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THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
A.TItBSIHLR 1
W. A. lAHUtHALK,/ Editors and Proprietors.
MI.ESCK.
XVe are t.ut little iw'amls in Si'ence
I bat sucks and seitlia round us like the sea ;
Hut drop f.lali-t, sorg pr deed-then see how snifl
1 lie silences again a ova it drift.
And cover, smooth as' ever, Has Been and Shal I
Be.
Or list that strange sr- a lapping in the dark !
T' lo ‘,' <l ‘"'l snttle currents puls', and neai;
Wheu in the night, inclosed as a shut hox, -
Sleep eee we ie ard ong to p'rk the locks,
it/ some new. nameless sense the aoul can heat
And at tbo !a*t Silence submerges all •
f.° of, ; e T lhe rroudf st work, swept < <
v. V ‘ c s ’ ,lk dr, ' vn M" 1 disappear •
'' \ '‘nntng; foreign wood and weeds do cheer
Our souls with cert lin signs of tome rich shore
then why shoo'd we so question Silence, fear
its dumb ways ami dread its deens to dare?
llave we Columbus- no yearnings grand
lo be borne on and find that untried Band?
Silence, w trust tlnee; only bear us there!
LOST FOR A LIFEITME
Home thirty years ago .Tubn Quincy
Adams attracted considerable attention
in Congress by a strong speech in favor
of a bill introduced by B. A. Bidlack oi
Pennsylvania, which provided that one
mile square of the land then occupied
by the Miami Indians, embracing the
house and improvements of Frances
Slocum, should be granted in fee to her
aud her heirs forever. The bill became
a law. and she occupied this special re
serve until ner death in the spring of
1847.
The liistorv of this woman was re
markable. She was the daughter of a
Quaker, who lived in the Wyoming val
ley during the revolution. Several
months after the massacre of 1778 she
was caught, up by a party of marauding
Delaware Indians who‘got off before
any attempt could be made to rescue
her. She was five vears old at this time.
About a month later her father was
shot dead by the Indians while at work
in a field near hishonse. Knowing that
he was gone to his eternal rest, the
widow, in time, became reconciled to
her loss, but she could never forget her
child, the last sight of which was when
she was in the arms of a brawny Indian,
struggling aud calling piteously upon
her parent, to come to her help.
lhe sons of Mrs. Hloeum became
prosperous business men, and after the
close of the revolution thev used every
effort, to recover their lost sister. In
1 two of them visited Niagara, whpre
a number of Indians were gathered,
made diligent inquiries, and offered
liberal rewards for anv information of
her. They prosecuted the search for
several weeks, and returned home with
the impression that she was dead, -
The mother, however, could not be
persuaded that such was the case, and
four years later t.ho Slocums spent sev
eral months in the west among the In
dian agents and traders, pnblielv offer
ing 3J500 to anv one who would give
any authentic information of the death
of their sister, but their success \vas no
better than before. A similar expedi
tion was undertaken is 1797 by four of
the brothers, with the same result. As
Id the Ivors ease, the search brought
numbers of stolen children to light,
but none was the one particularly
wanted.
Mrs. Slocum never lost faith in her
daughter existence. She believed she
was somewhere waiting to be clasped in
her arms, and she continued the search
with scarcely anv intermission until
1807, when she died, her children prom
ising her to use everv effort to learn
what had become of the little one ab
ducted nearly thirty years before.
They faithfully carried out. this pledge,
and in 1826 made a long and expensive
journey to Upper Sandusky to see a
woman who, there was no reason to
hope, was the one for whom they were
searching. Disappointed again, they
taially eame to the conclusion that
Frances was dead, and search ended.
In the month of Jannary, 1835, Gol.
Gforge W. Ewing, gentleman con
nected with the public service among
the Indians, aud able to speak several
of their languages, was benighted near
an Indian town known as the Deaf
M an’s \ dlage, on a branch of the
AY abash. He applied for lodging, and
was hospitablv received at a respectable
dwelling. He was fatigued and un
well, and after eating lay down upon
some skins in the corner. The house
hold consisted of a venerable worr an
and a number of children, all of whom
treated her with the greatest defer
ence, and whe departed to their own
rooms.
As Col. Ewing lay upon his pallet he
watched the old lady moving about,
and noticed particularly the color of her
skin and hair. The resnlt of the scru
tiny convinced him that she was a white
woman, aud he opened a conversation
with her. She admitted that his sus
picions wore correct. She add that she
was stolen by the Indians when a very
small child, and she had carefully con
cealed that fact from those of her own
race whom five met for fear that her
relatives would come aud take her away.
She was now po old that she felt she
could not live much longer, and if auy
of her friends were living she would ba
glad to see them. In short, she was
Frances Hlocnm, and she remembered
distinctly the name of her father,
though her own given name was for
gotten.
Col. Ewing was so impressed with
her narrative that he addressed a long
letter, giving the particulars, to the
IKJstmaster at Lancaster, Pa, He had
never heard of the Slocums, but he
judged from certain answers made bv
the old lady that her home was some
where in that state.
The letter reached its destination,
but when the postmaster came to read
it he concluded it a hoax and flung it
aside, among soma waste papers, where
it lay for two years. At theend of that
time the postmaster died, snd his wid
ow, in overhauling his effects, came
upon Col. Ewing’s letter. She had
never beard the name of S'ocum. but
thinking there was something in it, she
sent the missive to the Lancaster Intel
ligene r, a copy of which, containing
the letter, fell into the hands of Rev.
Samuel Bowman, who was intimately
acquainted with the Slocum family, and
he mailed a paper to her brother, who
lived in Wilke barre.
The reception of the letter threw the
whole commnuity into excitement, there
being not a particle of doubt as to the
identity of Frances. As two years had
passed since the letter was written, and
as it stated that the old lady at that
time was under a premonition of death,
an inquiry was addressed to Col. Ewing,
by Jobn'J. Siccum, the nephew of
Frances. A prompt reply, dated at Lo
ganspo.t, came to hand saying that the
old lady was still alive, and would be
clad to see them. The letter contained
miDute directions as to the course they
were to take to reach her. Arrange
ments were at once made to do so. Mr.
Isaac Slocum and Mrs. Mary Town,
ot a sister of Frances, resided
in Ohio, but not in the same neighbor
hood. Joseph Slocum, of Wilkesbarre,
another brother, started in his carriage,
ta'siDg his sister, while Isaac went in
pdvnnce, it being agreed that they
should meet at Deaf Man’s Village.
Isaac reaohed the place ahead of the
others, and accompanied by an inter
preter, made a call upon the lady, who
received them pleasantly, bat evidently
with suspicion. Toe brother fouud her
to all appearances a perfect Indian, but
he had fixed in his mind an unerring
test of her identity. Previous to being
carried away, fifty-nine years before,
her brother Ebenezer had crushed the
forefiuger of her left hand with a ham
mer. Taking hold of her hand and
raising it, he saw the disfigurement.
“What caused that?” he added. “My
brother straok it with a hammer a long
time ago,” was the answer.
He remained some time in conversa
tion, but the woman did not seem at
ease, and he returned tj the village of
Pern to await the arrival of his brother
and sister. When they came the three
made them another visit. She treated
them with the same kindness as before,
but was stoical and unmoved, and when
she saw tears in their eyes and every in
dication of a coming “ scene’’she looked
anything but pleased. The only time
sbe showed any signs of emotion was
when she was asked hpr name. She re
plied that it was forgotten. “Is it
Franees ?” Her dusky feat ures sudden
ly lit up and she nodded hpr head.
“ Yes, yes, Franca, Franca.” The visit
was prolonged for several days, and
some months later was repeated, some
of the nieces and nephews joining the
parry.
On the day when little Frances was
captured, fifty-nine years before, she
was carried rapidly through the woods ;
a final halt was male near the Genesee
river. In the following spring she was
taken to Sandusky, where she stayed un
til autumn, when her Indian friends
moved to Niagara, where she lived a
year. In accordance with the nomadic
habits of h er people, her home was contin
ually changed. Her greatest dread was
of being discovered by her relatives and
taken away, ami there is no doubt that
when the weary motlier was bunting up
and down the earth, she more than once
came within hail of her lost child, who
carefn ly avoided her. It was fortunate
they never met.
Frances had been married to a Miami,
by whom she had four children. She
was wealthy and held in the highest ven
eration by her tribe and descendants,
many of the latter being aroimd her.
After a time she seemed to form quite
an attachment for her brothers, who, of
course, were old men, and she offered
them half her land if they would live
near her. They in turn pressed her to
join them further east, but she thanked
them and declined. She was an Indian
in everyth in g'excspt birth, aud such she
lived and died.
The Pope—TV ill He Come to America?
The correspondent of the London
Daily Telegraph at Paris writes:
The correspondent, of the Debats in
Rome writes thus: The appointment of
au American cardinal is an aot more im -
portant thau has beau generally sup
posed. At the same time the pope
nominated a considerable number of
bishops for the United States. The
prelate who carries to Monsignor
McClosky his beretta will not perform a
mere act of ceremony; he is charged
v ith a most important mission. The
holy see has firmly resolved to transport
itself to the United States, should the
stay in Rorr o become insupportable, it
knows well that neither France nor
Austria could give it asylum without an
almost certain risk of war with Germany.
It is doubtful whether England would
maintain the offer she once made of the
island of Malta, and Spain is too much
disturbed for the pope to think seriously
of refuge there, at least under existing
circumstauces. YVe must not forget
that the saint siege has taken the pre
caution to create a considerable reserve
fund, which would be by no meat a
useless in the states. This reserve does
not count hundreds of millions, as some
papers, unused to calculation, are
pleased to declare, but it amounts to
over forty millions (£1,600,000), and in
creases almost daily.
I have ofien heard this idea broached
in Paris by Ultramon aines, aud there
is every reason to believe the Debats
correspondent to be well informed. It
remaius only to learn how the statesmen
of America will receive the i otion. The
same obvious reasons which have made
England tacitly withdraw her proffered
hospitality will carry their weight over
tlig Atlantic.
How to Eat An Orange.
Always, on a Southern geuUeman’b
table, the dessert of oranges is furnished
widi small silver fruit knives and spoons.
The orarige is held in the napkin—just
asfyou hold an ogg —and with the slender
poiut of the knife a circular incision is
made in the stem-end of the orange,
and the stem-core is nicely taken out,
leaving an orifice large enongh to admit
the egg spoon. The orange is held and
eaten then, just like gourmands eat an
egg in its own shell; and the skill and
grace wi ll which this is done, that is,
without soiling jour litigers or napkin—
are, as iu the same process with the
egg ; a test of good breeding. I have
known the most inexpert pereons to
master the few difficulties in the way
after two or three efforts; and their sat
isfaction was an infinitely pleasant
sight. To hostesses who like to have
their table preserve in some degree, at
the close of an entertainment, the beauty
which dazzle the guests upon entering,
this method is most desirable. Ser
vants—let me put in a plea for the silent
ones whose interests ate too seldom re
garded—are spared the tedious duty of
gathering up the fragments, and guests
who look with dismay at this tempting
apple of the Hesperdies, can thus enjoy
it as they never did before. Only the
delicious nectar of the fruit is eaten
with the more delicate pulp: the tough
fibre—of which, indeed, there is very
little in an orange plucked from the tree
under its own skies—being left in th
shell.
The longevity of toads is again under
discussion, owing to a discovery made
near Orßay. In digging up a garden
some workmen unearthed some terra
cotta vases, which thov at first supposed
to contain treasure. On breaking llietn,
however, two live toads were found clad
in green velvet. This strange attire
showed that they must be at least 200
years old, as an ancient treatise on
magic and demonology mentions that
at the beginning of the seventeenth
oentury sorcerers dressed up toads in
this manner for the achievement of
certain charms.
Speaking about the ladies’ fashions
it is worthy of remark tha there ha,s
been this year a revival of calicoes. It
is sad that Madame Thiers, who now
s-,ts the Paris fashions, instead of the
Empress Eugenie, is respontible for
their restored favor in the fashionable
world.
THE IMPROVED ESOP.
For Intelligent modern Children.
BY BRET HARTE.
I. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.
A thirsty fox one day, in passing
through a vineyard, noticed that the
grapes were hanging in clusters from
vines which were trained to such a
height as to be out of his reach.
“Ah,” said the fox, with a supercili
ous smile, “ I’ve heard of this before.
lu the twelfth century an ordinary fox
of average culture would have wasted
his strength and energy in the vain
attempt to reach yonder sour grapes.
Thanks to my knowledge of vine cul
ture, however, I at once observe that
the great height and extent of the vine,
the drain upon the sap through the in
creased number of tendrils and leaves
must, of necessity, impoverish the grace,
and render it unworthy tbe considera
tion of au intelligent animal. N>t any
for me, thank you.” With these words,
he coughed slightly, and withdrew.
Moral— This fable teaches us that
an intelligent discretion and some bo
tanical knowledge.are of the greatest im
portance in grape culture.
11. THE FOX AND THE STORK.
A fox one day invited a stork to din
ner, but provided for the entertainment
only the first course—soup. This be
ing in a shallow dish, of course the fox
lapped up readily, but the stork, by
means of his long bill was unable to
gain a mouthful.
“ You do not seem fond of soup,”
said the fox, concealing a smile in his
napkin. “ Now, it is one of my greatest
weaknesses.”
“ You certainly seem to project your
self outside of a large quantity,” said
the stork, rising with some dignity and
examining his watch with considerable
eonpressement; “but I have an ap
pointment at eight o’clock which I have
forgotten. I must ask to be excused.
A a revoir. By the way, dine with me
to-morrow.”
The fox assented, arrived at the ap
pointed time, but found, as he fully ex
pected, nothing on the table but a
single long-kneeked bottle, containing
olives, which the stork was completely
extracting by the aid of his long bill.
“ Wny, yon do not seem to eat any
thing,” said the stork, with great nai
vete, when he had finished the bottle.
“No,” said the fox significantly, “I
am waiting for the second course.”
“ YVhat is that?” asked the stork
blandly.
“ Htork stuffed with olives.” shrieked
the fox, in a very pronounced manner,
and immediately dispatched him.
Moral— True hospitality obliges the
host to sacrifice himself for his guests.
111. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB
A wolf, one day, drinking from a run
ning stream, observed a lamb also
drinking from the same stream at some
distance from him.
“I have yet to learn,” said the wolf,
addressing the lamb with dignified se
verity, “what right you have to muddy
the stream from which I am drinking.”
“Your promieoo aro inoorroot,” **o
plied the lamb, with bland politeness,
“for if you will tako the trouble to
examine the current critically, you will
observe that it flows from yon to me,
and that any disturbance of sediment
here would be, so far as you are con
cerned, entirely local.”
“Possibly you are right,” returned
the wolf, “but if I am not mistaken,
you are ihe person who, two years ago,
some influence against me at the
primaries. ”
“Impossible,” replied the iamb; “two
years ago I was not botn.”
“Ah! well,” added tfce wolf, com
posedly, “I am wrong again. But it,
must convince every intelligent person
who has listened to this conversation
that I am altogether insane, and eonse
qneutly not responsible for my actions. ”
With this remark, he at once dis
patched the lamb, and was triumphantly
acquitted.
Moral— This fable teaches us bow
erroneous may be the popular - iniprts
sion in regard to the distribution of
alluvium and the formation of river
deltas.
Josh Billings’ bajinss.
Habits are often az ridikilous az they
are strong ; vu often see folks who kant
pick up a pair of tongs without spitten
on their hands fust.
Very great minds are seldom fully
appreciated bi the age they live in.
It iz easier to get a friend than to
keep one.
Politeness makes all the other accom
plishments eazy and agreeable.
If yu don’t respekt yurseif, how can
yn expekt others to do it for yu ?
It iz very hard to lose sight nv poor
relasbuns, but we often have to hunt
up our rich ones.
Sudden wealth seldum comes by
honesty.
He who kan whistle one tune need
never be entirely lonesome.
The strongest friendships i have ever
notised have bren between thoze who
thought differently, but akted alike.
It iz mighty onsartin what a lazy boy
or a big snaik will amount to.
He who iz afraid ov work iz a koward
in everything else.
If yu are anxious to liekum famous,
yn must be willing to be abuzed.
Lies are not the only things that cum
home to roost; all evel things do.
The experience of life has taught me
that there iz more happiness among the
lowly than the great.
Honesty once lost may be recovered,
but modesty never kan.
Time is a grate physician ; it cures
broken hearts, broken heads and even
broken crockery.
I have alwus sed, and I stick to it yet,
t bat he who repents ov sin iz a stronger
and a safer man than he who don’t
comit it.
Tne slowest time on rekord is skule
time, and the fastest iz sparkin time.
The man who is alwuss prepared for
good or bad luck, and treats them both
alike, is a hero.
I beleave all thoze who have made
themselfs common enemies ov mankind
hav died a violent death.
Take away the fear of the law and 1
had rather liv arming the howling
beasts on the desert than amung man
kind.
He who forgifs another forgifs him
self, for we are all ov us gilly ov about
the same sins.
The obituary notiss of menny an old
man iz only-this: “John Doe, died,
aged ninety-four years.”
Specialtys are what wins in this
wot Id. A jak ov all trades is like a
man with fleas all over him—he is too
bizzy with the fleas to do ennything
well.
You will oftin see grate learning and
folly close together, for he who sees
grate things plainly iz oftin apt to see
little things dimly.
The fear ov the rod iz more powerful
than the use ov it.
Truth iz simple—so simple that the
Phoolish often mistake it for weakness.
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MAY 27, 1875.
“ Happy as a clam,” is a very common
comparison, but it always struck me as
being rather klammy.
If a man could get rid of himself,
solitude would be a good place for many
of them to go to.
The devil always keeps the guide
boards that lead to his dominions fresh
lettered and in good order.
There are no people who get snubbed
oftener than those who are always stick
ing their noses into futurity.
If you expect to win with a lie, you
have got to play it quick.
Mrs. tSiildon’s Lady Randolph.
Macready says in his reminiscences in
speaking < f Mrs. Siddons: Bat who
that had ever seen it could forget her
performance of Lady Randolph? In
the part of Mrs. Beverly the image of
conjugal devotion was set off with every
charm of grace and winning softness.
In Lady Randolph the sorrows of widow
hood and the natural fondness of
the chieftain’s daughter assumed a
loftier demeauor, but still the mother’s
heart sho ced itself above all power of
by conventional control. In
her first interview with Norval, pre
sented as Lord Randolph’s defender
from the assassin, the mournful admira
tion of her look, as she fixed her gaze
upon lrm, plainly told that the tear
which Randolph served to start in her
eye was nature's parental instinct in the
presence of her son. The violence of
her agitation while listening to Old
Norval’s narration of the perils of her
infant, seemed beyond her power longer
to control, and the words, faintly artic
ulated, as if the last effort of a mental
agony, “Was he alive? ’ sent an electric
thrill through tlio audience. In dis
closing the secret of his birth to Norval
and acknowledging herself as his moth
er, how exquisite was the tenderness
with which she gave looso to the indul
gence of her affections. As be knelt
before her she wreathed her fingers in
his hair, parted it from his brow, in
silenoe looking into his features to trace
there the resemblance of the husband
of her love, then dropping on her knees
and throwing her arms around him, she
showered kisses on him, ana again
fastened her eyes on him, repeating
the lines:
“Image of Douglas! Fruit of fatal love!
All that I owo toy sire 1 pay to thee!
Her parting instructions, under the
influence of her fears for her son’s safe
ty, were most affectionately delivered.
When he had fallen under the treacher
ous stab of Glenalvon Bhe had sunk in
a state of insensibility on his body. On
the approach of Randolph and Anna
she begau to recover recollection. To
Randolph’s excuses her short and rapid
reply, “Of thee I think not!” spoke her
indifference and disregard of every
worldly thing beyond the beloved ob
jeot siretched in death before her.
Leaning over him, and gaziug with
despairing fondness on his face, she
spoke out in heartrending tones :
“My son! My son !
My beautiful brave ! Rn !■>**•> <i i
Uf tnee, and or thy valor; my fond heart
O’ertlowed this day with transport when I
thought
Of growing old amidst a race of thine.”
The anguish of her soul seemed at
length to have struck her brain. The
silence of her fixed aud vacant stare
was terrible, broken at last by a loud
and frantic laugh that maeje the hearers
shudder. Hhe then sprang up, and with
a few self-questioning words, indieatitg
her i urpose of self-destruction, hurried
in the wild madness of desperation from
the scene.
Jiao ready.
A reviewer of Macready’s reminis
cences and diaries says : He came into
contact with most of the eminent men
and women of his time, and lived on
intimate teras with n any of them. No
actor since Garrick had so compietely
won a place in what is called society ;
and Maercady had won it by his own
strength and skill. There are innumer
able memoranda of dinners at his own
house during the last twenty year of
his professional life, which, judging by
tbe company assembled, must have
been as agreeable as any then taking
pli ce. He had relations with all the
eminent actors of the century, from
Mi s. Side one and Master Betty down
to Mile. Rachel nud Miss C isbman.
He played young Norval to Mrs. Sid
dons's Lady Randolph, and was c* tiled
into the great actress’s room after the
play to receive some stably but most
benignant and intelligent advice. His
account of the scene sugg. sts to some
trembling young aspirant admitted to a
supernatural interview with the eacreu
Muse iu person. He has a number of
sketches of Elmund Kean, who, ac
cording to his account, played at times
very badly ; and also of the Kembles,
whom he evidently disliked, and con
eerning whom we should say his testi
mony must be takeu with allowance.
Speaking afterwards (very intelligently)
of Mile. Rachel, he sajs that in many
points she was inferior to Miss O’Neil
—a statement that renews one’s regrets
at having been born too late to see this
actress, concerning whose mastery of
the pathetic contemporary evidenoe is
so singularly unanimous. Rut tin re
are some romarks m one of his letters
late in life about Ristori which are
strangely uuappreciative, and which
confirm one’s impression that his own
acting and the acting he admired had
little of the natural realistic quality
that we admire so much nowadajs. We
get a sense, however, that, natural or
not, the English ptage in Macreadj’s
younger jears was in‘some wajs a more
respectable institution than it is now.
The number of provincial theatres was
greater ; small country towns had fie
quent visitations of players ; and tbe
most accomplished actors did not think
it beneath their dignity to play short
or secondary parts. Macready, iu the
fulness of his yoimger reputation,
plajed Friar Lawrence, Prospero, and
Joseph Surface.
A Great Contest Between Bare
back Riders. —Janus R_binson, the
great cbampion bareback rider of the
world, broke his engagement with Wil
son, of Wilson’s California circus, to
ride in San Frauciseo against Charley
Fish, a riding champion fresh from
Europe, for 810,000 a side, aud the gold
diamond studded belt of the world.
Wilson has commenced suit against
RobinsoD, the rider,-for 850,000 dam
ages. Robinson is the favorite with
the San Francisco brokers, who, it is
said, have staked over a half million
dollars on the result.
They aie riding in Montgomery
Queen’s circus aDd menagerie, and. the
great champion will have his hands full
to get away with Fish. The match is
to be decided by vote of the audiences.
No chance for ballot-box stuffing on
this occasion.
An Towa court has decided that it is
not legal for a farmer to lurch his wiie
up witn a rnnie, no matter ha® anxious
hi it" plow.
•‘HKKOME THEY CUil. I WILL. A Sf-
SW*< H.”
BY MADOK CARROLL.
Give me to oat ! O Fattier in Thy (tamers
Tbege'den grain is stored,
Thv purple grapes bang heavy in the vintage.
Toy harvest fie (Is with npomises are scored
To eat, for I so wearily have fasted.
And yet n y Kindred rail on me for bread,
On me, whose harvesting the worm has blosted.
Oa me, with hands in Ueiplesam sa outspread !
Give tre to drink ! O Father, in Thy garden
ri c f cunt ins evc-r flow,
I heart! eir cooing plash :md s-*e them glitter,
Ot, four their fullness cn these sands below—
To drink, I am so weak and faint with goiDg
To broken easterns that can hold no rain.
Then lead me n>gh to that rich oterflowing.
Let my j'arched lips Thy cup .of gladness drain!
So prayed my soul in heaviness of sorrow,
Lo! even as I cri“d
Bread, manna sweet, was broken at my table.
And crjs'al-brimmed the gob'et c’ose beside.
Even ! tx-foie thev call.” is it not written ?
The banquet hall awaits the tiirdy guests,
The fa2nt. tue thirsrv and the famine-smitten
Save but to cry, God’s love outruns the rest,
’ " Aud it shall come to pass that before they call
I will answer; and while they are yet speaking I
will hear,—lsaiah, lxv, 24.
HATTIE HYDE.
I am Hattie Hyde, au old maid, at
least not a young one, and I intend to
remain so.
But I came very near getting married
last spring, and I will tell you how it
happened.
I am thirty five, and not absolutely
ugly—at least, when I look in the glass,
I see reflected there a good fresh com
plexion, sparkling hazel eyes, and an
abundance of brown hair.
I might have married two or three
times, only I wasn’t really in love.
But when Clarence Raymond came
down to spend the vacation with his
aunt—Mrs. Rich ford—l must oonfess
to a little womanly flutter around the
heart, for he was tall and handsome,
and, in short, just the hero of romance
that I had always dreamed about.
“Hattie,” said Mrs. Riehford—we
were quite confidential friends, and
ca led one another Hattie and Pamela,
and borrowed each other’s books, and
all sort of things ; “ Hattie, I think
Clarence rather fancies you.”
“Do you?” sad I, feeling the tell
tale blushes coming into my face, and
my h~arfc began to tbrnmp beneath the
pretty lace tuckers of Valenciennes and
pink ribbon that I had taken to wear
ing every day.
“I am certain of it,” said Mrs. Rich
ford ; “ and how nioo it will be to have
you for a consin.”
“Yes.”
It was very nice to be engaged.
He gave me a lovely cameo ring,
choicer and more autique than any dia
mond could have been.
It had been his mother’s ring, he said,
nml ho repealed the most delicious
poetry, aud vowed that it expressed the
very sentiments of his heart.
Aud we had wanderings in lhe 0001,
fern scented woods, ami I began to
wonder whether l should be married in
white satin or a dove colored traveling
dro-is, ami pink ribbons in my hat.
One evening, ju-t after Clareuee had
ir-MirneG to bis unavoidable engagement
in the city, old Uncle Einatban came to
visit me.
Uncle Eluathan was cue of those per
sons of whom we are apt to ask, “ Why
were they ever created ?”
He was a venerable old gentlemaD,
with long silver hair, that fell over the
collar of his bottle-green coat, and cloth
gaiters that irresistibly reminded one of
a black pussy cat. and he took snuff and
talked through his nose.
“ Harriet,” said Uncle E nathan, “is
this true ?”
“ Is wliat trae, uncle ?”
“All this fol-de-rol about, your being
engaged to a man ten years younger
than yourself. Harriet ! Harriet ! I
thou aht you had better sense.”
“ It’s only five years, uuele,” said 1,
pouting, “and I suppose I have a right
to get engaged without sending to you
for a permit.”
“ Harriet, this is not a subject to be
flippant about,” said Uncle Eluathan.
“ Yon may depend upon it, that this
voung mn is a mere fortune hnnLr.
You have property, Harriet, aud he has
found it out.”
•• Uncle!” I cried, starting up, “I
will not listen tameb to su< h aspersions
up n the character of one who—”
“W-U, my dear, y n needn’t get ex
cited,” raid the in < lerable ol i gentle
man, tapping his hand upon the lid of
his silver snuffbox.
“You are uot a child, Harriet, nor
yet a sentimental school girl. Let’s talk
the matter calmly over.”
“I decline to discuss it, sir,” was
my dignified reply. “My mind is
made up ana no amount of meddling
interference can induce me to alter it.”
“ But aren’t you just a little pert to
wards yonr old Uncle, Hattie ? ”
So my Uncle went away, silver hair,
snuff box, pussy gaiters, and all, and I
sat down to make a memorandum of the
things I should require for my wedding
ontfit. For I had resolved to make an
especial journey to London on that
business.
Ah, the delight of reveling over
couuters full of choice, filmy laces,
billows of bridal silk, oceans of tulle!
it brought the color to my cheeks only
to think of it.
Aud besides, was it not necessary
that Clarence’s wife should have all
that custom required?
I didn’t care for myself so much,
but I was determined not to disgrace
Clarence.
So one radiant September day, when
the sky was as blue as blue ribbon, and
the very leaves hung motionless in the
yellow atmosphere, like ships at another
on a sea of gold, I took the early train
from C with a purse full of money,
buttoned in an under pocket of my
polonaise.
I had read all sorts of horrid stories
about pickpockets, and didn’t mean to
part with my bank notes except for
value received.
I felt a little fluttered at first, and
scarcely ventured to look around me,
for it seemed that everydody mast know
that I was going to London to buy my
wedding outfit.
If I attempt to tell yon anything about
the adventures of that day I know I
shall not succeed.
Women could perhaps understand
how I felt in that fairy land of those
great eireles of fashion that exist only
in London—glittering halls where the
poor sewing girl or the laborer’s wife
are treated with as much consideration
and respect as the millionaire’s lady oi
the young damsel who can’t get on a
glove for the diamond ring on her fin
ger.
I bought the wedding dress, white
rep siik and a veil of tulle, suspended
from a garland of orange blossoms, and
I selected a blue Bilk, and a peach col
ored silk, and a maroon silk, and dear
me! what is the use of cataloguing them
all?
Other girls have been brides elect be
fore me, and they all know just liuw it
all was.
And as for those who haven’t, just let
them wa’t until their turn cornea,
And then as the sun began to decline
on its western way, I felt excessively
and unromacttcallv hungry.
“Is there a nice ladies’dining-room
near here?” I asked.
One of the shopmen went with me to
the door to point out a glittering estab
lishment, with its windows full of hot
house fruits, and morsels of paces and
delicately tinted cakes.
Dear me ! London is the place to
feel one’s insignificance.
I do not think that I, Hattie Hyde,
ever felt so email in the whole course of
my life as I did walking over the floor
of M. Rechamier’s Parisian restaurant,
with a waiter running on before to point
out a marble table sparkling with cut
glass and silver, aud another following
on behind carrying my traveling-bag
and paraeol ; while an elegant French
man, curled and perfumed, stood in the
middle of the deor bowing as if he
were under eternal obligations to me
for so much as coming in his establish
ment.
I sat down, feeling much as if I were
an imposter, venturing meekly to look
around a little after the waiter had sim
mered away.
Then, for the first time, I noticed a
superbly-dressed young lady one or two
tables beyond, in a lovely hat. with a
long, lilac willow plume, and hair like
a shower of gold.
“Oh, how pretty she is,” thought L
“How proud her lover must be of
her. ”
I leaned the least bit in the world
forward, to see the young man in ques
tion.
Good heaven !
It was Clarenoe.
And as I sat staring, completely con
cealed from his view by the golden hair
and the lilac willow plume, I could hear
his light, peculiar laugh.
“You wouldn’t have me yourself,
Kate,” said he ; “ you have only your
self to blame for it.”
“ That’s no reason you should throw
yourself away,” pouted the lady.
“ She’s a desperate old maid.” said
Clarence, “ as old as the hills and twice
as antiquated. But she’s got the money.
A man in my position has got to look
out for your money, you know, Kate.
Would you like to see her photograph ?”
“ And then the two heads were close
together for an instant, and the young
lady’s rippling laugh miDgled with
Clarence’s mellower tones.
“The idea of carrying such a thing
next to your heart!” said she.
“It does seem rather outrageous,
don’t it ? said he. “ Bnt when we are
married all that sort of thing will be
over. I’ll see that she finds her level.”
Yes, when ! thought I, now thorough
ly disenchanted.
And I got up and hurried out of the
restaurant, nearly stumbling over a
tray, a dish of oysters and a cup of
ooffee.
“I—l’ve changed my mind,” said I,
flinging a f overeign toward him. “Never
mind those oysters. ”
I took the next train to C , and
wrote a scratching note to Clarence the
same evening.
Do you want to know what was in it ?
Of course, Jike all women’s letters,
the best part of it was in the postscript:
“ Oar engagement is at an end.
H. H.”
“P. S- The next time you examine
ladies’ photographs in a crowded res
taurant, it might be well to examine
your neighbors,”
Clarence had some sense after all.
He never oame Dear me with useless
apologies.
I gave the wedding drees to little
Dorothy Miller, who was to be married
in October, and couldn’t afford a trous
seau.
I suppose I shall wear out the bine
and the peach color and the maroon in
time.
Oh, I forgot to say that Mrs. Rieh
ford was very angry.
It seemed that Clarence had prom
i-ed to pay her a hundred pounds that
he had borrowed of her when he got
hold of my money.
Aid lam thaukful from the bottom
' f my heart that I still remain Hattie
Hyde.
X Portrait of Pocahontas.
The Richmond (Va ) Journal says:
Doctor James Beale has deposited in
the state library a portrait of the Indian
prii cess Pocahontas to whom many of
our leading Virginia families trace their
origin, which was painted in 1830 by the
elder Sully from the original portrait in
the possession of the Bolling family.
This portrait makes Pocahontas a very
pretty woman of about twenty years of
age, and clothed in the upper crust tog
gery prevalent in the nation of her
father, King Powhatan. A copy of this
portrait is published in the “History of
the Indian Tribes,” now in the state
library among those of one hundred and
twenty other distinquished aboriginals
taken from the Indian gallery of the
department of war at Washington. The
portrait deposited by Dr Beale is an
exact copy by the elder Sully, made in
1830, of an original portrait of Poca
hontas, painted bstween the years 1016
and 1617, daring her visit to England,
in company with her husband, John
Rolfe. The remains of the original
portrait were in 1843 in possesion of Dr.
Thomas Robinson, in Petersburg, Vir
ginia. Mr. R. M. Sully, the artist in
trusted with the duty of ri producing
the {ortrait, took great pains and per
fectly succeeded in his undertaking.
Thomas Rolfe, son of Pocahontas, was
Porn at Plymouth, England, in 1616.
soon after his mother arrived there, and
his mother died in Gravesend in 1617.
Her son, after his arrival at man’s estate,
returned to Virginia and marriod, and
died, leaving an only child, John Bol
ling, whose daughter, Jane, married
Richard Randolph, of Curies, in the
county of Henrioo, state of Virgi ia.
Ryland Randolph, sou of the latter, pro
cured from England the origiual por
traits of John Rolfe and Pocahontas and
placed them where they hung for many
years in his mansion at Tnckey Island.
Mr. Randolph died in 1781, when both
pictures passed into the possession of
Thomas Bolling, of Cobbs, in Chester
field county. These pictures are named
in an enumeration of the estate of Mr.
Randolph recorded in Henrico oounty
court in 1784.
How sweet is a perfect understanding
between man and wife. He was to
smoke cigars when be wanted them, but
he was to give her ten cents every time
he indulged m one. He kepi his word,
and every time she got fifty cents ahead
be’d borrow it and buy cigars. And so
they weie happy.
Kino Lons, of Bavaria, is the pet of
lady newspapf r correspondents, who go
into ecstacies over h’m by the column.
His mustache is blonde, his voice a
light tenor, and his character so blame
less as fully to account for the tbeoiy
entertained in less moral courts that he
is not quite sane.
Going to the Dentist.
I like to oome across a man with the
toothache. There’s something so pleas
ant about advising him to stuff cotton
in it, to use camphor, creosote, pepper
mint, and “ relief,” that I always feel
better after giving it.
I have been there—bad an aching
snag, and I know just how it feels. It
used to wake me up at night and make
me mad at noon, and set me to swear
ing early in the morning.
I didn’t meet man or woman bnt what
they advised me. One said that a hot
knitting needle pnshed down on the
root was excellent; another said that
opium was an excellent thing; and
others said that it must be dug out by
the dentist.
If I sat down to dinner that old tooth
began to growl. If I went to bed, or
got up, or went to a party, or stayed at
home, it growled just the same.
It wasn’t always a growl. Sometimes
it was a jump that made my hair stand
up,and again a sort of cutting pain that
made me make np faces at the baby,
slam doors and break windows. I ate
cotton, peppermint, camphor and opium
until I got black in the face, and that
old soDg kept right on. I put bags of
hot ashes to my cheek, applied must
ard, held my head in the oven, took a
sweat, and the ache still ached.
After the third week neighbors didn’t
desire to let their boys pass my house,
and hawkers and book canvassers went
round another street. I was becoming
a menagerie, and at la6t I decided to
have my tooth out. I decided to, and
then I decided not to. I changed my
mind four times in cue afternoon, aud
at last I went.
The dentist was glad to see me. He
said that if he conld not take the tooth
out without hurting me he would give
me a million.
It got easier as he talked, and I con
cluded not to have it pulled. I started
down stairs, but a jump caught me, and
I rushed back. He said he would look
at it; perhaps it did not need pulling
at all, but he could kill the nervu.
By dint of flattery he got me in the
chair. Then he softly inserted a knife
and out away the gums. I looked up
and said I would kill him, but he beg
ged me not to—said the cutting wrs all
the pain there was in it. He finally got
me to lie back and open my month, and
then he slipped in his forceps, and closed
them round the tootn.
“ Ohsordordonborosoforsor !" I cried.
But he dind’t pay any attention to it.
He drew in a full breath, grasped the
forceps tightly, and then he pulled.
Great spoons ! but didn’t it seems as
if my head was going ! I tried to shout,
grasped at him, kicked, aud then he
held up the old snag, and said :
“ There, I guess you won’t feel any
more aching.”
I leaped down nud hugged him. I
promised him ten millions ; I told him
to make my home his house fori ver ; I
hugged him again. I shook hands with
everybody in the street, k.ssed ruv wife,
bought the baby a dozen rattle boxpu in
bc r , nua n see men to me as if the
world was too small for me, 1 was bo
happy.
How the Ladies Assist tlie London Re
vivalists.
M sirs. Moody and Sankey, the re
vivalisis who have succeeded in awaken
ing such grand religious demonstrations
in England, despite the protests of some
of the eminent divines, both Catholic
and Protestant, are receiving efficient
aid in their work from the devout women
of London. Tney do not mount the
public rostrum, bnt go about the city
distributing tracts and organizing com
mittees for “house-to-house” visitations.
By their constant labors in this direction
the crowds that have attended the
preachings of the American revivalist
and his co-worker have gradually in
creased since their advent into the great
metropolis. The ladies conduct monster
tea-meetings for the poor. The latter
are thus gathered together in large
numbers, and it is comparatively easy
then to persuade them that their souls
need the evangelical tutelage of Messrs.
Moody and Sankey. This may seem
somewhat ladicrous, but it is said that
without these tea-drinkings not even
Mr. Moody can attract the sinners in the
south and east of London. “Certain it
is,” says a correspondent, “that in the
north, where as yet there has been no
tea-drinking, the attempt of the evangel
ists to reach down to the masses has
been thus far futile.” The principle
involved in this tea-drinking expedient
may be suggestive of pood to the revi
valists on this side of the waters.
The American Centennial Thrown in
the Shade.
The Japanese have just been celebrat
ing the 2,535 th anniversary of the Ris
ing Sun in grand style. Jimmu Tenno,
the first emperor, was the fifth in de
scent from the Sun-goddess, Ten Sho
Dai Jin, and the present mikado claims
unbroken descent from him. The na
tional celebration was heightened in in
terest by the fact that during the pre
vious year Japan had emerged so
gloriously iu success and honor from
the Formosan affair.
Then an imperial princess had been
born, thus preserving tbe line of twenty,
five centures. Finally, the day marked
the seventh year of the restoration of
the mikado to ancient power, after the
military usurpation of 670 years, and
the fact that the country oould now
boast at once of a true nationality, a
united purpose, a settled government
and amicable foreign relations. To cap
the climax of their joy, the English and
French soldiers that had been stationed
on the soil of Japau since 1863 were to
be removed February 15 th.
Even the tycoon, from his exile in
Shidzouka, comes forth to help on the
national joy and prosperity ; for Keiki,
as the last tycoon is called, though
politically the quandom head of a hoary
usurpation, is personally an accom
plished and benevolent gentleman, who
rejoices in his country’s welfare, and, to
prove it, has presented to one of the
public libraries, in Tokio, 1,000 works,
many of them rare and very valuable,
comprising many thonHand volumes.
Protection From Frost. —To pre
vent frost from injuring fiuit blosson s
in orohards and vineyards, a few hour n
preparation, in having on hand a supply
of wet and dry sawdust, shavings, leaves,
or straw, with a good thermometer in
dicates the approach of frost. Then,
with a cart, small heaps of dry leaves
are deposited about the orchard or
vineyard and set on fire. Immediately
aftrr. each heap set on fire is covered
with wet leaves, causing it to evolve one
enormous volume of smoke, which at
once settles in clouds over tbe orchard,
ft:us all around, but especially on the
windward side, the heavy o.cud of smoke
effectually prevents the frost from kill
ing the fruit blossoms. In Peiu the
viueyaids *te thus planted high upon
the And***
SAYINGS AND DOINGS.
If you want to get a boy i*to th
habit of walking lop-sided let him havi
a pistol-pocket in his trousers.
A kind-hearted, peace-loving Balti
more man painted his front steps twenty ■
three times trying to get a color to suit
his wife, and then she decided that the
f rat color was the best.
He was a rich American in Paris who
ciscovered that an unpleasant-looking
fellow followed him every day from
norning till night. He became un
easy and diplomatic inquiry was made
whether the man who watched was oon
rected with the polioe. Asa result of
nuch negotiation the unpleasant per
son was arrested, and proved to be a
catherer of bats of cigars. The rich
American smoked only famous brands
and smoked them only half up, and it
paid to follow him.
M. de la Bastte having made glass
elastic and malleable by plunging it
when heated into an oil bath, two Sile
san experimenters have turned their
ingenuity to the opposite extreme, and
hve recently discovered a method of
making glass so hard and unyielding
that it can neither be bent nor broken,
and may be plunged, red hot into cold
water without injury. Indestruotible
lamp-chimneys and window-panes that
defy snow-balls are among the least
of the advantages expected from this
invention.
The Milwaukee News has heard from
Old Bliffkins again. This time he has
bfien in terrible trouble. He went to a
wedding the other evening, leaving his
young wife at home. At about two
o’, flock in the morning he started for
his mansion with a pretty good supply
of whisky and champagne in him, and
as he entered the front door, muttering
to himself, “ Two sonls (hie) wiz buzzer
single thought,” a tall figure in white
nabbed him by the collar and jumped
him into the back room, and a sweet
voice said, “ Stop your noise, or Fll
knock the poetry out of you !” And
then Bliff knew it was his wife, and be
leaned np against the ooal-stove and
wept that he ever attended a wedding
of any description.
How many poor women there have
been and are, whose pathetic story is
told in those ten homely lines :
Here lies an old woman who always was tired,
For she lived in a house where help wasn’t
hired.
He r last words on earth were, “ Dear friends,
I am going
Where BweepiDg ain’t done, nor chnrning, nor
sewing.
And everything there will be just to my
wishes.
For where they don’t eat there’s no washing of
dishes.
I’ll be where the loud anthems will always be
ringing.
But, haring no voice. I’ll get rid of the sing
ing.
Dcn’t mourn for me now, and don’t mourn for
me never,
For I’m going to do nothing for ever and
ever.’
Mark Twain is credited with the fol
lowing description of the “ Washington
monument,” as seen from the dome of
the capltol : *' cstui in Uie aietaui*?, vut
or this side of the water, and close to
itr. c4([o, *Vi Tramimenfc to the father of
his country towers out of tne imm—
sacred soil is ;he customary term, it
lies the aspect of a factory chimney with
the top broken off. The skeleton of a
decaying scaffolding lingers about its
summit, and tradition says that the
sprit of Washington often comes down
ar and sits on those rafters to enjoy this
tribute of respect which the nation has
reared as the symbol of its unappeas
al tie gratitude. * The monument is to be
finished some day, and at that time our
Washington will have risen still higher
in the nation’s veneration, and Will be
k?iown as the great-great-grandfather of
his country. The memorial chimney
stands in a quiet, pastoral locality, tuat
is full of reposeful expression. With a
glass you can see the cow sheds about
it base, and the contented sheep nib
b’ing pebbles in the desert solitudes
that surround it, and the tired pig-4
and >zing in the holy calm of its protect
irg shadow.”
It is singular the influence a stove
pipe has upon a married man. There
is nothing in this world he respects so
much. A passing load of furniture
miy in its general appearance, be so
grotesque as to call forth the merriment
of the thoughtless young, but if there
is a piece of stove-pipe in it no larger
than a hat, he will not laugh. We
don’t care who the man is, how he has
bten brought up, what his position,
wealth or influence, there is that about
a length of stove-pipe which takes hold
u]K>n his very soul with a force that is
helpless to resist. And the married
man who can stand within reaching die
ts nee of the stove pipe without feeling
h s heart throb ; his hands clinch, his
hdr raise and his throat grow dry and
husky, is an anomily which does not
e:ust. Stovepipe has only one
ingredient and that is contrari
ness. It is the most perverse article
in existence. It has done more to cre
ate heartache, embitter lives, break np
homes and scrape off skin than all
other domestic articles together. The
other domestic screw-driver pales its
ineffectual fires in the presenoe of a
8/Ove-pipe, and the family hammer
just paws in the dust and weeps. We
don’t care how much pains are taken to
remember and keep in order the links,
they will not -me together as they
cime apart. This is not a joke, this is
not exaggeration; itis simply the solemn,
heaven-born truth. If we appear un
duly excited in this matter we are sorry
for it, but we cannot help it. We can
not write upon the subject at all with
out feeling the blood tingle at our very
fingers’ ends.
Don’t Eat Save When Hungry.
Dr. Hall declares unhesitatingly that
it is wrong to eat withont an appetite,
for it shows there is no gastric juice in
the stomach, and that nature does not
need food; and not needing it, there be
ing no fluid to recieve and act upon it,
ih remains there only to putrify, the
very thought of which should be suf
ficient to deter any man from eating
without an appetite for the remainder
cf his life. If a tonic is taken to whet
the appetite, it is a mistaken course,
for its only result is to cause one to eat
nore, when already an amount has
l*een eaten beyond what the gastrio juice
is able to prepare. The object to be ob
tained is a larger supply of gastric juice,
not a larger supply cf food; and what
ever fails to accomplish that essential
c-bjeot fails to have any efficiency to
ward the cure of dyspeptic diseases.
The formation cf gastric juices is di
r9stly proportioned to the wear and tear
of the system, which it is to be the means
of supplying, and this wear and tear
can omy take place asThe result of ex
ercise. The efficient remedy for dys
pepsia is work-—out-door work—benefi
cial and successful in direct proportion
ai it Is agreeable, interesting aud profit
able,