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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,