm of a young artist in lore with the beautiful, seeking to transfer to his canvas, the heavenly tender ness of her eyes, when a hoarse jest from the lips of a fellow student, jarred harshly on his ears. It was this that had so dis turbed him. Out in the open air the young man passed, but the bustle and confusion of the street did not in the least calm his ex cited state of feeling. “A coarse, vulgar fellow!” he said angrily, giving voice to his indignation against the student. “If lie is to remain in the studio, I must leave it. 1 can’t breathe the same atmosphere with one like him.” And he walked on aimless, but with rapid steps. Soon he was opposite the window of a print seller. A gem of art caught his eye. “Exquisite!” he exclaimed, as he paused and stood before the picture. “Exquisite! "AVhat grouping. What an atmosphere! What perspective!” “Ha, ha!” laughed a rough fellow at his side, whose attention had been arrested by a comic print. "Ha, ha, ha!" And clasping his hands against his sides, he made the air ring with a coarse but merry peal. He un derstood his artist fully, and enjoyed this creation of his pencil. “Unite!" came almost audibly from the lips of Wentworth, as all the beautiful im ages just conjured up faded from his mind. And off he started from the print window in a fever of indignation against the vulgar fellow who had no more manners thun to guffaw in the street at sight of low life in a picture. On he moved for the distance of one or two blocks, wheu ho paused before another window full of engravings and paintings. A geiu of a landscape, cabinet size, had just been pluced in the window, and our young friend was soon enjoying its tine points. “Who can be theurtist?” he had just said to hiiiiself, and was bending closer to ex amine the delicate treatment of a bit of wuter, over which a tree projected, when u puff of tobacco smoke stole post his cheek, and found its way to his nostrils. Now, Wentworth was fond of a good cigar, and the fragrance tliut came to his sense on this particular occasion wus delicate enough of its kind. In itself -it would have been agreeable rather than offensive; but the vul garity of street-smoking he detested, mul the fact of this vulgarity came now to throw his mind again from its even balance. "Whew!” he ejaculated, backing away from the window, and leaving his place to one less sensitive, or capable of a deeper ab straction of thought when anything of true interest wus presented. "I will ride out in the country," said he. “There, with nature around me, I can find enjoyment.” Soho entered an omnibus, the route of which extended beyond the city bounds. Alas! here he also,found some thing to disturb him. There was a woman with a lapdog in her arms, and another with a poor sick child, that cried incessantly. A man partially intoxicated, entered after he had ridden a block or two, and crowded down by his side. Beyond this, the sensi tive Wentworth could endure nothing. So he palled the check string, paid his fare and resumed his place on the pavement, mutter ing to himself as he did so: "I’d a thousand times rather walk than ride in such com pany.” Two miles from the city resided a gentle man of taste and education, who had mani fested no little interest in our excitable young friend. To visit him was the pur pose of Wentworth when he entered the stage, which would have taken him within a half a mile of his pleasant dwelling. He proposed to walk the whole distance rather than ride with such disagreeable compan ions. The day was rather warm. Our young artist found it pleasant enough while the pavement lay in the shadow of contiguous houses. But, fairly beyond these, the direct rays of the sun fell on his head, and the clouds of dust from the passing vehicles almost suffocated him. Just a little in ad vance of him, for a greater part of the dis tance, kept the omnibus, from which the woman with the lapdog and crying child gotoutonly a square beyond the point where he left the coach. The drunken man also soon left the vehicle. Tired and overheated, Wentworth now hurried forward, making signs to the driver; but, as the driver did not look around, bis signs were all made in vain; and he was the more fretted at this for the fact that the passenger who was rid ing in the omnibus, had his face turned towards him all the time, and was, so our pedestrian imagined, enjoying his disap pointment. Hot, dusty, and weary was our young artist, when, after walking the whole dis tance, he arrived at the pleasant residence of the gentleman we have mentioned. “Ah, my young friend! How are you to day ! A visit, I need not tell you, is ulways agreeable. But you look heated and tired. You have walked too fast." "Too far, rather," said Wentworth. “I have come all the way on foot.” “How so? Bid you prefer walking?” “Yes; to riding in the stage witli a crying child, a lapdog and a drunken man.” “The drunken man was bad company, certainly. But the crying child and the lapdog were trilling matters.” “Not to me,” answered Wentworth- "I despise a woman who nurses u lupdog. Thu very sight frets me beyond endurance,” "Still, my young friend, if women will nurse lapdogs, you can’t help it; and so, your wisest course would be to let the fuct pass unobserved; or at least uncared for. To punish yourself, as you have done to-day, because other people don't conform in all things just to your ideas of propriety is, par don me, hardly the act of a wiso man.” "I can’t help it. I am too finely strung, I suppose—too alive to the harmonies of nature, and too quick to feel the jar of dis cord. Do you know to what you are indebt ed for this visit to-day 7” And Wentworth related, with a coloring of his own, the incidents just sketched for the reader; taking, as he did so, something of merit to himself for his course of action. "Upon what were you at work?" Asked his friend, wheu the young man Anished speaking. “On the beautiful Madonna, about which I told you at my last visit.” “It is nearly completed?” “A few more touches, and I would have achieved a triumph above anything yet ac complished by pencil. It was in the eyes that I failed to succeed. They are full of divine tenderness, that only a magic touch can give. Raphael was inspired when he caught that look from heaven. I had risen, by intense attraction of mind, into the per ception of the true ideal I sought to gain, and the power to Ax it all on canvas was Aowing down into my hand, when the jar of discord prod need by that vulgar fellow scattered everything into confusion und dark ness.” “And so the Madonna remains unfin- ished?" "Yes, and I am driven from work. Here is another day added to my list of almost useless days." The friend mused for a little while, and then said, somewhat sententiously— "You must take a lesson from the bees, Henry.” “I will hear a lesson from your lips, but, as for the bees”— And he shrugged his shoulders with an air that said—"I can lenrn but little from them.” “Let us walk into the garden,” said the friend rising. And they went out among the leafy shrubs and blossoming plants, where biitter- Aies fold their lazy wings, and the busy bees made all the air musical with their tiny hum. . "Now for the lesson,” said the young artist smiling. “A lesson from the bees. Here is a sprightly little fellow, just driving into the red cup of a honeysuckle. What lesson does he teach?” "One that all of us may lay to heart. There is honey in the cup, and it is his busi ness to gather honey. Just beside the crim son blossom, and even touching it, hangs an ugly worm, spinning out the thread of his winding-sheet; but the bee docs not pass the flower, because of its.offensive presence, nor will he hasten from it until he has ex tracted the honey-dew. Now Ids work is ac complished ; and now he has passed to the clover blossom, which his weight bonds over against the deadly night-shade. But the poisoned weed is no annoyance to him. So intensely pursues he his search for honey, that he Is unconscious of its presence. Now he buries himself in the blushing rose leaves, ‘heeding not and caring not,’ though a hundred sharp thorns bristle on the stem that supports the lovely llower. And now, full ladencd with the sweet treasure he sought, he isoff on swift wing for the hive. Shall we observe the motion of another bee? Or is tlie lesson clear?" The countenance of Wentworth looked thoughtful, even serious. A little while he stood musing, as though his perceptions were not lucid. Then turning to his wise and gentle reproving friend, he grasped his hand, saying, witli a manner greatly sub dued :— “The lesson is clear. I will go hack und Anish my Madonna, though a dozen vulgar fellows haunt the studio. I will have no eyes or ears for them. My own high pur pose to excel, shall make me blind and deuf to anything that would hinder my on ward progress. Thanks for the lesson of the bees. I will never forget it. Like them, I will gather the honey of life from every rich Aower in niv way. Let the weeds grow high if they wili,'I shall not regard their presence.” Progress in Ilnnlwnre. Industrial World. There has been u wonderful change dur ing the Inst fifty years in the grades, quali ties und styles of hardware used by the mid dle and lower clusses. In early times the cheapest midmost commonest kind of hard ware sufficed for all, except the rich, and even they, in many instances, were content to put up with articles which people of moderate means would now hardly think good enough for their use. There is scarcely a line of manufactures in hardware that has not shown a marked advance in quality and style. We all remember the rude, stiff steel tine forks, and the equally commonplace knives which graced the table of our ances tors. The silver plated finely fashioned and ornnmented knife which now is so common, with its companion, the silver plated fork, marks a very striking contrast. The pocket knife of those early times was generally a clumsy, rough and ponderous affair, unlike the finely Anished knife that now graces the showcases of every store in the land. The boy who, of old, had a wooden-handle knife costing 18 to 25 cents thought himself equal to a prince in importance, while now the young juvenile that does not sport u four-bladed pearl-handled knife, or one of equal value, thinks himself a greatly abused individual. The tinware of the present shows equal marks of an evolution in manufacture. The work of the early tin-smith had the ineritof durability, but it was certainly far behind that of his modern brother, in that it lacked that beauty of Anish and superiority of de sign, which is now so frequently displayed. In lamp ware, too, the advance has been great, starting with the slut or tallow dip, thence to the caudle, next to the oil lamp, then to the camphene lamp and lastly to the kerosene lamp, the progress has been marked and exceedingly interesting. Per haps no one line in hardware has shown greater improvement than the making of butts. The cheap, heavy, and very common place butts which were ordinarily employed on the best houses, have now given way to the more beautiful and durablo modern de signs, some of which are very elaborate as well as costly, and yet And their way into homes thint are neither costly nor preten tious. Locks, too, have shown a wonderful change. The cheap, trashy contrivance thnt afforded doubtful protection to the homes of the early settlers, wonld not be given storage room in the meanest hardwaro store to-day. While very cheap and quite |>oor locks are still sold, the demand forbutterund more improved styles, bus increased in u wonderful ratio. In any hardware store can now be found a variety of new designs in locks, any one of which would have been a surprise to the house builder of half a century ago. Even in screws and tacks the murks of improve ment cun be traced, and so fur os tools arc concerned, the saws, hummers, planes and uxes of modern make are beyond comparison with those of earlier times. There are many things tliut we now And in the hardware stores that were unknown in earlier times. Thu wringers, Auters, ice cream freezers, jelly presses, fancy sash locks, patent sadirons, bright wire goods, and a thousand things unnecessary to mention, were all,' we believe, unknown in the early times of which we write. The improvement made in hurdware shows most clearly that the civilization and wealth of the country has been making rapid progress within the last half century, and gives ample ground for the prophecy that.the improvement will be fully as great in the ensuing Afty years. Ska Isi.anh Cott*n.—The 8outherr States and Egypt, arc the only two countries which give ihe supply of long staple cotton. Attempts hqve been made by the British Government to stimulate the cultivation in the West Indies, and other possessions which will pAduce it, but with little, or no suc cess. The cultivation of this particular sta ple, is falling off in the United States, ow ing to the high price of labor, which gives Egypt so much the advantage. The latter country, is now in a very unhappy position and there is likelihood of a civil war, in which case, long staple cotton will com mand high prices Those who have planted this year may reap the benefit.