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FI RAT UR (liitnan ytoylC '• k bri* trraiß, fcY to wm my- Lo<>Cl&C to batto-bal tto boy coaM sot *lm. H* oturM hi* loot la * (hallow brd by, "napb ct h* Urmm, with (harp BMokJag y. •. “Cu>M. hnat habUo-h. auooo o boU, 4umpin,o bmp oat. If yoa iabtb no donbt YosV go tome with a oougb, Aad tho ladiae will raoE— ** **• worat thing la for loea to take cold.* 1 that taunted. Jumped In, notblnr deuut-d; ' reU aald ft; nympli to the buy; ° l * o ' oar head and oera, boy, away with your feara— The wilder the plunge, oli, the brighter the Joy! T °" “* lM a. awoet Cupid, le luck, WUbyonr dear ilttU Wing a, too—l'm aura yoo’ra duck— But, wild duck, don't dabble,” The nymph Mid to him, " Onoe heed end ear*, 'with your fours, for lore never %ink* when determined to ewlm: **OJJ LOVE Of HIM. *%” Cried Haddie Winstanley, pit •otnly, “Ia burden to my husband ? •Ob, Sarelia I Sarella! for pity’s sake don’t say that 1” It was the day following the family hegira—that most dismal, doleful and intolerable of days, when the furniture was piled up in the echoing and uncar peted rooms, the pictures turned blankly with their faces to the walls, the yawn ing chimney-pieces destitute of crack ling flames, while the dreary spring rain ibeat against the windows with a monrn ful and monotonous sound. At the back of the little farm house the gnarled apple trees were striving to break out into bud and blossom, and a few faint-colored spring flowers lifted their golden heads above the grass and dead leaves, while at the front the rest less billows of the Atlantic, tortured by the moaning wind, flung their fringes of foam high up on the shores, flights of sea-birds eddlied overhead, and the low hangtng reach of leaden clouds shut out the misty shimmer of the horizon. Haddie had wandered abont the house all day wrappped in a shawl, looking about as forlorn os the daffodils and jon quils outside, in the vain endeavor to find soma habitable nook or comer where she coi/ld pore over her book. Bha felt herself ill-used in the extrem es* 'degree, this sunny-haired, rose-lipped h’zman fairy, in that all was not made rimooth and easy to her little feet. She had married Carlos Winstanley three months ago, supposing that she was ■sntering into a human Eden through the golden circlet of the wedding ring and the bowery arches of the orange blos soms ; and here, lo and behold 1 he had failed ; the pretty little house in Park Terrace had been sold, with its antique furniture, its bric-a-brac and rose-lined curtains, and here and there they were banished for the rest of their lives to the dismal, one-storied farm-house, the sole relic of Carlos Winstanley’s scattered fortune! “ It isn’t, (ike a city house,” said the yonng 3,an, cheerily; “ but I’ve always had a of loving for a farm life, and we oan be just as happy here as it it vjere a palace—oan’t we, Haddie ? ” And Haddie, with a half-frightened glance at the restless waves of the At lantic and the groups of cedars writhing in the blast, clung to his shoulder and whispered: “ Yes. But,” she added with quiver ing lip, “it will be very lonely, won’t it?” “ Sarella is coming to stay with us and help get settled,” said Winstanley. “ Why, what could such a butterfly as you do with all this confusion ? ” Haddie said nothing. She could hardly tell her husband how much she feared and disliked his stern maiden rister, who stood np so straight, and wore her iron-gray nair twisted up into a tight knot at the back of her head, in an inexorable fashion, which made Hail die feel as if her gold frizzes and braids were vanity and vexation of spirit, in deed ; and had a way of looking over and beyond her, as if she (Haddie) were of no account whatever. But Sarella was needed, and she came, just as she would have oome to nurse a wounded soldier, or keep watch over a household of measles, or scarlet fever, or undertake any other difficult or thank less task. And, upon this rainy day, Sarella went backward and forward, and looked with a sort of contemptuous pity at the poor little wife, wrapped in her fleecy white *hawl, with a rose in her hair and a t>ook in her hand. “ Dear me, Harriet!” she had cried out, wheD at last her slender thread of patience was quite exhausted; “ why don’t you do something ?” “ What shall I do?” said Haddie, pit eously. “ I’m sure there’s enough to be done,” said the rigid elder sister. “ Can’t you turn and sew that piece of carpet to fit the hall?” “I never did such a thing in my life, said Haddie, eying the heap of carpet ing as if it had been a wild beast ready to spring at her. ‘ “ I don’t think I eould sew anything so big and heavy.” “ There’s all the china to he washed and sorted on the shelves,” suggested Sarella grimly. “I should be sure to break it,” fal tered Haddie. “ The curtains are all ready to be tacked up to the weet-room windows," 1 said Sarella, looking arourd lot a tack hammer. " Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said Had die, more frightened than ever. “I should be sure to turn giddy on top of that step-ladder." . _ Sarella looked disdainfully at heT beautiful little sister-in-law. ■•I wonder what you are good for,” said she, sharply. ELLIJAY HPI COURIER. w. JT. COMBS) •S)tor nl raMtahat ) Haddie hong her head, flashed scar let, and said nothing. “For all I can see,” severely went cu Sarella, “my big brother might as well have married a big wax doll. It was all very well so long as he was a merchant in receipt of a big income. But no.- goodness me, what sort of a farmer's wife do yon suppose yon will make ? ” “ I don’t know,” confessed Haddie, feeling herself arraigned before a sort of consolidated inquisition. “Do yon know anything abont but ter and cheese ?” demanded Sarella, re lentlessly. “No!” “ Did yon ever make np a batch of bread ? or pies ? or cake ?” sternly pur sued this iron-hearted catechist. “ No,” whispered Haddie. “ Can yon cut and fit your own Ken sington stitch?” “ I oan make the Kensington stitch in antique laoe, if that’s what you mean.” “ Antique laoe 1 Kensington stitch !” echoed Sarella, in withering scorn. “Can yon make your husband’s shirts?” "He buys them ready-made,” fal tered Haddie. “At least he always did.” “ Humph I” said Sarella, “ I sup pose, now, you couldn't clean house, or wash np the curtains, or make a lot of currant jelly, to save your life ?” “ No,” said Haddie, with a trembling voice, “ I’m afraid I couldn’t.” “ Yon are nothing more nor less than a burden to your husband,” said Sarella, with the air of a Judge pronouncing sentence of doom. “ You’re no more fit to be married than yonder white kitten. And I pity Carlos from the very bottom of my heart, that I do I" And, thus speaking, Sarella picked np the whitewash brush and stalked away, while poor little Haddie wailed out the beseeching words with which our story commences. “ Oh, Sarella, dear Sarella I ” she pleaded, “ I’ll try to do my best.” “ Your best 1 ” repeated Sarella. “And what does that amount to? You’re a 100-pound weight around his neck—a blight upon his future—that’s what you are 1 ” And she whisked into the kitchen, while Haddie ran up stairs to the garret La have' a good cry. Haddie was very sad and pensive torn day or two. Carlos looked at her piti fully, afraid to ask if she wero discon tented in her new home, for he knew well that he had none other to offer her. Sarella sniffed at her selfish inefficiency, and the very scrubbing woman put on airs, while Betsey Baker, a neighbor, who came into help with the “settling,” caught the popular tune, and said, loftily: “Please, Mrs. Winstanley, stand out of the way while we’re a-stretching this carpet, and don’t hender us ef ye can’t help us I ” At the end of the third day of domes tic saturnalia, when Carlos Winstanley came home, Haddie was nowhere to be found, and on her cushion was pinned the following note: Deax Carlos , - Don’t be vexed, but I have gone away to stay with Aunt Dorcas Dutton un til the Beach farm is settled. I don't seem to bo of much use to anybody, and perhaps Sarella will get along better without me. Affection ately your wife, H. W. “ There 1 ” said Sarella to Betsey Baker. “ Didn’t I tell you so ? She’s so lazy she can’t bear to see other folks work! And I don’t know whatever Car los was thinking of when he married her instead of Rosanna Martin, who took the first prize for bread and cake at the county fair, and has got a chest full of linen and bedquilts at home.” But she did not express herself thus plainly to Carlos, when he asked her, wistfully, if she knew why Haddie had gone away. “ I think she’s sick of farms and farm work," said Sarella, puruing up her lips. “I think, Carlos, she’s like the little portulaccas in the garden outside, that only blossom when the sun shines.” And Carlos was more wretched than ever, fancying that he had darkened his young wife’s life, and dragged her down into poverty with him. “She will come back to me when she chooses,” he said, sadly. “ I shall not go alter her." And he grew paler, collier and more silent as he went about the duties of the farm; and Sarella, to use her own ex pression, “ flew around as lively as a cricket,” aud put things into the neatest of order. “We’re better off without Harriet than with her, it’s my opinion,” said she to herself. “A china doll of a worn, an, only fit to be waited on and made much of. Ido think Carlos was crazy when he married her.” At the month’s end, however, Haddie came back, and fluttered down the lilac shaded garden walk to meet her hus band, like a bird, as he returned from his day’s work. “ Oh, Carlos ! Carlos ! ” she cried; “I am so glad to be here again ! ” “Little one,” he asked, almost re proachfully, “why did you leave me?" ELLIJAY, GA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 18S1. “ I have been at school,” said Haddie, radiantly. “ I have been learning—my profession. Oh ! Carlos, yon can never tell how awkward and helpless I felt here, in my own ht Jse, Li*->-’->£ that I was os Ignorant as a chil l of all the things I needed most to comprehend. I love you—oh, so dearly—and I felt so unworthy of you--so unable to help yon in jour sore need as a wife should help her husband. Sarella despised my ig norance—the very servants looked down on me as a helpless doll; and they were right. But they Bliall never do so any more, for I’ve learned to be a house keeper at last—Aunt Dorcas has taught me everything. I can make butter iike gold, and cheese that even Sarella will not criticise. I shall prepare you some strawberry shortcake to-morrow, and my bread and biscuits are as light and as white J3 swandown ; and I’ve made you a shirt, Carlos, all by myself, and Anut Dorcas says I needn’t be ashamed of it; and I can wash and iron, and clear starch as well as ever old Chloe did when I was a girl at home.” “ Haddie I Haddie !” he cried. “ Why did you do this ? ” “For love of you,” she answered, simply; “to be to yon what a wife should be to her husband. You needn’t think I am going to settle down into a common drud 3, Carlos. I like Shakspe&re and "ve Kensington stitch as well as eva ; But a farmer’s wife should not be blind and helpless at the head of her own household, and I am thankful that I have learned to do all these things.” “ Yon are an angel, Haddie 1 ” he said, earnestly. “lam only your true, loving little wife,” she answered, hiding her face on his breast. Sarella needed to stay at the Beach farm no longer; Betsey Baker was dis missed, and Haddie took her place at the helm, and of all happy, edit out, stirring farmers’ wives Mrs. Winstanley bore away the palm. “ I never supposed tliere was so much in her,” said Sarella. “Carlos couldn’t have made a better choice if he had tried for a year.” “It does beat all.” say} Betsey Baker. RESTING FLACKS OF THE DEAD. The Poet’s comer in Westminster Ab bey is indebted for its renown to the great names of the mighty dead who lie with in its gloomy walls. Chaucer was buried in 1400 in the cloisters of the Abbey, without the building, but removed to the south aisle in 1556. Herbert Spen cer lies near him. Beaumont, Drayton, Cowley, Denham, Dryden, Gay, Rowe, Ben Jonson, Sheridan, Congreve, Charles Dickens, Campbell, David Garrick, all lie within Westminster Abbey. Izaak Walton’s grave is in Silkstede’s Chapel, near the city of Winchester. Shelley’s body was cremated, but his heart, which would not take the flame, is now pre served in spirits of wine. Shakspeare was buried in the chancel of the church at Stratford. Dean Swift is buried in the churchyard of St. Patrick’s, Dublin; Milton in St. Giles’, Cripplegate; Chap man and Shirley at St. Giles’, in the Fields; Fletcher and Philip Massinger in the churchyard of St. Savior's, South wark; Thomas Otway’s burial place is not known; Samuel Butler in the churchyard of St. Paul’s, Covent Gar den; Marlowe in St. Paul’s, Deptford; Pope in the church at Twickenham; Ed ward Waller in Beaconfield churchyard; Thomas Gray in the churchyard of Stoke-Pogis, where he conceived his “ Elegy;” William Cowper in the church at Dereham; Oliver Goldsmith in the churchyard of the Temple Chinch; William Falconer was drowned at sea; Lerd Byron in the chancel of the church at Huoknall, near Newstead Abbey, Sir Walter Scott in Dryburgh Abbey; Robert Burns in St. Michael’s church yard, Dumfries; Samuel Coleridge in the church at Highgate; Southey in Crosthwaite Church, near Keswick; Chatterton in the churchyard belonging to the pariah of St. Andrews, Holbum; Dr. Watts and John Bunyan in the vi cinity of the celebrated chapel called the Tabernacle of Good Old Whitfield; Thomas Hood, Douglas Jerrotd and | William Thackeray are buried in Kensal [ Green Cemetery; Wordsworth in the pleasant hills of Westmoreland; Thomas | Carlyle in the churchyard of Ecclesfech an, Scotland; George Washington at I Mount Yernon; Audubon in Calvary Cemetery, N am York; Nathaniel Haw thorn under a group of pines on the brow of a hill in Sleepy Hollow Ceme tery, Concord, Mass.; William Cullen Bryant ir. Greenwood Cemetery, New York; Washington Irving at Sunnyside, on the banks of the Hudson, and Edgar Allan Poe in a cemetery in Baltimore. Tbt to keep your sympathies fresh and your interest in little things active. Remember that yon were young once, and tolerate the crudities of youth. Do more than tolerate ; try to understand, and do not be impatient if young eyes cannot see things just as yon see them. Gray hairs and wrinkles you cannot es cape, but you need not grow old unless you choose. And, so long as your age is nn the outside, you will win confidence from the young, and find your life nil the brighter from contact with theirs. rum me war a per nr a fa Rat- nomx. People who live near the great thor oughfares, where they hate access to two or three dailies and a half dozen weeklies, do not fully appreciate the value of a newspaper. They come, in deed, to look upon them as necessities, and they would as cheerfully do without their morning meal as their morning mail. But ono must be fur off in the country, remote from “the maddening crowd,” to realize the full luxury of a newspaper. The farmer who receives but one paper a week does not glance over its columns hurriedly, with an air of impatience, as does youot aTcbint or lawyer. Hie begins with the beginning and reads to the close, not i-ezmitting a news item or an advertisement to escape his eye. Then it has to by thumbed by every member of the frShly, each one looking for things in which he or she is most interested. The grown-up daugh ter looks for tiie marriage iotiees, and is delighted if the editor! lias treated them to a love story. Tn son who is just about to engage informing, with an enthusiasm that will jharry him far in advance of his father, reads all the crop reports and has a keen eye for hints about Improved modes of culture. The younger members of the family oome in for the amusing anecdotes and scraps of tun. All look forward to the day that shall bring the paper with the liveliest interest, and if by some unlucky chance it fails to come it is a bittft disappoint ment. One can hardly estimate the amount of information which a paper that is not only read but Btudied oan carry into a family. They have, Week by week, spread before their vision a pan orama of the busy world, ms fluctuations and its vast concorns. I! is the poor man’s library, and fumiihes as much mental food ps he has time to consume and digest. No one who has observed how much those who ore Tar away from the places where men most congregate value their weekly pane.’ con fail to join in invoking a blessing on the in ventor of this moans of intellectual en joyment.— Cedar Rapid* Republican. Mr. WilfridS. Blunt, ike well-known Orientalist, has just completed- a census from the best' obtaina'd r .authorities of Mohammedanism. to him, the creed numbers 175,000,nJ0 believers, divided into four sects, “up which the Suiwwi ore 145,0ttd,6G,'/f There wore 93,250 pilgrims at Mecca lust year. But the most singular feature of Blunt’s record is the spread of Islamism in the heart of Africa. In the Dark Continent the faith is alive and at work, and is proselyting as fiercely as in the days of the Caliphs of Bagdad. Each year adds thousands of converts to the faith of the Prophet, and the result will shortly be tho erection of another Mohammedan Caliphate in Soudan, which is now largely Islamite. The work which this creed has done in the civilization of the world will never he appreciated, and now again in Africa, as centuries ago in Europe, tho Crescent is shining brightly upon a benighted people. Our debt to the Arabs in Spain and to tho Ottomans in Southeastern Europe will never bo paid. Their philosophers laid the foundation of almost every science we have ; their commanders taught us strat egy and modern war. It would be strange if Islam took anew lease of life in the oldest part of the oarth and sprouted freslily among its peoples. It is a system which is indigenous to the tropics, as characteristic as the fauna or the flora of the Torrid zone ; and young Afrioa, under the green standard of the Prophet, may yet take her place among the nations. FINANCIAL PANIC#. In May, 1837, the Now York banka suspended, and the crash, which had threatened for some time, came to the country. This disastrous event was fol lowed by other failures, many business establishments were forced to close, and even States became bankrupt. Farm products fell greatly in prioe, credit waa a by-word, and the finances of the Gov ernment were in such shape that the President of the United States could not always gfet his salary when it was due. This was about the time when the na tional debt amounted to only a nominal sum. The panic of 1857 was opened by the failure of the Ohio Life Insurance and Trust Company. Many hanks in all the States were obliged to suspend, and certain kinds of paper were abroad, which proved to be worthless. The panic of 1873 was inaugurated in Sep tember by the failure of Jay Cooke k Cos., of Philadelphia. The'effects of this last financial hurricane are too well known to need recital here. Various causes have been attributed to these financial crises, almost all writers agree ing, however, that reckless speculation, growing extravagance, and the careless ness with which debts were contracted were among the leading ones. The Denver an i Ilio Grande Comp my contemplate limiting 3,000 miles of rail road in Utih within the next five years. They will give employment to at least "15,000 pei.pU-, snd Salt Lake will lie •their headquarters OUR JUVENILES. An • Old Roy'' Advice. *x>y, you're soon to be a ma ; Get ready for a tnau'a work now. And learn to do tlio beet you can. When sweat is brought to arm Ml brow. Don’t be afraid, mj boy, to work ; You’ve got to if you mean to wia! He ie a ooward who will shirk ; M Roll up your sleeves, and then • go In V '• Don’t wait for chances; look abont! There's always something you do. He who will manfully strike out Finds labor, plenty of it, too! But he who fo!ds his hands and waits For “something to turn np’’ will find The toller passes Fortune’s gates, While hs, alas, is lett behind! 13e honest Don’t grind the Door man tor hlsoent. In helping others, you grow strong, And kind deeds done ars only lent; And this remember: if you ’re wise. To your own business be confined. He is a fool, and fails, who tries His fellow-men’s affairs to mind. Don’t be discouraged and get blue If things don’t go to suit you quite; Work on ! Perhaps it rests with you To set the wrong that worries right. Don’t lean on others! Be a man I Stand on a footing of your own I Be independent, if you can, And cultivate a sound backbone! Bo brave and steadfast, kind and true, With faith In (Vwi and fellow-man. And win from them a faith in you, By and l;:g jmt Hit best you can l —L'bcn K. liexford. Learn A ecu racy for On* Thing, Every boy and girl should determine to be accurate. Iu studying lessons be sure to get the exact meaning; in talk ing state the truth of the thing; in working do every tldng just right. I have lately heard of two boys who worked in the some store. T 1 icy were named Jolm and James. Their duties were alike, and they were required to be at the store at lialf past 7 in the morning. John was always there on the minute, or a few minutes before the time ; James came the name number of minutes after. When Jolm arranged the goods in the windows they were accurately marked and priced ; James forgot to put the number on, or priced them ineorreotiy. These are only two of the things which marked the distinction between the two boys. But every day and week they grew further apart— John doing his work accurately, and therefore well; James slighting all he conveniently could. Soon John was promoted for carefulness iu his duties. James was warned to al ter his manner, and finally discharged, xlfe accurate I>ot grew np to be a wealthy, self-made man. Men liked to deal with him ; they were sure of being treated fairly. James tried several po sitions, but lost them on account of his inaccuracy in little details, and, though he gets through the world somehow, he has not the happiness and success whioh with the same opportunities John achieved. There are many things that tend to make a noble character. Placo aocuracy high in the list.— School Journal. The Dolls' Ficti le. There was a picnic in Farmer Blake’s attic. , Tho farmer and his wife hed gone to the village, and left little Dick and Fanny to take care of Baby Ben. So the children thought they would have a picnic. It was Doll Dinks’ birthday. Doll Dinks was a black baby, 6 months old, and he squeaked. . He had a birthday twice a month. Doll Midget had blue eyes and yellow curls. She was invited to the pionic. Dick got a great milk-pan and filled it full of water. This was Boston bay. The dolls were first to be taken out to sail, and then they were to have lunch. The lunch was a largo piece of spies cake and two jam tarts. Pudge, the fat kitten, was invited to the picnio, too. To begin with, they put her on a small table, close to Boston bay, so that she could look on. There was not room in the boat for three of them. The lunch was laid by in an old wood box. As soon as the boat was ready Loll Dinks and Doll Midget went on board. The boat was one of Grundpa Blake’s (Id slippers. Then they set sail. Dick made the wind blow with the bellows, and Fanny puffed out her rosy cheeks with all her might. But the trouble was that Baby Ben wanted to help with a fire-shovel. ~ So the children told him he had bet ter be the fairy godmother. The fairy godmother always hid in the itoofl-box, and pepped out at just the right moment. Baby Ben thought he like if best to blow the boat with the fire-shovel, hut Fanny promised to give him a bite of her share of the cake. This consoled Ben, and they made a plaice for him in the wood-box. There he kept so very still that the children thought he must have gone to sleep. All at once a loud splash was heard. A fearfnl storm arose in Boston bay, and the boat was upset. It was all that fat kitten Pudge, who had tumbled from the table into the milk-pan. What un uproar I The (tolls had no VOL. Vl.-N0.38. life-preservers, but Dick and Fanny dragged them from the waters. As for Pudge, the ohildren saw the eud of her tail going down stairs, with a stream like a small Charles river dripping off behind. Doll Dinks, being hollow, eould float, and he squeaked as loud as ever when he was pulled out. But, after all, poor Doll Midget was drowned. Her nice, clean clothes were soaked and her lovely hair all came out of curl. “Now," said Fanny, “we must take Doll Midget to the kitchen fire and dry her, or she never will be 9t to oome to the pionio.” 4 “Oh. not’ - replied Dick. “tjhe’a drowned. She’s dead as a—as s hair pin. But I’ve heard Uncle John tell that they roll drowned folks on a barrel and then blow ’em up. That rusticakes ’em.” (Uncle John said resuscitate, but this was too bouncing a word for little Diok). “ Rusticakos ’em ? ” said Fanny. “ Yes, that’s what Uncle John called it. Let’s rustioake Doll Midget that way. Hold on till I get a barrel I’’ But all he conld find was a large spooL Then after Doll Midget’s dress was taken off she was rolled. Dick rolled her ao hard that her sides split open. Next he put the nose of the hallows between her ribs, for he said that her mouth was not big enough. Then he blew jußt as hard as he could. The first thing Fanny knew, a puff of sawdust flew out of Doll Midget's ride into her eyes. She threw her apron over her head and began to ery. Dick kept shooting, “She’s rusti cated I She’s rustieaked I ” But poor Fanny only oried the harder. So Dick proposed to wake up the fairy godmother and eat the pionio. At this Fanny dried her eyes. They crept up softly to the wood-box. There lay Baby Ben fast asleep, sure enough. There are crumbs of spies cake and jam tart on his frock, and a bit of jam on the end •( his nose. The lunoh wee all gone. “ Oh, yon rogue I ” oried Fanny. Ben opened his blue eyes and looked so cunning that both the oliildren laughed and forgave him at ones. Then they agreed to put off the rest of the pionio till the next day.— Youth'a Companion. V AM DIO MRS. DAFITTM. The deaith of Mrs. Lafifte, the daughter of the late Commodore Van derbilt, in Paris, calls to mind some pe culiarities of that truthful woman. Her first husband was a favorite of her father, and when he was stricken with consumption old Vanderbilt felt worse than his daughter about it. He sent the pair down to Florida under the care of a Mr. Lalitte, and Mrs. Barker took a great fnney to the gentleman—a fauey the siok husband was not slow in discovering. “Well, inadame,”ho said one morn ing, “ where have you been this hour ?” “ Walking with your successor,” an swered the bold Indy. And then and there she told him that as his complaint was pronounced incur able—and she disliked a lengthy widow hood—she had selected Mr. Lalitte as her second husband. The sick man wrote post haste to pa in-law, who was greatly incensed, bnt before any actual steps could be taken the widow ami her prospective husband were bringing poor No. 1 home to bury decently in the family lot. Then in a very short time—a matter of weeks— the lady became Mme. Lafitte, and went off to live in Palis. Old Vanderbilt stuck to his dislike ; he left $500,000 to Madame, at her death to revert to the children by the first husband. Bo Monsieur Lafitte was not pecuniarily benefited by his con nection with the millionaire's family,— New York letter. HANQINO WITH BRILLIANTBXTCCBBW William Scott was nung with more eclat than any one else had ever been. People who witnessed the exercises said that they never knew • man to straight en out a rope with more unstudied grace and earnest zeal than William did. He seemed to throw the whole vim and concentrated energy et a lifetime into this emphatic gesture. As he hung there limp and exhausted at the end of the rope, the Chairman of the vigilance committee said, while he took a cigar from William’s vest pocket and lit it, that he had never known a man to jump into the boeom of the great uncertain with more ehie or more sprightly grace and precision than William had. This should teach us the importance of doing everything thoroughly and well. Whatever we undertake, im to do it bettor than any one else. It is better to be hung and know that we have brought out all there was in the part, and to know that we expiated our crimes in a way calculated to win the respect of all, than even to run for Aider man and get scooped. — Nyt't Boom erang. Thosj are mock gentlefolk who mask their faults to others and to themselves; the true know them peats*% and aa kuowlege them. rusAtjumaa, duifec atofJd^’ltewtohy^ would stop anortng, for I wont to hear ft thunder.” It is cruelty to out your band upas the waters if the bread is sour and heavy. It might give the tehee the dyepepeis. Whkn the bold wwat courting ha tersely introduced himself: “Ann Saxon, I am Roderick Dha.” Ann replied, “Dhntelll” It isn’t beoause a woman ie exactly afraid of a cow that she rune away and screams. It is beoause gored drsssm are not fashionable. Whs a New Orleens man wonted Ua picture in on heroic attitude, the artist painted him in the aot of refusing to drink.—Boston Transcript. A young lady wrote some versee tar a paper about her birthday and hendSt them “ May 30th.” It almost made her hair turn gray when it appeared in print, “My 80th.” “ You don’t know how it pains me to punish yon,” said the teacher. “I guess there’s the most pain at my end of the stick,” replied the boy. “*T any rate, I’d be willing to swap.” - -Baxley says: “ What msn cell sod den is is Hod's ewn pert,” but it is hard to convinoe a man of this when he stops down s step that he didn’t know was there and busts a pet corn. He thinks it that other party’s part. “ It’s a long way from this world to the next,” said a dying man to a friend who stood at his bedside. “ Oh, as war mind, my dear fellow,” answered the friend, consolingly, “you’ll have it ail down hill.” Hs loliarad at Iks fssUvsl, A goblst In bis fid A vUhy-wuhy Sold brlwawt Tha marge bis bpltto ktassi. Quoth ba, “ I wish tbst I osalAast A pair of trousers mads Tor rammer wear as IMa as Ms Coniujnpttve Itamada —OU CUp Derrick ' ' .-T ijl “ Halloa I Bob, how aiuyouf"** who had been in jail for deb) for scats months past, answered: “Very wel, thank you ; but I have been in trouble, yon know ?” “ What trouble ailed you?” “A trouble passed in duranoe.” A young lady who was doing tha Alps reported progress to her guardian: “ I tried to climb the Matterhorn; didn’t reach the top. It's absurdly high— everything is high in this oouatry. Please send me some money.” 0)( I HATS tbs Tils, pestlf enras tr That will not Ist ms Us When I would tots mjr isnrnlsg asm i. I egulrm about and try to slap • < That fix, But I But slap my faos In vain illainfl To kUI tbs wretch. An alleged poet says that violets am “heavenly gems on Nature's polonaise," and we presume on the same plan ft may be said flat white tnrnipe am tea buttons on Nature's negro-minstrel duster. ‘T'vß five cents left,” said a lositw, “so I’ll buy a paper with them.” “What paper da you -buy?-” -said a friend, am rious to learn the literary taste a t hh acquaintance. “A paper of tobnem,* replied the loafer. Indians are like e greet many white men in sometimes losing their oonrsge after getting on the ground for a daeL Blitiip Bob and Bquara Sam, yonng braves of the Santee Sioux, were se equally attractive in the eyes of Sol Molly, their chief’s daughter, that she would not choose between them. She promised, however, to accept the sur vivor of a duel, and it was agreed that the fight should be a deadly one with stone-headed war elubs. The meeting was ceremonious in a high degree, and it wss only after lengthy preliminarim that the two warriors, mounted on ponies, armed with the murderous elubs, and hideous in war paint, faced each other for the They cirelod around for an hour, harmlessly whoop ing and gesticulating ; then they came together, whacked away wildly a while, but injured nothing except the ponies; and, finally, Sam accepted Bob% offer *f five horses and a gun to relinquish hW claim on Sal Molly. "T CUKK FOB TOVTHWVL INFIDBLIIT- I had one just flogging. When I was about 13 I went to a shoe make! and begged bin* to take me aa an ap prentice. He, being an honest man, immediately braugtemn to Bowyer, who got into a greaT rage, knocked me down, and even pushed Crispin rudely out of the room. Bowyer asked as# why I had made myself such a fool To wlich I answered that I had a great da sire to be a shoemaker, and that I hated the thought of being a clergyman. “Why so?” said ha "Because, tu tell you the truth, sir,” said I, “I am an infidel.” For this, without a(era ado, Bowyer flogged me, wisely, m I think; soundly, as I fc*ow. Any whin ing or sermonizing would have gratified my vanity, and jij* in my absurdity; as it was, I w*s laughed’ at, and got,heartily ashamed frfmy icty.— Samuel Coleridge. A new idea in the way of sleeping cars was exhibited in Rochester recently. Stiff canvas stretchers take the place of the ordinary berths, and so ©loverly are these stowed away that one would think himself in a drawing-room car unless otherwise informed. Hie ether ap pointments of the car are of the samo high order as far as ease and beauty a/- concernec. Each of the twelve section* has two plate-glass windows, and ths seats for use in. the day are very oamfon - able. Mrooncs says he don’t wonder his sweetheart is afraid of lightning- -sheV so awfully attractive.