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THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
WA! n A Its' llA LK, f Editors and Proprfetors;
A CilAßMtikG WOMAN.
A charming woman, I’ve heard it said
By other women as light as she ;
But all in vain I puzzled my head
To find wherein the charm may be.
Her face, indeed, is pretty enough,
And her form is quite as good as Ihe best,
Where nature has given the bony stuff,
And a clever milliner all the rest.
Intelligent ? Yes—in a certain way,
With the feminine gift of ready speech,
And knows very well what not to say
Whenever the theme trauscends her reach.
But htlru the topic on things to wear,
From au op?ra cloak to a robe rl> nuit—
Hats, ba'l(fries or bonnets—’twill make you stare
To see how fluent the lady can be.
Her laugh Is hardly a thing to filease ;
For an honest laugh must always start
from a gleesome mood, like a sudden breeze
And hers is purely a matter of art—
A muscular form made to show
What nature designed to He br heath
The hner uioutb ; but what can she do,
If that is ruined to show the teeth ?
To her seat in church—a good half mile—
When the day Is fine she is sure to go,
Arrayed, of course, in the latest style
La mode de Paris has got to show,
And she puts her hands ou the velvet pew
(Oau bands so white have a taint of sin ?)
And thinks—how her prayer-book’s tint ol blue
Must harmonize with her milky skiu I
Ah ! what shall we say of one who walks
In fields of flowers to choose the weeds?
K“ads authors of whom she never talks,
And talks of authors she never reads ?
Hbe’s a obarmmg woman, I’ve heard it said
By other women as light as she;
But all In vain I puzzle my head
To find wherein the harm may be.
—John G. Saxe.
HOW A WIKE WOT AN ALLOWANCE.
There were people enough to envy
Millicent Haughton when she was mar
ried to Radcliffe Gates. She was only
a district school teacher, at so much a
month, without home or parents. He
was a wealthy banker, who seemed to
have nothing on earth to do but to in
dulge his whims and caprices to their
uttermost, bent, and the world in gen
eral announced its decision that Milly
Hanghton “ had done uncommonly well
for herself.”
But Milly did not look happy upon
that golden .July morning, with the sun
shine streaming through the oriel win
dow of the great breakfast room at
Gates Place, end scattering little drops
of gold and crimson end glowing pur
file on the mossy ground of the stone
colored carpet.
She was dressed in a loose white cam
bric wrapper, looped and buttoned with
blue, end a single pearl arrow upheld
the shining masses of her lovely auburn
hair. Her eyes were deep, liquid hazel,
her complexion as soft and radiant as
the dimpled side of an early peach ;
and the little kid-slippered foot that
patted the velvet ottoman was as per
fect and tapering as a sculptor could
have wished it.
Mr. Gates, from his side of the
damask-draped tabic, eyed her with the
complacent gaze of proprietorship.
She was his wife. He liked her to look
well, just as lie wanted his horses prop
erly groomed, and his conservatories
kept in order ; and he troubled himself
very little about the shadow on her
brow.
“I’m in earnest, Radcliffe,” she said,
with emphasis.
“So I supposed, Mrs. Gates,” said
the husband, leisurely folding Lis paper
-a sign that, the news within was"thor
oughly exhausted—“ so I supposed.
But it isn’t at all worth while to allow
yourself to get excited. When I fav a
thing, Mrs. Gates, I generally mean it.
And I repeat, if you need money for any
sensible and necessary purpose, 1 shall
he most willing and happy to accommo
date you.”
Millicent bit her full, red lower lip
and drummed impatiently on the table
with her ten restless fingers. “And I
am to como meekly imploring you for
every flve-cent piece I happen to
want?”
“Yes, Mjre. Gates, if you prefer to
put the matter in that light.”
“ Radcliffe, she coaxed, suddenly
changing her tone, “do give me an al
lowance ; I don’t care how little. Don’t
subject mo to the humiliation of plcad
iu for a little money half-a dozen times
a day. Yon are rich.”
“Exactly, my dear,” nodded ibis
benedict, “and lhafc is the way I made
my fortune, by looking personally after
' ve ' v penny, and I mean to keep it
up.”
“But think how I was mortified yes
terday, when Mrs. Armorer came to ask
me if I could subscribe fifty cents to-■
wards buying a hand carriage for our
washerwoman’s child—only fifty cents
--and I had to say, ‘I must ask my
husband to give me the money when he
returns from the city, for I had co.
even fifty cents of my own.’”
‘ All very right—all very proper,”
said Mr. Gates, playing with a huge
rope of gold that lmng across his chest
in Ihe guise of a watch chain.
“ Other ladies are not kept penni
less.”
“That rests entirely between them
selves and their husbands, Mrs. Gates.”
“I will not endure it,” cried Milly,
starling to her feet, with ehetks dyed
scarlet, and indignautly glistening eyes.
Mr, Gates leaned back in his chair
with provoking complacency.
“ I will have money,” said Milly de
fiantly.
“how are yon going to get it, my
dear?” retorted her spouse, with an ag
gravating smile playing around llie cor
ner of las month. “ You have nothing
°f jour own—absolutely nothing. The
money is all mine, and I mean to keep
it.”
Milly fat down again, twisting her
Packet handkerchief around and around,
one wa* cot prepared with an imme
diate answer.
“And now, Mrs. Gates,” said the
’anker, after a moment or two of over
whelming silence, “jf you’ll he good
fnough to stitch that button on my
g ove, jli g 0 down town. I have al
leaiiy wasted too much time.”
the verbal passage at arms ended,
an(l Milly felt that, so far, she was
worsted.
watched Mr. Gates drivft off in
an ®' e gaat open barouche, drawn by
wo long failed chestnut horses, all in a
glitter cf plated barness, and turned
•iwav, almost wishing that she was Md
icent Haughton once again, behind her
1 tsk in the little rtd sdhool-honse.
one loOk<d around at the nlaid furn
' l, rc. Aubusson carpets, and satin win
w draptries, and thought with a pas-
j S| °nate pang, how little all this availed
It s so provoking of Radcliffe,” she
rcmroured. “ I’ve balf a mind to go
'’’it to service, or dressmaking, or some
thing—for I must have money of my
°wb, and I will.”
Just then a servant knocked at the
with a. basket and a note.
“ An old lady in a Shaker bonnet and
a °^ e horse wagon left i*,” said the girl,
a scarcely dir g abed titter. “ She
come in, although I invited
Mra. Gates opened the note. It ran
tn a stiff, .old-fashioned caligraphy, as if
p t n were aa unwonted impitmerit
J u lire writer’s hand :
* Pt EAB Miixy—The strawberries in the south
•<;<uie.r lot are just ripe, where you used to
piek ’em where you were & little girl; bo Pene
lope picked a lot. and we made bold to tend
them to you, for the sake of old times, as Aunt
Araminia ie going to the city to-morrow. We
hopb you will like them. Affectionately, your
friend, Maui a Ann Peabody.”
The tears sparkled in the bride’s eyes.
For au instant it seemed to her as if
she were a merry child again picking
strawberries in the golden rain of a
July sunshine, with the scent of wild
roses in the air and the gurgle of the
little trout stream close by. And as
sbe lifted the lid of the great basket of
crimson, luscious fruit and inhaled the
delicious perfume, a sudden idea started
into her head.
“ Now I will have money of my own!”
she cried ont, “money that I will earn
myst If, and thus In independent 1”
Half an hour afterwards Mrs. Gates
cirne down stairs, to the infinite amaze
ment of Rachel, the chambermaid, and
Louisa, the parlor mud, in a brown
gingham dress, a white pique sun-bon
net, and a basket on her arm.
“ Won’t you have the carriage,
ma’am?” asked the latter, as Mrs.
Gates beckoned to a passing omnibus.
“No, I won’t!” said the banker’s
lady.
When within the city limits she
alighted and set to work in good earn
est.
44 Strawberries ! who’ll buy my wild
strawberries ?” rang out her clear,
shrill voice, as she walked along—
lightly balancing the weight on her
arm, and enjoying the impromptu
masquerade as only a spirited young
woman can do.
Mrs. Prowler bought four quarts for
preserving, at twenty-five cents per
quart.
“ Wild berries has such a flavor,”
said the old lady, reflectively, “ and
tain’t often you get ’em in the city. I
s’pose you don’t come round ri g’lar.
young woman ?”
“ No, I don’t, ma’am.”
“ Because you might get some good
customers,” said Mrs. Prowler.
Miss Seninthia Hall, who keeps
boarders, puiebaeed two quarts ; Mrs.
Capt. Carbury took one, and then
Millicent jumped on the cars and rode
werilv down town.
“ I’ve got a dollar and seventy-five
cents of my own, at all events,” she
said to htr-elf.
“Strawberries! Nice, ripe, wild
strawberries ! Buy my strawberries !”
Her sweet voice resounded through
the halis of the great marble building,
on whose first floor the great bank was
situated.
It chanced to be a dull interval of
business just tnen, and the cashier
looked up with a yawn.
“ 1 say, Bill James,” said he, to the
youngest clerk, “ I have an idea that a
few strawberries wouldn’t go badly.
Call in the woman.”
Billy, nothing loth, slipped off his
stool witji a pen behind each ear, and
scampered off into the hall.
So Milly sold another quart.
As she was giving change for the
cashier’s dollar bill, the president him
self came in, bustling and brisk as
usual.
“Eh? What? How?” barked out
Mr. Radcliffe Gates. “Strawberries?
Well, I don’t care if I take a few my
self. Here, young woman, how do jou
sell them ?”
Milly pushed back her sun-bonnet,
and executed a sweeping courtesy.
“Twenty-five cents a quart, sir, if
you please,” purred she, with much
humility.
“ Mrs. Gates !” he ejaculated.
“My name, sir,” Millicent.
“May I venture to inquire—”
“O, yes!” said Milly. “You may
inquire as much as you please. I
needed a little money, and I am earning
it. See how much I have already !”
and she triumphantly displayed her
roll of crumpled stamps. “The straw
berries were all my own, sent to me
this morning by old Mrs. Peabody, and
I’m telling them to get an income of
my own.”
“You, ma’am, selling strawberries
throiigh the streets !”
Milly made a second courtesy.
* Extreme necessities justify extreme
Mr. Gates,” said she, saucily.
“ I earned my own living before I saw
you, and I can again.”
Mr. Radcliffe Gates looked uneasily
aroand at the crowd of gaping clerks.
“ Jaraes,” said he, “call me a hack.
My dear, let me take you home.”
“Not until I have sold the rest of
my strawberries,” saucily retorted the
young wife.
“ I’ll t ke all—at any price !” irnpa
t.ientlv exclaimed the banker.
“Cash down?”
“Yes; anything, everything—only
come out of this crowd.”
So Mr. aud Mrs. Gates went home;
and that evening the banker agreed to
make his wife a regular allowance of
so muoh per week, to he paid down
every Monday morning at the break
fast table.
“ But we’ll have no more selling
strawberries,” said Mr, Gates, ner
vously.
“To be sure not,” said Milly. “All
I wanted was a little money of my
own.”
And Mr. Radcliffe Gates respected
his wife all the more because she had
oonquered him in a fair battle.
Boar Hunting.
Hunting the wild boar, as carried ont
in India, is a sport sui generis, for it
can be compared to no other. lu stag
or fox huuticg man plays but a second
ary part in the game, as the hounds
find, follow and kill ; but in wild boar
huutiug it is widely different. The
hunter himself searches for his quarry;
he scrambles among rocks and ravines
clothed with dense jungle to track up
the boar, and when it is reared and
fairly started he has a perilous pursuit
before him over an tmkaown country
abounding with boles, rocks, stonep,
steep precipices asd ragged mountains.
After he has surmounted these ob
stacles, and by hard riding o ones up to
cl< se quarters with the boar, he has to
depend solely upon his coolness and
skill in managing his horse, to prevent
it bring ripped, as well as upon his
dexterity in handling the spoar, so as to
kill the "enraged and desperate animal,
who shows fight to the last gasp, and
who is never conquered until slain.
A thoroughly trained horse is a sine
qua non in boar hunting, and a high
mettled Arab stud makes the best hun
ter, as he is the most courageous, en
during and sagacious of th 6 Indian
breeds of torses, and is consequently
the most easily trained.
The Dtccan hunts have for many
yea* s maintained a very high prestige
in boar hunting, and the various gather
ings that have taken place at Ponah,
Ofnojabad. Hydrabad, -Talnab, Elicli
por#, Sholopore, and Nagpore have been
well attended, and have produced most
brilliant sport,
Framing Pictures.
A frame must invariably interfere
with the picturesque illusiou intended
by the artist. All frames are nuisances
to the art of the painter. They tend to
destroy the perspective, and confuse
the <Jolorißtio qualities of a painting.
Yet, in priva*e houses, the artistic ef
fect of a picture, though the most im
portant, is not the sole consideration.
The part which pamtbgs must take in
a house is that of decorative furniture—
ornaments in a room which should be
considered in relation to the otftnr arti
cles of furniture should be made to set
them off, and should not injure any
more than possible the artistic effect of
the painting.
Toe furniture in a room should, like
the setting of a gun, be made to en
hance the proper purpose of the paint
ings by not obstructing the light, and
by not disturbing the coloristic design
of the paintirg by the juxtaposition of
the distracting colors.
The best way to look upon a painting
is from the daik, through a narrow
opening, iu such a manner that all the
light, is thrown upon the picture.
When a painting is regarded merely
as au article of furniture it has the best,
effects when inserted iu the walls, as in
the Italian palace.
A gilt frame is good for oil paintings,
t xcept when gilding or a warm atmos
pheric effect or the light of torches or
artificial lights are represented. The
sheen of the* gilding serves to detach
the painting from the surrounding ob
jects, and allows the gaze to center upon
the picture. Bronze, black, or dark
wood frames are suitable for the classes
above mentioned and for many kinds of
pictures, except when the browns and
shadows which are near the border may
be dulled.
Drawings, chromo-lithographs, pho
tographs and engravings might better
be framed in some natural wood than
in gilt frames.
Oak or some light wood accords well
with such pictures. In water color and
other color pictures the tone may be
heightened, and the prospective often
improved, by attention to the color of
the frame or by the introduction of an
inner border of tinted paper.
Eagravings, lithographs, and draw
ings, should never be hung upon the
same wall with oil paintings, for the
reason that their own effects are greatly
damaged from proximity to the lights
and colored forms of the painting, and
that they may distract tha attention
from the composition of the painting.
Every painting that is worth hanging
at all deserves a wall to itself.
Glazed jaictures should never be
placed so as to reflect the light, as they
cannot be seen in such a position with
out a painful effort of vision.
Picture-frames ought to be dislin
guiehed in color from the remaining
furniture of a room, since a part of their
design is to isolate the pictures which
they encase. I’or the same reason they
should not correspond too nearly in
their decoration with the other objects
of the room. On the other hand, how
ever, they should not be out of harmony
with the predominating color of the
room, and might better harmonize in
tone than by contrast; neither should
their ornamentation be ont of keeping
with the general stylo of decoration ob
served in the rest of the furniture.
Pictures of middle size should be
hung with their centers nearly level with
the observer’s eye. They should be
hung flat against the wall and not as is
often the case, tilted out. When they
hang from the wall there is an unpleas
ant sense of insecurity and a contusion
of lines, and the projection of shape
less shadows upon the neighboring wall.
They should also be secured by two
cords suspending from two nails—heavy
cords for large pictures rather than thin
cords or wires, in order to preserve the
idea of security. Two parallel cords
hanging perpendicularly are in better
keeping with the parallel lines of the
room than the unpleasant, triangular
form made by a cord suspended by a
single nail attached to the two sides of
the picture-frame.
Oil paintings in gilt frames have the
best effect against hangings of olive
gray, moro or less deep, according to
the tone of ttie picture.
Pearl gray, or nurmal gray, a little
deeper, is a good tint to receive engrav
ings and plain lithographs in gilt or
yellow wood frame.
Conversation as an Art.
We all converse—or, in other words,
talk with each other—uuless forbidden
by unkindly nature, as in the ease of
deaf mutes, or compelled by arbitrary
force to maintain a silence we abhor.
We occasionally read of people who, in
a fit of caprice, resolve never to bestow
upon their fellow-creatures the benefit
of their discourse. But such people
may be called phenomenal. Men aud
women may be taciturn, just as men
and women may be loquacious, but
voluntary silence is never to be expected
of any human being possessed of the
ordinary desire to secure information
supposed to be locked up in the bosom
of another, of any one gifted with a
common auxiety to impart information
lo others. Tom u°s were made for vocal
purposes, and humanity is Apt, to regard
them, in its own case, as made for
speech. Whether the inferior orders of
creation enteitain each other with con
versation or not, is a question we leave
to scholastic disputants; but that no
two of the human family will long re
main sileDt if placed within sight aud
hearing of each other, is au accepted
fact. If they can think, as strangers,
of no other congenial point of interest,
they wiil dilate upon the weather, and
the way to mutual discourse thus opene 1
upon neutral ground, the path to so
ciability becomes one of facility.
But, after all, mere speech is not con
versation in the stricter sense, and of
those with whom we talk every day,
how few really converse well—how few
cf them so interest us with their con
versation that we listen to what they
utter with gratification, and in their
absence long to listen to them again.
Is conversation, then, an art ? Speech
we know to he a natural gift; but is
conversation itself—the kind of conver
sation that first wins and then fasci
nates our attention—a gift only ae
quired by tuition and experience ? The
French think so, we presume, for a well
known professor in Paris advertises to
“ give les ß ons in the art of conversa
tion ;” and if professors teach la ber, in
youth, how to walk gracefully, why not
how to talk iti the same manner? For,
although everybody walks and talks,
not more than one in a hundred
do either, without instruction, in a
manner calculated to earn an honest
compliment. The art of conversation
is realized as such in a moment by a
person unaccustomed to society, if sud
denly introduced to a gathering of in
tellee-. However fluent in speech ard
self-pwssessed in manner upon ordiua y
occasions, even the boldest feel ais
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 4. 1875.
mayed upon entering a spliere pervaded
by an atmosphere of mental culture.
They are at once conscious of their in
ability to rise to the level of their sur
roundings. They have language, and
they may have assurance, but they lack
the buoyancy inspired by a familiarity
with the artof conversation—just as the
untaught flounderer in deep water sinks
because, with bands aud feet like bis
neighbor, he lacks a knowledge of the
art of swimming.
Fat in Forage riant?.
The Scientific American makes the
following statements, which are well
worthy the attention of stockmen and
farmers generally, showing as they do
the value of the grasses as fat forming
food, both in a green and dry state :
is To any oue not a chemist or a quad
ruped, the last place to look for fat
would be a hay-mow or a stack of hay,
jet it appears from rec nt investigations
that fat is uot only an essential constit
uent of hay, Htraw, and similar forms
of vegetation, but me of considerable
eemenue value.
In the lower leaves of oats in blossom,
Arndt found as much as 10 per cent, of
the dry weight to consist of fat and
wax, the latter appearing as the bluish
bloom so conspicuous on the leaves of
luxuriant cereals. In fodder crops gen
erally the greatest portion of fat is
found m young and thrifty. Thus Way
found early meadow grass to contain as
much as 6J per cent, of fat, while iu
that of the same meadow, collected in
the latter part of June, there was but
little more than 2 per cent. The pro
portion of fat is increased by nitro
genous manures ; the grass of a sew
egel meadow at Rugby contained above
A per cent, of fat, while similar grass,
not sewaged, affordt and less than 3 per
cent, of fat.
The nature of this sort of vegetable
fat was investigated some little time
ago by the German chemist, Konig, who
found that by treatment with strong
alcohol, the fat of grass and clover hay
could be separated into two parts, one
a solid waxy substance, the other a fluid
fat, soluble in alcohol. At first he
considered the latter to be a true glycer
ine, but changed his mind after the in
vestigations of Schulz, who proved that
though it contains the same proportion
of carbon and hydrogen as ordinary
fat, the fluid fat of hay is something
quite different, since no glycerine can
be obtained from it,
KoDig has since confirmed these re
sults and carried forward the investi
gation, showing that the fat of oats, rye
and vetch seed is similarly constituted.
In all these forms of vegetation, hay,
oat straw, the grain of oats, rye. vetch
es, and possibly others, he finds oleic
and palmitic acids, not combined with
glycerine, but in a free state ; and as
these acids in their combinations are
well known as large ingredients of nu
tritive fats and oils, it is likely that
they have a considerable influence on
the value of these plants for fodder.
lad’s Jetty. Hill.
The west and south, irrespective of
party, unitedly favored the bill. The
provisions of the bill, as amended
and passed the house, are these: That
JohD B. Eads, of St. Louis, be au
thorized to construct such permanent
and sufficient jetties and such auxiliary
works as are necessary to create and
permanently maintain a wide and deep
channel between the southwest pass of
the Mississippi river and the Gulf of
Mexico, and for that purpose he may
construct in the river an outlet or pass,
and likewise in the Gulf of Mexico
such walls, jetties, dikes, levees and
other structures, and employ such
boats, rafts and appliances as he may,
in the prosecution of said work, deem
nec?ssary. Provided, that no such
structures employed shall materially
interfere with the free navigation of
said pass, and to protect said works he
may build aud maintain suoh levees as
may be ncceessary to secure their per
manency along the banks of the river
or southwest pass. Provided, that un
less the construction of the work shall
be substantially commenced within
eight months from the approval of this
act, and prosecuted with due dilligence,
these provisions shall be void, aud un
less Eads shall secure a navigable depth
of twenty feet of water through said
pass within thirty months after the ap
proval of this act, congress may revoke
the privileges granted and cancel the
obligations assumed by the Uuited
States unless Eads shall, after securing
twenty feet of water secure an addi
tional depth of not less than two feet
each succeeding year thereafter, until
twenty-six feet shall have been secured,
and four feet additional, or thirty feet,
within twenty-four mouths after having
secured twenty-six feet; and iu case
Eads shall fail to comply with the fore
goiug conditions as to depth of water
and time for aQy period of twelve
months in excess of the time fixed,
and ttie act shall absolutely become
null and void without action by con
gress. These conditions are made ob
ligatory upon Ead’s heiis. That the
conditions prescribed being complied
with, the Uuited States agree to pay
Eads eight million dollars for construct
ing the works and obtaining the depth
of thirty feet in said channel, and the
annual pum of one hundred and thirty
thousand dollars for each and every
year that said depth of thirty feet shall
be maintained by the jetties end auxil
iary works aforesaid iu southwest pass
duriDg twenty years after securing the
said depth. An amendment was added
to insure the permanency and durabil
ity of the work. It directs tbe secre
tary of war, if Eads is not permanently
constructing the jetties, to report the
facts to congress for action.
Novel Railroad in Syria. —lt is said
that the Turkish government is con
structing a railway between Aleppo and
Alexandretta, a distance of more than
ninety miles, to consist of a low wall
following closely the topography of tl e
country. Upon this wall a single rail
will be laid, aud the locomotive aud the
last car being provided with horizontal
wheels to grasp the sides of the mason
ry will retain the whole train securely
upon the track, it is thought. The
passenger cars are to be constructed in
such a manner as to make it easy to ad
just the weiglit by arranging the trav
elers in their seats. When filled prop
erly ninety-six passengers will consti
tute a load for a single train.
Sound Education..— Dr. Johnson was
extremely averse to the present foppibh
mode of educating children, so far as
to make them what foolish mothers
call elegant young men. He said to a
lady, who asked him what she should
teach her son in early life : “ Madam,
to read, to write, to count; grammar,
writing and arithmetic; three things
which, if not taught in early life ate
seldom if ever taught to any purpose,
and without the knowledge of which no
superstiucture of learning or knowl
edge can be built.”
Uncle Hcb.
How Ihe Ull Man I)lc<l-Taking Ills Oast
Luxury on Kart It.
His full name was Hebdon Wright
Turner, but everybody called him
“ Heb.” He must have passed his six
tieth birthday, but no one cared to look
a second time to see if he wai growing
old and wearing out. He chored
around livery stables and saloons, al
ways hungry and always ragged, aud
while no one was his friend he had no
enemies.
The other day he fell down in a faint
in a saloon on the river road, aud when
he was restored to consciousness he
startled the three or four men who had
placed him on the bed by exclaiming :
44 Boys, I’ll be darned if I ain’t going
to die 1”
No one had ever stopped to think
whether Uncle Heb was ever going to
die. It was the general impression
among his acquaintances that he would
live dong for three or four hundred
years.
“ How do you feel ?” they asked.
“ Kinder trembly and weak,” he re
plied. “ I’ll bet fifty cents I’ll kick the
bucket afore noon !”
They offered to bring a doctor, but he
said:
“ No, don’t take any trouble ; ’tend
right to business as usual, and when I
kick the beam, plant me quietly and
without any style 1”
The men imagined that it was mere
weakness which would soon pass off,
and one of them sat down near him
while the others retired to go about
their business.
“ It’s tough weather for a funeral!”
rt marked Uncle Heb, as the fierce wind
howled around the house. “It don’t
make any difference how I’m carried
up ; I wouldn’t know it if there were
sixteen hacks and a brass band; just as
lief go up a’one with the driver !”
After a pause he smiled blandly and
inquired:
“They’ll speak of me as the ‘late
deceased,’ wont they ? Yes, of course.
I should like to read the papers to
morrow and see what they say of me ;
but I won’t be here, you know.’
“ Have you any property to dispose
of ?” asked the watcher.
“ Lemme see !” mused Unole Heb.
“Yes, thar’s an extra pair of butes and
a hat and about 17 cents in money. I
suppose the right way would be to have
executors ’ pinted, but, as I Baid be
fore, I don’t want any fooling around.
You can divide up the estate between
you.”
The old man was very pale and he
seemed to be suffering, and the watcher
was anxious to do something.
“I tell you,” replied Uncle Heb,
“ I’d like some brandy. If it wasn’t
just as it is I wouldn’t put you to any
trouble, but being I’m going away to
stay I'd like a few swallers of real peach
brandy—some of that in the fancy de
canter.”
Some was brought him, and fee
smacked his lips, and remarked:
“ If I wasn’t going lo die I’d try and
lay in a quart or two of that brand !”
After five or ten minutes more the
nurse asked him if he didn’t feel better,
“Feel better !” echoed the old man,
“how can a dying man feel better?
Do you suppose I’d be fooling around
here if I wasn’t going to expire ?”
The man sat down, and Uncle Heb
continued :
“As soon as I go up the spout one of
ou go to the Poormaster aud say :
4 Mr. Willard, old Heb is dead ; send a
feller down and plant him. That will
be as good as a speech two hours’ long.
I’m sorry I was took sick here, but it
wasn’t my fault. You may go now.”
The man went out, thinking Uncle
Heb out of his mind, and sat down and
played dominoes for an hour. Hearing
no movement in the back room he
opened the door.
The old man was dead !— Detroit
Free Press.
1 ess of Memory.
The loss of memory during illness or
from some sudden shock has, no doubt,
been observed by every one ; but some
curious phases of it not generally known
can be found in the books and journals
of physicians. A Scotch Highland wo
man, long accustomed to use English
language, was placed under the care of
Dr. Mackintosh at Edinburgh, during
au attack of apoplexy. She so far re
covered as to look around her with an
appearance of intelligence; but the doc
tor could not make her understand a
word he said. At last it occurred to
him to have one of the attendants speak
to her in Uselic, her long-unused native
tor gue; amt to that she immediately
and readily responded. When she re
covered her health more perfectly, her
Eog ish came back to her. Dr. Rush
mentions the case of an Italian gentle
man, who died of yellow fever in New
York, and who underwent, during Ihe
malady, a series of mental changes.
During the first part of his illness he
spoke English, which had for some time
been his familiar langupgo in that coun
try ; duriDg tbe middle period English
was driven from his mind by French,
which he had learned earlier; and on
the day of his death lie spoke only his
na'ive Italian. Abernethy, the great
surgeon, told a similar story of a man
whom lie attended, who was born in
France, but had spent the greater put
of liis life iu England, and had for many
years lost the habit of speaking French.
An injury to his head brought him un
der the care of Afeernethy, who ob
served that during his illness tbe man
spoke only French, going back to his
English as he recovered. We all know
how, to the very old snd the dying, the
laugaage of their childhood comes again,
and the old scents rise before the ujing
eyes like pictures, so that from the re
covery of childish peaoe they go ont
across the tide to the unknown, new life
beyond.
The English Five 0 Clock Tea.
Our British cousins have a fashion
able “ five o’clock tea,” which is be
coming excessively the “ elegant thing”
in London. Ttie entertainment is of
many kinds. There is first the informal
gathering, which only uec< s-itates the
production of more cups and saucers to
supplement the hostess’s usual ante
prandial refection ; second, the meeting
of len or twelve guests invited specially
to meet each other ; third, the larger
assembly, when the lady Announces on
her invitation card that she will be “At
Home” for a certain number of days ;
fourth, the tea devoted to “Amateur
Mu-ic ;” and, la3ly, the tea which is
merely a day instead of a night recep
tion. For the casual five o’clock tea
but little or no preparation is required.
Intimate friends find the lady with her
two-tiered tea table by her side, the up
per shelf bearing the siiv?r teapot,
cream jug, sugar basin, hot water ket
tle, and one or two cups and saucers ;
tire lower shelf has a plate of thin bread
end butter, a cake, and the reserve
cups. A harlequin net is considered
prettier than one of which all the cups
are alike ; those saucers which have a
sort of fas shaped addition for holding
a pioce of cake or bread aDd butter
when convenient. The second enter
tainment differs somewhat; the scene is
changed from the boudoir to the draw
ing room, and thj tea is placed on a
larger table. If the hostess has no
daughters, she generally gets some
young lady to preside over the tea
table, to as to leave her at liberty to
entertain guests. The use of a white
tablecloth, though not absolutely un
known, is decidedly unusual. The
tables which have flaps that fold down
so that whVn not in use they stand al
most fiat against the wall, are the most
couvei ient for the purpose, as it obvi
ates the trouble of moving the things
off a table in ordinary use. For the
third there are two methods ; one like
the preceding, only using a larger
table and haviDg two or three young
ladies to assist in dispensing the tea, or
else te have a long narrow table across
the end of the back drawing-room, and
let two maids be in Attendance behind
it. This supposes a larger party, and
therefore ic-es and claret cup should be
provided. In summer, of course, straw
berries and cream find a moat appro
priate place on the tea table.
I iltle Gertie.
Gertie Mayhew wound her golden
curls in a. massive coil around her
shapely little head, fastened the dainty
ruffle at her throat with a rose coral
pin, hung the drops in her delicate
ears, and threw herself into a sleepy
hollow chair to think.
So absorbed was she in her medita
tions that the dinner-bell sounded twice
ere she heeded it, and when at last she
rose wearily from her seat, the blue
eyes were brimming with tears, and the
rosy month was quivering. * * *
Twelve years before, when John
Roeheford stood by the bedside of his
only sister, and received from her dy
ing lips the charge to be kind to her
little girl for her sake, if for nothing
else, tears stood in the strong man’s
eyes, and his lips trembled as he prom
ised to be a father to the little Gertie,
who looked on with wide-open blue
eyes, too young to understand what it
meant, and only wondering “ why mam
ma didn’t get well.”
So Uncle John took her rway from
the pretty village where she bad always
lived to his own grand home in London,
and stately Aunt Irene kissed her and
bade her welcome.
Perhaps they meant to be kind to
her; but Mr. Roeheford was wholly ab
sorbed in his business, and his wife
was a fashionable woman of the world,
indulging her own childten, Irene and
Bell, in every whim.
And so Gertie was a stranger and un
loved, with the sole exception of Lloyd
Preston, her uncle’s ward, who, from
the time lie first saw the beautiful
child, constituted himself her protector.
But, two years later, he was sent to
one of the far-famed German nuiver
sities. And during the long ten years
of his absence Gertie was lonely indeed.
Now, after this long absence, he was
home again ; and it was no wonder that
our little Gertie trembled as she de
scended the stately staircase, and en
tered the brilliantly - lighted dining
room, where the family had already
assembled.
* * * * *
It is a week later—Christmas Eve—
and Lloyd Preston entered the bril
liantly-lighted drawing-room.
“ Where is Gertie?” he a^ked.
“Gertie?” said Belle. “Moping, 1
suppose. She always is.”
“ Will you please bring me a book
you’ll find on the library-table, Lloyd 1”
asked Irene.
And so entering the dimly-lighted
library, he found a very disconsolate
little girl sitting in the corner.
“ Gertie !” he exclaimed, “why aren’t
you wirh the girls ?”
A half-suppressed sob was her only
answer.
“ Little one, come to me ; only give
me your lovo, and to-morrow will be a
blessed Christmas.”
Ah ! there was no mistaking the look
in the brown eyes then, aid in the dim
light a little white baud was slipped
into his, and they only knew that they
were very happy.
Irene opened the door.
44 Can’t you find—”
And .then she paused, for she read
their secret in the happy faces before
her.
“Look, girls, here is a pretty tab
leau !”
“Yes,” laid Lloyd, proudly drawing
Gertie’s hand within bis arm, “ Miss
Mayhew has promised to be my wife.’’
Literary Composition.
Byron wrote “TkeCorsair”in ten days,
at tbe rate of two hundred lines a day,
and sent it to the press as it was writ
ten, published it with hardly a correc
tion. Lope do Vega wrote three hun
dred dramas for the stage in one hun
dred days. The average amount of his
work was nine hundred lines a day.
Voltaire wrote “Zaire,” in three weeks,
and “Olympic” in six days; Dryden
wrote his “Ode te St. Cecilia” at a sit
ting. The finest of Elizabeth Barrett
Prowning’s poems, “The Lady Geral
dine’s Courtship,” was tbe work of
twelve hours. It was written to com
plete the original two volumes of her
poetry, and to send out with her proofs
to America. Shakspcare was not one of
these slap-dash workers; and Shaks
peare, with hi* thirty four plays, has
conquered the world. Dickens, when
he intended to write a Christmas story,
shut himself up for six weeks, lived tie
life of a hermit, and came out looking
as haggard as a mordt rer. Tom Moore,
with all his effervescence and sparkle,
thought it qu ck work if he added sev
enty lires to “Lalla Rckh” in a week,
although living out of the world in a
writing-box in the peak. PJanche pro
duced his burlesque at an equally slow
rate, thinking ten or a dozen lines a day
good work. The author of “Caste”
and “School” was one of the slowest of
workmen. Even Albany Floublanque
often wrote bis articles in the Examiner
six times over before he thought them
fit to go to press—it is said he wrote and
rewrote his “Two Queens” eight times.
That exquisite tritie of Kinglake’s,
“Eothen,” was rewritten the or six
times, and kept in his desk almost as
long as Wordsworth kept “The White
Doe of Rjdstone.”
Pawnbrokers.
Few of cur readers are probably
aware of the immense extent to which
the poor in this city make use of loans
from the pawnbrokers’ shops. There
are in New York and Brooklyn some
400 of these, and in Jersey City and
Hoboken sixty. They ad vanes to ths
poor during each year some $4,000,000,
Tb' se loans are usually for trnrty days,
and the rate of interest is from eight
to twenty per eeut. per month. The
article pledged for the loan is usually
thioe times the value of the sum lent,
and is often never redeemed, owing to
the distress or poverty of the person
borrowing. If the intarest is from
eight to ten per cent, per month, it will
be seen that the pawnbrokers make
some hundred per cent, on their loans,
or about four millions annually from
the poor ; and it is not improbable they
get as much moro from the sale of the
articles pawned. —New York Times.
In a Gondola.
Susan Coolridge writes : “ Would
yon know liow gondolas are 4 ordered’
in Venice ? You step out on the balco
ny and call ‘ Giscomo !’ Instantly from
below comes the response, 4 At your
service, Signora!’ and tlie gondola,
yonr little private carriage, shoots to
tbe door. We are fond of our Giacomo,
who was a stout, handsome fellow, with
face and arms dyed by tbe sun to a
beautiful umber brown. He affected
bright colors, and his orange and red
awning, his yellow shirt and scarlet
sash, made, when taken in connection
with his brown face, a vivid bit of
moving color which was joy to see.
This evening, my evening, we were
without awning, and I was glad of my
parasol as we shot into the Grand
Canal, which was all a dazzle of gold
and red from the sun, as yet a good
way above the horizon. 4 Where will yon
go, Signora ?’ 4 To the sunset, Giocoino.
Go to the other side of the Giudecca,
and I’ll choose a place.’ Another
second and we were gliding towards
the Giudecca, which is the wildest of all
the Venetian canals. The motion of a
gondola is unlike any other motion in
the world. Smooth, swift, effortless,
without jar or quiver, without apparent
motive power (for the oarsman is be
hind and out of view), it is a very bliss
of movement; like a bird’s flight, like a
darting fish, or, better still, like pro
gress by volition, turning, swerving to
right, to left by the power of thought.
Giacomo has poetry in bis nature. He
rowed softly, and did not speak to break
the spell of silence as we moved on.
Leaning over the side of the gondola I
could see the swaying figure reflected
in the blue canal, a distinct red and
yellow shadow. On the other hand was
the sun, a ball of fiery gold floating in
an intense pink sky. The light was too
vivid ; I could uot look, and closed my
eyes, but still the color pursued me and
danced in almost painful brilliancy upon
my brain. ”
Fashion in New York.
Despite all the croaking abont hard
times, says a correspondent, New York
is very gorgeous this winter.
turnouts on the avenue and in the park
are as hrilliant as ever, and even more
so. Sales of extravagantly costly furni
ture are as frequent as ever, and the
great jewelers aud expensive dress peo
ple are doing more than their usual
business. The fact is, the society
woman in New York refuses to recog
nize the existence of hard times. She
considers it the duty of the man who
undertakes the contract of supporting
her to furnish her with what she wants
just as freely one year as another. If
the poor fellow pleads embarassment
and bad business, she answers, “ What
is that to me ? I know nothing about
your horrid stocks. I do know that I
want that diamond necklace, and will
have it.” And she generally gets it,
for several reasons. A man always
stands in awe of a very handsome and
very fashionable woman, and besides a
great many New Yorkers have discov
ered that it is a verv good thing to have
SSO ,000 or SIOO,OOO diamonds ani
such things, which belong to his wife,
to fall back upon. This is the secret of
very much of the extravagance that is
seen in the public places of the city.
Tho poor feel the hard limes, aDd those
supposed to be rich may also, but the
latler don’t show it if they do. The
theatres are filled nightly; the parties
were never more brilliant or expensive.
Of course smashes without number will
occur ; but they are having a good time
while they can. This is the very center
of Vanity Fair.
The Origin of Indian Jinnies.
A member of Major Powell’s expedi
tion, which has been engaged in the
territories, furnished tie Tribune some
interesting notes of the discoveries
made in tiie origin of Indian names.
It seems that each tribe or primary or
ganization of Indians, rarely including
more than two hundred souls, is, in
obediauce to the additional laws of these
people, attached to some well-defined
territory or district, and tbe tribe takes
the name of such district. Thus the
U-intats, known to white men as a
branch of the Utes, belonged te the
Uintah valley. U imp is the name for
pine ; too meap, for land or country ;
U-im-too-meap, pine land ; but this has
been contracted to U in tah, and the
tribe inhabiting ihe valley were called
U-in-tats. Uis the term signifying ar
row ; U-too-meap, arrow land. The re
gion of the country bordering on Utah
lake is called U too-meap becanee of the
gr eat n n mber of reeds grow ing tb ere from
which their ar ro w-s hafts were made. The
tribe formerly inhabiting Utah valley
was called U-tah-ats, which has been
corrupted into the name Ute by tfce
white people of the country. The name
U-tah-ats belonged only to a small
tribe living in the vicinity of the lake,
but it has been extended so as tt. in
clude the greater part of the Indians of
Utah and Colorado. Another general
Dame used by white men is Pintes. A
tribe of U-tah-ats being defeated and
driven away by a stronger tribe, who
occupied their eonntiy and took their
name, were obliged to take anew name
corresponding to the new home in which
they settled themselves. But they also
called themselves Pai U-tah-ats or true
U-tah-ats. The corrupted name Piutes
is now applied to the Indians of a large
section of country. Several of these
tribes have numerous names, and iD
this way tbe number of individual
tribes has probably been much overesti
mated.
The prefecture of police of Toklo,
Japan, has issued the following circu
lar : “Any person in European costume
meeting his imperial majesty will be
obliged to salute the emperor by hold
ing his hat under his left arm and low
ering his right hand te his knees.
Those who do not wear a liat will be
obliged to lower both bands to the knees
while bowing before the emperor.”
A gibl was smothered to death while
on a sleigh ride near Bangor, Me., on
one of the recent intensely, cold nights.
A party of young people were out on a
frolic/filling a long sleigh. This girl
grew very cold, and to keep her warm
her sweetheart wrapped her closely in a
huge blanket, covering her head and
Lee. Too drowsy and benumbed to
stir, she suffocated without her com
pantrtus being aware that she was dying;
VOL. 16--NO. 10.
SAYINGS AND DOINGS.
] jittlk Bag-Tag.—
A curly, bright bead, and perched upon it
I jttle Rag-tag of a browu sun-bonnet;
Jl pair of old shoes forever untied,
YrTiose soles have holes, whose toes grin wide.
C ome sun or come shade, come shine or come
rain,
To little Rag-tag it’s ever the same;
With an air of the most supreme content.
S le paddles and plays till the day is spent.
Why people complain she never can see,
Wuen God is as good as ever can bo:
She talks to herself, and laughs, and sings
Alout the world and its beantifn! things;
Brt, though he iB good to all of the rest,
She is very sure that he loves her best!
01. how ranch better this world would wag
If we all had hearts like little Rag-tag!
Christian Union.
The Shakers arc not making much
headway in Paris. It is said that 55,000
babies are born there every year.
This is the form in which they say
tha dispatch first came : “Emperor of
China dead ; Prince Rung will be re
gent ; head physician of the court de
capitated.”
Idleness is the dead sea that swal
lows up all virtues, aud the self-made
sepulchre of a living man. The idle
man is the devil’s urchin, whose livery
is rags, aud whose diet aud wages are
famine and disease.
An lowa lady concludes itu' anti-suf
frage lecture as follows : “ You may
look at this matter in whatever light
you like, but simmer it down aud it is
but a quarrel with the Almighty that
we are not all men.”
A Kansas hypochondriac, meditating
upon the death of a dog-fancier in his
neighborhood, gives vont to the mourn
ful thought: “ Our great men are pe
teiing out sort o’ rapid like these times.
Wi isky kills most of ’em ; some tum
ble overboard, and ’casionally one gets
hung.”
Butler county, Missouri, has the
moit eccentric genius on reoord. He is
now sixty-five years of age. At the age
of twenty-one he commenced to oount
two billions. He has counted almost
incessantly ever since, and his task is
still incomplete. He says he wants
count that number and die happy.
The Japan News gives currency to a
stat ement on good authority that Japan
ese criminals prefer being strangled to
being decapitated, and that, too, on re
ligious grounds; the idea apparently
being that so long as the body is intact,
its resurrection''will be possible, but
tha* when the head is once separated
from the body it may never be reunited.
The Sunny Soul.—
There i8 many a rest on the road of life
If we would only etop to take it;
And many a tone from the better land,
If the querulous heart would wake it.
To the sunny soul that is full of hope,
And whose beautiful trust ne’er faileth.
The grass is green, and the flowers are bright,
T 1 ough the wintry storm prevaileth.
Speaking of law books, a recent lec
turer on the subject said: 44 Another
peculiarity of these books is, that no
one but a lawyer ever reads them. All
other books have readers outside the
class for whom they are specially writ
ten ; and we have, accordingly, amateur
mer of science, physicians, amateur
artists, and even amateur theologians,
but no one ever beard of an amateur
lawyer.”
On a Detroit sidewalk, the other day,
a portly man snatched at the surround
ing air for a second or two, and then
went down upon the icy bricks with a
force that shook his frame and made
him eee stars. “Say,” remarked a
newsboy to his companion who wit
nessed the catastrophe, “that ’ere fel
lerV a Free Mason ; didn’t you see him
giving the sign?” Inside of a minute
two boys were getting away, closely
followed by a boot.
A San Francisco husband denies that
the new chemiloon dress arrangements
are any improvement on the old style.
His wife has adopt ad it, and it takes
her seventy minutes on au average to get
unharnessed at night, and on one occa
sion the nnmerous India-rubber straps
got into a snarl, and, suddenly collaps
ing, caused her to perform a double
somersault, during which her head came
in contact with the ceiliDg of the room,
knocking her senseless.
Scatter thy life as the Summer’s shower pouring,
What ir no bird through the pearl rain is soaring T
What if no blossom looks upward adoring !
Look to the life that was lavished for thee!
o tbe wild wind strews its perfnmed caresses ;
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses;
Bitter the wave that its soft piDion presses;
Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.
What if the hard heart gives thorns for thy roses!
What if on rocks thy tired bosom repofes;
Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes,
Fain at tbe vines that on ruins will cling.
Give is the heart gives whose fetters are breaking—
Life, love, and hope, all thv dreams and thy waking;
Soon heaven’a river thy soul fever shaking.
Thou shalt know God, and tbe gift that he gave.
Very stern parcut indeed : “ Come
here, sir ! What is this complaint the
school master has made against you?”
Much injured youth : 44 It’s just noth
ing ut all. Yon see Jimmy Hughes bent
a pin, and I only jnst left it on the
teacher’s chair for him to look at, and
he cime in without his specs, and sat
right down on the pin, and now he
wants to blame me for it.”
EngcjlSH Pronunciation. —
[Tha ease with which the English language can
be acquired by foreigners will be understood After
a perusal of the following:]
Wife, make me some dumplings of dough.
They’re better than meat for my cough;
Pr: v let them be boiled till hot through
Eat not till they’re heavy or tough.
Now—l must be off to the plough,
A nd the boys, when they’ve had enough,
Must keep tbe flies off with & bough,
While tho old mare drinkß at the trough.
Inside of the hat of a cattle thief re
cent y arrested in Detroit were fonnd
pasted the following maxims: “Re
member that truth is a jewel; do not
covet; respect old age ;be content with
wha; you have; live that men will take
your character as an example.” In con
sideration of this excellent principles
governing tbe man’s life the judge
kiucly allowed him to retain the printed
slip containing them during his year’s
sojourn in the penitentiary,
We cannot too soon convince our
selves how easily we mav be dispensed
with in the world. What impo tant
personages we imagine ourselves to be !
We think that we alone are the life of
the circle in which we move; in our
absence we fancy that life, existence
and breath will come to a general pause;
and, alas! the gap which we leave is
scarcely perceptible, so quickly is it
filled again ; nav, it is often but the
place, it not for eomethirg better, at
teas - for something more agreeable.—
Got'he.
A pretty girl is emplojed to take up
the collections in a SpriDgfield church,
and the receipt* are very heavy. If a
Btrauge gentleman hesitates about con
tributing, she smiles, nods and winks
in such a queer style that the victim
first blushes up to the roots of his hair,
and then makes a dive for his pocket
book, anxious to close the interview as
sooi as possible. All the young fellows
that know her think it worth fifty cents
a week to catch her beautiful brovs n
eye, and the women all pay because if
they don’t she rays “meanny” with her
lips, while a look of intense disgust
ovei spreads her