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THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
A • IQ AjRSCH ALK ) 37 * n .
W. A. ITIAKNCHALK,/ nd Proprietors.
t'KDICK TIIK CORN BLOSSODI!*.
Fu’l twenty glad and golden year* are gone
Since in a strange, sweet-melling country dawn,
My Mtile love and I went band in band
Across Youth’s gold and rose-illumined land.
The wild nastirtinnDß glimmered, red and gay,
And wove a crimson network round our way,
As laughing, loitering idly through the morn,
We plucked the bending blossoms of the corn.
nine were my little sweetheart’s down-bent eyes,
B ue like the beauty of the broad, bowed skies,
And in her cheeks, where dimples twain had grown,
A rare red rose had exquisitely blown.
"’o caught the flash of many a quick-winged bird ;
The glim,long leave* by wandering airs were stirred,
And of their touch a solemn tucc was born
That echoed, through the alleys of the corn.
Still on across that strange, still land we strayed ;
We dropped into the birch-wood’* bordering shade ;
Afar we saw the blue corn-tassels toss ;
About our feet soft swelled the cushioned moss.
Hr golden hair about her face was blown;
The golden meadows round about ns shone,
As. laughing, loitering, idly through the morn,
I wove the gathered blossoms of the corn.
Ob, golden day ’ brimful of love and prafse!
ft stands alone the ancient Day of Days !
No other sky. no future flowers can be
As were the sky the flowers, that day to me!
I placed my wreath of corn-flowers on her head,
And then some words of tender troth I said,
And then T read my answer in her eves
And kissed her lips, sweet with Dove’s shy replies.
ITcjpieward we walked along the warm wood-way 1
With sportive laugh and jest our lips cr ’ gay !
And when 1 left her lingering at her dcor,
About ter brows my corn-flower wreatu she wore !
Thrice rose the moon! Thrice had the wan sub set!
wteu one mad morning, wild with wind ana wef,
I'pon her grave, with manv a sob forlorn,
I laid the withered blossoms of the corn !
BENEDICT ARNOLD’S TREASON.
A New mini Important Contribution to
Our Revolutionary History.
The following account of the plot of
Arnold to surrender his command and
several important forts to the British,
and of the bartering of Andre, written
by Sir Henry Clinton, the British com
mander, with whom Arnold was nego
tiating, has recently been published,
for the first time :
“ About eighteen months before the
present period, Mr. Arnold, (a major
general in the American service) had
found means to intimate to me, that
having fonnd cause to be dissatisfied
with manv late proceedings of the Amer
ican of>ugress, particularly their alliance
with France, he was desirous of quitting
them and joining the oause of Great
Britain, could he bo certain of personal
security, and indemnification for what
ever loss of property he might thereby
sustain. An overture of that sort com
ing from an officer of Mr. Arnold’s
abilitv and fame, could not but attract
my attention, and as I thought it pos
sible that like another general, Monk,
he ra’ght have repented of the part he
had taken, and wished to make atone
ment, for the injuries he had done his
country by rendering her s'gual and
adequate benefit, T was, of course, lib
eral, in making him such offers and
promises as I judged most likely to en
courage him in bis present temper. A
correspondence was after this opened
under fe’gued names ; in the course of
which, he from time to time, transmitted
to me most material intelligence ; and
with a view (as I supposed) of render
ing ns shill more pooonHi o©, no
obtained in July, 1780, the command of
all the enemy’s forts in the highlands,
then garrisoned by about four thousand
men. The local importance of the post
has already been very fully described.
It is, therefore, scarcely necessary to
observe how that the obtaining pos
session of them at the present critioal
period would have been a most desir
able circumstance ; and that, the advan
tages to be drawn from Mr. Arnold’s
having the command of them, struck
me with full force, the instant I heard
of his appointment. But the arrival of
the French arnaameut, the conseouent
expedition to Rhode Island, and the
weakness of mv own force, together
with the then daily increase of Mr.
Washington’s, obliged me to wait for
some more favorable opportunity before
I attempted to put that gentleman’s
sincerity to the proof.
“In the meantime, wishing to reduce
to an absolute certainty whether the
person I had so long corresponded with
was actually Maj. Gen. Arnold, com
manding at West Point, I acceded to a
proposal he made me to permit some
otlicer in my confidence to have a per
sonal conference with him, where every
thing might be more explicitly settled
than it was possible to do by letter, and
as he required that my adjutant general,
Major Andre (who had chiefly con
ducted the correspondence with him
under the signature of John Anderson),
should meet him for this purpose on
neutral ground, I was induced to con
sent to his doing so from my great con
fidence in that officer’s prudence and
address. Some attempts towards a
meeting had been accordingly made be
fore Sir George Rodney’s arrival. But
though the plans had been well laid,
they were constantly frustrated by some
untoward accident or other, one of which
toi l very nearly cost Mr. Arnold his
life. These disappointments made him,
of course, cautious: and as I now became
anxious to forward the execution of my
project while I could have that naval
chtjfi’s assistance, and under so good a
maflras the expedition for the Chesa
peake, which enabled me to make every
requisite preparation without being sus
pected, I consented to another proposal
from General Arnold for Major Andre to
go to him by water from Dobb's ferry,
iu a boat which he would himself send
for him under a flag of truce. For I
could have no reason to snepect that
anv bad consequence could possibly re
sult to Maj, Andre from snob a mode,
as I had given it in o arge to him, not
change his dress or name ou anv ac
count, or possess himself of writings by
which the nature of his embassy might
be traced, and I understood that after
his business was finished he was to be
sent back in the same wav. Bat unhap
pily none of these precautions were
ob-erveJ ; on the contrary. General
Arnold, for reasons which he judged
important or perhaps (which is the most
probable) losing at the moment his
T r?sence> of mind, thought proper to
drop the design of sending Major Andre
•'aok by water, and prevailed u xon him
(or rather compelled him, as wou’d ap
pear by (hat unfortunate officer’s letter
to me,) to part with his uniform, and
under a borrowed di'gti'se to take a
circuitous route to New York through
the posts of the enemy under the sanc
tion of his passport. The consequence
was (as might be expected) that he was
stopped at Tarry town and seirched, and
certain papers beiDg found about him
concealed, he was (notwithstanding his
Passport) carried prisoner before Mr.
Washington, ho whom he canaidlv ac
knowledged his name ana quality.
Measures were of course immediately
taken upon this to seize Gen. Arnold ;
but that officer, being fortunate enough
to receive timely notice of Major An
dre’s fate, effected his escape to a King’s
sloop Bing off T iter's point, and came
the next day to New York.
“I w-.s exceedingly shocked by this
Vp ry unexpected accident, which not
°nly ruined a most important project,
had all the appearance of being
a happy train of sucoees, but in-
volved in danger and distress a confi
dential friend for whom I had (very de
servedly) the warmest esteem. Not
immediately knowing, however, the fall
extent of the misfortune, I did not then
imagine the enemy could have any mo
tive for pushing matters to extremity,
as the bare detention of so valuable an
officer’s person might have given him a
great power and advantage over me ;
and I was accordingly in hopes that ars
official demand from me for his imme
mediate release, as having been under
the sanctian of a flag of truce when he
landed within his posts, might shorten
his captivity or at least stop his pro
ceeding with rigor against him. But
the cruel and unfortunate catastrophe
convinced me that I was much mistaken
in my opinion of both his policy and
humanity. For delivering himself up
(ae it should seem) to the rancoor ex
cited by the near accomplishment of a
plan which might have effectually re
stored the king’s authority, and tumbled
him from his present exalted situa
tion, he burnt with a desire of wreaking
his vengeance on the principal actors in
it; and consequently regardless of the
acknowledged worth and abilities of the
amiable young man who had thus fallen
into his hands, and in opposition to
every principle of policy and call of
humanity, he without remorse, pnt him
to a most ignominious death, and this,
at a moment when one of his generals
was by his own appointment in actual
conference with commissions, whom I
had sent to treat with him for Major
Andre’s release.
“ The manner in which Major Andre
was drawn to the enemy’s shore (mani
festly at the instance and under the
sanction of the general officer who had
the command of the distriot), and his
being avowedly compelled by that
officer to change his dress and name,
and return under his passports by land,
were circumstances which, as they
much lessen the imputed criminality of
his offense, ought at least to have
softened the severity of the council of
war’s opinion respecting it, notwith
standing his imprudence of having pos
sessed himself of the papers which they
found on him ; which, though they led
to a discovery of the nature of the busi
ness that drew him to a conference with
Gen. Arnold, were not wanted (as they
must have known) for my information.
For they were not ignorant that I had,
myself, been over every part of the
ground on which the forts stood, and
had, of coarse, made myself perfectly
accqnainted with everything necessary
for facilitating an attack of them. Mr.
Washington ought also to have remem
bered that I had never, in one instance,
punished the disaffected colonists
(within my power) with death, but on
the contrary, had in several, shown the
mo3t humane atttention to his interces
s;on even in favor of avowed spies.
His acting therefore in so cruel a man
ner in opposition to my earnest solici
tations could not but excite in me the
greatest surprise; especially as no ad
vantage whatever could be nossiblv ex
peered to his cause bv putting the
object of them to death. Nor could he
be insensible (had he the smallest spark
of honor in his own heart) that the
example (though ever so terrible and
ignominious) would never deter a Brit
ish officer from treading in the same
steps, whenever the service of his
country would require his exposing
himself to the like danger in such a
war. But the subject affects me too
deeply to proceed—nor can my heart
cease to bleed whenever I reflect on the
very unworthy fate of this most amiable
and valuable young man, who was
adorned with the rarest endowments of
education and nature, and (had be
lived) could not but have attained to
the highest honors of his profession.”
Actresses’ Husbands.
The Baltimore American has this to
say of actresses’ husbands : There are
two kinds—thj stage husband, always
shifting, transitory and illusive, and
the real husband, whose situation is
permanent or transient according to
circumstances. The former is the ser
vant and the latter the master. The
stage husband’s business is to exploit
the newspaper offices in advance of the
actress’s arrival, and to work up a sen
sation beforehand. He comes to you
with praiseful extracts from the Bugle
town Hornblower of Freedom, from
which he begs that you will mawe brief
extracts for publication. He has an
abiding conviction of her greatness,
and speaks of her in reverential fash
ion. You almost expect him to make
an Oriental salaam every time he men
tions her name. He never bears the
same name, for she is almost invari
ably a “Miss.” At night he is in the
front of the theatre, skilfully directing
the applause, motioning the claqueurs
with a wink, and seeing that the bo
queta are handed up all right. He
lasts for two or perhaps three seasous,
and then wo see him v no more, fading
away as imperceptibly as Da Santy in
Dr. Holmes’ poem with “a hartshorn
odor of disintegration,” while—
“ Drops of deliquescence gathered on his fore
head.
Whitened around his feet the dust of effl >res-
cene.”
The real husband is a different sort
of a fellow. Usually the unlucky ac
tress marries him in haste for love and
repents in leisure within six months
afterwards. The ladies of the dramatic
profession—we mean those who have
attained fame and prosperity are
shrewd enough iu ordinary affairs, but
they do frequently get most wretchedly
deceived when they consent to go up to
the matrimonial altar. Perhaps the
ban which Pharisaic il society lays upon
them has much *o do with their rash
ventures iu this direction. They take
the best they can get, and the best is
often very bad. There have been a
great many actresses of pure life and
noble natures who have literally united
themselves to bodies of death. The
real husband is usually a tyrannous
and gorgeous creature. He has secured
a support for life through the earnings
of his wife, and he makes the most of
it. lie swells and struts, lives like a
nabob and labors not at all, while the
gifted woman whom we are all admiring
as we sit in front of the curtain is toil
ing for him, and distracted half the
time for lear that some of his escapades
will bring her into disgrace. It occa
sionally, but rarely, happens that she
has spirit enough to cast him off, and
then the chances are that he will take
his revenge in impugning her good
name, and a charitable world will be
lieve all that he says.
By an order from the post-office de
partment, separate pouches for regis
tered letters will roon be placed on all
the principal mail routes in the country.
This will be invaluable assistance to
the mail robbers. Heretofore they have
been obliged to carry off bags of imre
mnnerative letters, and with much care
and toil fish out the letters that had
mosey in them,
ANNIE’S DAUQIITKHi
BY LOUIS CHANDLEB MOULTON.
The lingering charm of a dream lhat has fled,
The echo that lives when the tnne is dead,
The sunset glories that follow the sun.
The taste that remains when the wine is done,
Everything tender, and everything fair
That was. and is not and yet is there—
I think of them all when I look in thane eyes,
And 866 the old smile to the young lips rise,
I remem her the lilacs, all pnrple and white
ind the turf at the fret of my heart’s delight
Fpaneled daises and violets Rweet
Daintiest floor for the daintiest feet—
And the fae that was fond, and foolish and fair,
And the golden grace of the floating hair.
And the lips where the glad smiles came and went.
And the lashes that shaded the eyes’ content.
I remember the pledge of the red yonng lips,
And the shy, soft touch of the finger-tips,
And the kisses I stole and the words we spoke,
And the ring I gave, and the coin we broke.
And the love that nevtr shou and change or fail
Though the earth stood stili or the stars turned
pale;
And again I stand when T see these eyes,
A glad young fool, in my Paradise.
For the earth and the stars remained as of old,
But the love that ha t been so warm gr-n- odd.
Was it she ? Was it I ? I don’t remembe. :
Then It was June—lt is now December.
But again I dream the old dream over.
My Annie is youn, and I am her lover.
When I look in this Annie’s gentle > ye’,
And see the old smile to the yor.ng bps rise.
THE NORTH POLE.
How the Mu'erv ot the Open Sea has
Fascinated Kings and Sailors.
Apropos of the splendid expedition
England has almost got ready for an
other essay in those frozen waters
where lie buried so many good ships,
and the bones of so many dauntless
mariners, it may be neither unprofitable
nor uninstructive to go back to the
earliest days of the old world’s hunt
for the mysterious ocean, and trace step
by step every effort made by skill and
seieccs to solve the problem when skill
and science were scarcely more than a
blind belief in fate, a desperate hardi
hood, and a superstitious longing for
the invisible that no peril would de
stroy, and no danger or privation make
rational or discreet.
What is the mystery of the north
pole ? Wherein lies the secret of that
terrible fascination it has had for the
bravest, the gentlest, and the tenderest
of earth ? And in using these terms
reverently one should also use we
verse :
“Ah! soldier to your honored rest,
Your truth aud valor bearing ;
The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.”
In the sauds of the open sea, it is not
claimed that there is auy gold. Long
ago the eastern world found surer and
safer passage-way to the western.
Navigation has no interest there. As
tronomy there to be made satisfactory
would first have to get acclimated, and
to get acclimated is eveutnally to get
banishment. Electricity has much
business there, but electricity in places
where all science and encouragement
are, is so little known about the
heart that even the most quixotic of
advocates would also have to be insane
to seek its secrets in the extremities.
Geography has no obscure point that
till a nnrtK polo o moLo I>io*
covery is arbirtrary and belongs en
tirely to the unknown, and it is amid
those occult forces and philosophies of
the unknown that the world must seek
for the true solution of whatever of in
fluence the insatiable yearning to find
the north pole and the open sea about
it, have exercised upon every civilized
nation of modern times.
It is easy to understand the person
nel of the undertakings. The .sea
makes adventurers. Wherever there is
nature there are also heroes. Immen
sity and reverence are synonymous ter
rors, and to be reverent is to be daunt
less. “He prayeth best who lovetli
best,” is a sea term. “God and the
sea,” is another. “God made the sea
and the devil made the land,” is an
other. “ Never abuse the sea ; for God
loves the sea,” is another ; but what do
admiralty boards and navy departments
know about all this ? These be the
things who furnish the money for the
cruisers made year after year into the
northern ocean, and these be the cold,
hard, dry, logical and mathematical
things who are supposed to have about
them neither poetry nor beautiful
prose, and who want to know all the
whys and wherefores of a voyage be
fore a yard is manned or an ensign run
up at the fore.
Would readers also like to know
something about what heroes and navi
gators have tried to do in the days past,
to reach ihe unknown and make plain
its mysteries, and how, generation after
generation, true men have sailed, and
died, and been forgotten ? It has been
three centuries since a celebrated old
English navigator declared tbat“tbeonly
great thing left to be done in this world
of ours was the discovery of the north
western passage to India.”
It has not yet been discovered in this
year of our Lord, 1875. Although Eng
land was the first nation to make the
attempt to discover the northwest pas
sage, she is also the last up to this
time that is still hanging on to the
perilous and nncertian trail.
The first voyage made in the direc
tion of the North Pole of which there is
any record, was made in the reiarn of
the English king, Alfred. The Vene
tians were then the first maritime
people in Europe. Tney traded with
India, but it was by land. They had
absolute possession of the Mediteranean
sea. It was a sea of fire to any English
or French vessel. If it ventured in it
was burnt and its crew sold into the
most abject slavery. King Alfred
wanted to get to the east and to avoid
the pirates at one and the same time,
and so he begau to hunt for a northeast
passage. Ho gave a commission to
Simon Otko to take command of “the
good ship Adelgitha.” and to sail into
unknowu seas, to discover nnknown
lands, and to take possession of them
“for the gloyre of God, the honor of
his kinge, and the publique goode of
his eountrie.”
Simon Otho sailed, fell in with a
Danish pirate, and got from him the
information that in about latitude fifty
live degrees north, he would find a sea
that washed the northern shores of
England and A ia. Bat this sea was
the Baltic. He ran his ship on a rock
in the midst of it, now known as Fal
s erborn reef, and got off only after
great exertion. Nothing, however,
came of the voyage, as nothing could
come of it.
After Otho came the sea-rovers of the
north. They first discovered Iceland
and named it Snowland, and in the
ninth century it was colonized by them.
From Iceland a colony poured into
Greenland, occupied it. had a civiliza
tion there that is now extinct, and
finally passed away. Before it did,
however, it discovered through its bold
sea-rovers, both Newfoundland and
Nova Scotia.
In the twelth century, a citizen of
Marseilles, France, fitted up a vessel
on his own account and started out to
find the northwest passage. What he
found was never known. In his own
| words he says that he returned when
i he camo to “ft barrier of a peculiar
CARTERSYILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 17, 1575.
nature, being neither earth, air or sky,
but something composed of all three,
through which we could not penetrate.”
It was the first time in all his life that
he had ever seen ice, and he did not
know how to describe it.
Then followed the celebrated voyage
of the Zeno brothers. They had heard
tell of a delightful open sea about the
pole, and they went to find it. They
were Venetians. Lords naturally of
the ocean, why should not the ocean be
loyal and leal to them ? Caught in a
storm one day and cast awav on an
unknown shore, it was their fortune to
fall upon Greenland. One died there,
and the other, Nicolo, got back to his
native conntry after many years, a
brokeD, bent, decrepid old main
Other attempts followed in the same
direction down to the reign of Henry
VII. the disoovery of America by Co
lumbus, and the daring explorations
made by that inspired Portuguese,
Vasco de Gama, having quickened the
pulse of every mariner in the old
world and sent abroad a whole fleet of
ships in all directions in quest cf new
lands and unknown oceans. De Gama,
after accurately describing the passage
to India round the Cape of Good Hope,
met Sebastain Cabot or,e day in Lisban
and taunted him with his inactivity and
want, of enterprise. “ Very well,” re
plied Cabot, “your passage to the
northeast was a long one, mine to the
northwest shall be a short one, England
shall outdo Portugal.”
Cabot was also a Venetian, whose
father resided in Bristol, and who seems
to have had the first clearly defined
idea of an open sea about the pole.
The plan of the son was soon matured.
It was to steer to the north until an
ocean was found which could be sailed
across direct to the “land of Cathay”
—that mysterious country of vast and
unknown treasures. “ Understanding,”
he said, in his petition to the king for
help, “ that by reason of the sphere, if
I shall sail by the northwest, I will, by
a shorter track, come to India, and I
desire the king to be advertised of my
device, because all men think it a thing
more divine than human to sail by the
west into the east, where spice3 do
grow. ”
The king promptly responded by or
dering two caravels to be prepared with
all things necessarv for so long a voy
age, and in the summer of 149 G, the ex
pedition sailed. It found not the coast
that the elder Cabot had so accurately
laid down in his conversations with his
eon, and after many hardships and
much serious stress of weather, it made
Newfoundland, where the crews lauded,
committed many excesses, and finally
turned back towards the sonth, reaching
Florida and passing a winter there.
Four years later, or in the year 1500,
Gasper Cortereal, a sailor of high birth
at the court of King Emmanuel, of
Portugal, sailed from Lisbon, touched
at the Azores, pursued his course in a
northwesterly direction, and came at
last to the coast of L n -'"‘ ro ‘ ;I *o wbioh
gavelfie name of Terre Yerde. He did
not go further, resting conical to ex
plore the country and bring back with
him a large cargo of the natives, which
was sold into slavery soon after its ar
rival. The next year he started again
to the north, penetrated into what is
now known as Hudson’s Strait, en
countered a terrible storm, and was
never heard of more.
In 1524. the year before the disastrous
battle of Pavia, France fitted out four
ships for an Arctic voyage, and gave the
command of the expedition to a Floren
tine named Giovanni Verazzano, who
was a navigator of great energy and
ability, and one in every way suited to
the trust. He coasted along the whole of
what is now the United States, as was
also the larger part of British America;
but when he returned and found Francis
I. a prisoner, the French army destroy
ed, and his adopted country half ruined,
he quit the navy for the land, and was
killed in one of the many battles of the
period.
It was ten years after this voyage be
fore France interested herself in another
expedition. Jeacques Cartier com
manded this one, and he circumnavi
gated Newfoundland, discovered the Isle
of Assumption, explored the gulf of
St. Lawrence and founded the present
city of Montreal. Afterwards lie fell
into disgrace and was never trusted with
another ship.
Henry VI I. was succeeded by Henry
VIII., and he set about at once to
renew the polar researches left un
completed by Sebastian Cabot. Two
expeditions were organizer!. Robert
Thorne, a merchant of Bristol under
took one, and a Londorer, named
Master. Hore, the other. Thorne got
two ships from the king, reached New
foundland with one of them, and got
separated from the other, which was
never seen again, nor any of its crew.
Hore received a large ship. aDd a crew
of one huudred and thirty persons,
thirty of whom were gentlemen “ who
belonged to the Inns of Court.” Beach
ing also Newfoundland, they got into
such fearful distress that they began to
kill and eat one another.
The record of their cannibalism was
frightful. Hor6 began it by knocking
out the brains of his first mate, then
cutting his throat and drinking his
warm blood from the still living body.
Between twentv and tweuty-five were
devoured in this way when a French
ship arrived only to be seized by the
ravenous English, and plundered of
everything in the shape of pi’ovisions.
Complaining to Henry of their treat
ment, he paid them well for their losses
but refused to punish the cannibals for
their monstrous depravitv.
Sebastian C ibot, an old man now,
returned to England, as he said, to die.
They would not let him die, however.
He was made grand pilot of the realm,
and ordered to send out competent men
in search of the north pole. He se
lected Sir Hugh Willoughby and Rich
ard Caaccelor for the work, giving each
a good stout ship and a competent crew.
At the North Cape the two ships parted
company never to meet again. Wil
loughby. after terrible suffering,
reached Nova Zembla, and pushed on
into the north detpite every prayer or
protest hii crew could offer. Off the
coast of Russian Lapland the ice caught
his vessel and crushed it as an eggshell,
every soul on board perishing miser
ably. Willoughby’s body was found
two years afterwards by some Russian
fishermen, frozen as hard as iron, and
in a perfect state of preservation.
C'aancelor was more fortunate, and
held resolutely on his way to the White
sea, where, instead of making a land
ing at Archangel, as he was advised to
do, a storm overtook him and he, to
gether with his whole crew, went down
while the storm was at its werst. It
may be said that the first period of
artie explorations ended with the death
of Henry the Eighth. The seoond
period commenced with Queen Eliza
beth, and was inaugurated by a series
of brilliant exploits under tbe daring
and skillful leadership of the renowned
Sir Mwetin Frobisher*
AZILEA.
The story of our heroine commences
years ago with a brilliant reception
given in Paris daring the reign of Na
poleon 1., by Mme. de Montesoon.
Great statesmen, brave generals, foreign
ministers, with their wives and daugh
ters, and all the wealth, beauty and no
bility of Pafis were gathered in her
stately palace that night.
Azalea, who came in late with her
father, was enchanted with the dazzling
scene. The long salon shimmered with
mirrors, all hung with crimson, white
and gold, and richly decorated with
flowers, whose delicious perfnme filled
the air. Soft strains of exquisite music
mingled harmoniously with the sounds
of light laughter and happy voices. To
add a charm to the entertainment the
hostess had requested the ladies to
come arrayed in costumes that would
represent their favorite flowers. So
there were rich camellias, pansies, roses
and lilies, modest violets, flaring jon-
quils, tulips and many others, whose
gauzy and silken robes sparkled with
diamonds, pearls and rubies.
In admiring others Azalea did not
dream that she was one of the fairest
flowers herself. She was simply at
tired, as suited a young girl, in snowy
crape, with a wreath of white azaleas
trailing from her shoulders and a spray
of the same pure blossoms fastened in
her shining hair.
“It is just like fairyland,” she mut
tered to herself, enraptured by the
beauty around her ; but at that moment
the voice of a Morning-glory near by
awoke her from the dream that she was
among fairies.
“ What a horrid old dress she has
on !” said the young; beauty, scornfully,
as she adjusted her sapphire bracelets
and arranged the sweeping folds of her
silver brecide more gracefully.
“ I wonder who she can be ? she can
not belong, to the beau monde I am
sure,” returned a Rose, who was daint
ily attired in blushing silk, frosted with
rare laces.
Azalea now saw that the subject of
these ill-natured remarks was an elderly
lady, dressed plainly in black, who was
sitting quite alone and deserted at the
farther end of the salon. Her autiquated
dress and plain ornaments formed a
striking contrast, to the rich attire of
these gay butterflies of fashion.
“The empress scarcely noticed her,”
said a pert little Pink, shrugging her
jeweled shoulders ; and Azalea saw that
it was true that the Empress Josephine,
usually so kind and gracious, had passed
the unpretending stranger coldly by.
“I wonder what flower she repre
sents ?” laugh*d a gorgeous Tulip.
“ Perhaps a Mourning-bride,” sneered
the Rose.
“No, my dears,” said the Morning
glory, “ I think she must belong to an
antediluvian flora,” which sally was
greeted with merry laughter.
“ Merci ! how can they be so heartless,
so discourteous?” exclaimed Azalea un
-2"21L sMss gSff
erons emotions of her brave young spirit
were awakened.
The empress now joined the merry
circle with many more pretty women
and gay cavaliers, who seemed to take a
malicious pleasure in the evident morti
fication of the diffident and plainly -
dressed stranger.
Azalea pressed her lips lightly to
gether to keep back the angry thoughts
surging in her heart. Summoning up
all the courage at her command, she ieft
the group collected around the empress,
and, to the amazement of her compan
ions, bravely crossed the long salon to
where the lonely old lady sat.
“That noble young girl deserves the
ribbon of the Legion of Honor,” ob
served a gray-headed veteran, who wore
the decorations of a general. The
haughty belles to whom this remark was
addressed were for a moment abashed.
Azalea’s silent rebuke was felt far deeper
than words.
Kow the lady in black, whom we will
call Mme. S , had noticed the con
temptuous glances, if she had not heard
the unkind sarcasms, of these thought
less beauties, and, being of a sensitive
nature, had felt deeply wounded. Im
agine her surprise, then, to see one of
the fairest of them all, a fairy-like crea
ture, with golden hair floating around
her like rippling sunlight, and eyes blue
and timid as wild violets, coming with
airy steps toward her , Mme. S had
an insight into human nature as quick
as it was keen, and, with one glance of
her brilliant black eyes, she read in the
quivering lips and flushed cheeks of the
lovely young face turned toward her the
honest indignation and heartfelt sympa
thy of the girl’s soul. Her heart was as
warm as her wit was ready, and, taking
Azalea’s hand in welcome, she said :
“You are as good as you are beauti
ful, my child !”
“In what way, pray, madame?”
asked Azalea, smiling. She was strange
ly attracted to her new friend by her
beautiful eyes. They were so bright
and sparkling, so full of expression and
tender feeling, that Azalea forgot her
plain dress in gazing into their won
drous depths and listening to the rare
music of her voice.
“You ask me why?” returned Mme.
8 . “Because you crossed this im
mense salon to como and sit by me.
Upon mv word, you are more cour
ageous than I should have been.
“And yet,” replied Azalea, “if I were
to tell you my fears and trepidations
you would laugh at me, I am sure.”
“Laugh at you !” exclaimed Mme.
S with moistened eyes and trem
bling voice. “Never ! never !I am your
sister henceforth, my dear young friend.
Will you tell me yoar Christian name ?*’
“Azalea.”
“ Azalea? What a pretty name ! I am
glad of it, for it will suit my purpose
exactly. You must linow, my love, that
I am writing a hook, and I mean it shall
bear your name, and von shall fiad
something in it which shall remind you
of to-night and our acquaintance.”
And she kept her word. Azalea had
almost forgotten this little incident
when, one morninv, a few months later,
a volume of blue and gold was placed
in her bauds bearing her own name,
“Azalea.” With wonder and delight
Azalea turned to the title-page and dis
covered that her friend was a well
known and distinguished authoress.
She readily guessed now why Josephine
had slighted her, for it was welt known
that Napoleon greatly dreaded this
writer’s sparkling wit and keen sarcasm.
The tears sprung to Azalea’s eyes as,
turning over the illuminated pages, she
came upon the little incident here por
trayed, in which Mme. 8 had pic
tured her as an “angel ot goodness and
beauty.”
As “Azalea” was really a finely
wrought tale, full of pathos and beauty,
it quickly became a favorite, and was
not only sought for and admired over
all France, but was speedily translated
into other tongues.
Although Azalea was not her real
name, she was ft reft! girl, and this is
the way she came to be a heroine, hon
ored aud loved by half the world, while
the more dazzling belles of that evening’s
entertainment, who stooped to ridioule
a woman of noble genius simply because
she was plainly dressed, have passed
into oblivion, unhonored and unknown.
I LOCUTION IN THE DARK.
How Arteuius Word Played ll on the
Professor.
Griswold, the “Fat Contributor.” in
some recollections of Artemns Ward,
tells the following story :
In the spring of 1859 I accepted a
proffered editorial position cn the Cleve
land National Democrat, aud renewed
my acquaintance with Artemus Ward.
On the first evening of my arrival he
volunteered to show me around—a very
desirable achievement, as I was to fill
the positon of city editor.
He “showed me 'round” so success
fully that about 2 o’clock in the morn
ing I began to feel almost as much at
home in Cleveland as if I had lived
there all my days, to say nothing of my
nights. Artemus invited mo to share
his bed with him for the remainder of
the night, and i accepted.
Adjoining his room lodged a young
professor of elocution who was endeav
oring to establish a school in Cleveland.
He was just starting out in business,
aud was naturally anxious to propitiate
the press.
“ Let’s get the professor up,” said
Artemus, “ and have him orate for
us.”
I remonstrated with him, reminded
him of the lateness of tho hour, that I
was not acquainted with the professor,
and all that, but to no purpose.
“He is a public man,” said Ward,
“ and public men like to meet repre
sentatives of the press, as restaurants
are supposed to get up warm meals at
all hours.”
He gave a thundering rap at the door
as he shouted, “ Professor r—!”
“Who’s there? What yee want?”
cried a muffled voice, evidently beneath
the bed-clothes, for it was a bitter cold
night in February.
“It is I, Brown, of the Plaindealer,”
said Artemus, and nudging me gently in
the ribs, he whispered, “ That’ll fetch
him. The power of the press is invinci
ble. It is the Archimedean lever
which—”
His remarks were interrupted by the
opening of the door, and I could ju3t
discover the dim outline of a skirted
form shivering in the doorway.
“ Excuse me for disturbing you, pro
fessor,” said Artemus, in his blandest
manner, “ but I am anxious to intro
duce you to my friend here, the new
‘ local’ of the Democrat. He has heard
much of you, and declares positively he
cin’t go to bed until he hears you elo
eute.”
“Hears wW. r answered the pro
fessor, between his chattering teetnf
“Hears your elocute recite de
claim. Understand? Specimen of
In vain did the professor plead the
lateness of the hour, and his fi e had
gone out. Artemus would accept no
excuse.
“Permit me, at least,” urged the
professor, “ to put on some clothes and
to light the gas.”
“ Not at alt necessary. Eloquence,
my dear boy, is not at all dependent on
gas. Here (straightening up a chair he
had just tumbled over,) get right up on
this chair and give ns ‘ The boy stood
on the burning deck,”’ adding in a side
whisper in my ear, “ the burning deck
will warm him up.”
Oeutly, yet firmly, did Artemus boost
the reluctant professor upon the chair,
protesting that no apologies wore neces
sary for his appearance, and assuring
him that clothes didn’t make the man,
alihough the shivering disciple of De
mosthenes and Cicero probably thought
clothes would make a man more com
fortable on such a night as that.
He gave us “ Casabianca” with a
good many quavers of the voice, as he
stood shaking in a single, short, white
garment; then followed, “On Linden
when the sun was low,” “Sword of
Bunker Hill,” etc., “by particular re
quest of a friend,” as Artemus Ward
said, although I was too nearly suffo
cated with suppressed laughter to make
even a last dviug request, had it been
necessary. It was too ludicrous to de
pict—the professor, an indistinct white
object standing on the chair “ elocut
ing,” as Ward had it, and we sitting on
the floor holding ourselves, while A. W.
would faintly whisper batweeu his pangs
of mirth, “just hear him.”
It wasn’t iu Ward’s heart to have his
fun at the expense of another without
r.compense; so next day I remember
he published a -lengthy and entirely
serious account of our visit to the pro
fessor’s room, spoke of his wonderful
powers as au elocutionist, and expressed
the satisfaction and delight with which
we listened to his “unequaled recita
tions.”
The professor was overjoyed, and
probably is ignorant to this day that
Artemus was “ playing it oil him.”
Sheridan's Bride's Trosseau.
The bride’s dress for the interesting
ceremony is of soft, white, Persian
silk, thick aud lustrous, with a shimmer
lieht over its rich, thick ords, like the
reflection of a harvest nmon on a sleep
ing lake. It will be made up in a man
ner befitting the youth and beauty of
the bride, aud not a scrap of lace, how
ever costly, will adorn its silky white
ness Vut will be trimmed with soft,
fleecy, lovely tulle. The skirt will be
cut in a princess train with a flounce of
intricate design. The overskirt will bo
a marvel of workmanship and taste ;
the corsage will be high wi'.h elbow
sleeves.
The long circular will be worn over
this, falling to the hem of the train in
the back and nearly to the waist in
front. It. will be fastened on the dark
hair of the brunette bride with a cor
net of orange flowers. The corsage
will be one mass of most exquisite buds,
and wherever a loop or fold is placed
it will be caught together by a spray of
orange blossoms. Many of the deco
rative features of this dress are entirely
new French designs. The traveling
dress will be of brown silk, trimmed
very elaborately with the two shades of
silk and a third in fringe. A hat to
match with long, drooping ostrich
plume. Several elegant hats have been
ordered, the dress hat being atf white
chip, with a profusion of delicate and
costly Frenen flowers.
The pollution of rivers in England by
the manufactories along their banks has
become a serious matter. Chemical
works and dye houses are the worst
poisoners of the water. A man who
fell into the river at Bradford died from
swallowing some of the liquid. Tne
Clyde is described as omitting malari
ous effluvia, the Mersey as almost un
bearable in its stench, and the Bourne
as thick and yellow. The lew fish that
live in these stream* are unfit for food.
Starting Newspapers,
The firm conviction of two-thirds of
every American community, be it large
or small, that each individual member
thereof is oapable of editing and pub
lishing a newspaper of extraordinary
acceptability, is one of the chronic
deceptions of popular belief. The fact
that newspapers are the product of
human thought and human labor renders
it impossible that they should be so
perfect in every regard as to meet the
requirements of human criticism. Am.
bitious youngsters, theorizing aged
men, devoted women and solicitous
people of all conditions earnestly believe
that they are able not only to serve
themselves in the newspaper business
by making money, but advance the in
terests of their fellow men by the advo
cacy of especial doctrines. The re
peated failures of such enterprises do
not shake their faith or self-confidence.
They must know that success is the ex-
ception, and, if they stop to reason, that
skill, the result of carefnl training in
every branch of the business, including
the most minute detail?, is the absolute
prerequisite to that suocess. Friends
who may promise to yield a helping
hand to enterprises of this kind are
invariably “unable to accommodate”
when the pinoh comes, and the experi
ence of the civilized world shows that
only those journals are established on a
permanent basis which are controlled
by adroit business managers and edited
by independent spirits, who strive to
please rather than command, and who
yield personal prejudice to tho evident
bent of the public mind. To do all this
and maintain a reputation for consist
ency is at once a difficult and dangerous
task.
Papers started with capital nearly
always fail. Year after year we see
papers started with tens, and twenties,
and fifties of thousands of dollars go
down in a few short months. The Re
public, in New York, which sunk its
SIOO,OOO m seven months ; The Paper,
in Pittsburg, which in fourteen months
lost $140,000, and then died ; the Patriot,
in Washington, which perished in ten
months with a debt of SBO,OOO. These
are some examples of what papers that
started out with capital have done. The
papers that succeed at last are yonr
tough aud spirited fellows who start
without a dollar and edge their way in
by hard work and careful management.
The New York Herald started without a
dollar, and found no friends until it
didn’t need them. Mr. Greeley started
the Tribune when he was as poor as a
church rat. Prudence, care and system
are needed. Add to these brilliancy
and judgment, and success is certain.
And while it is true that capital alone
cannot establish a newspaper, neither
can it establish any other legitimate
industrial pursuit requiring business
skill. The same energy, toil, perse
and abilitp ‘ l *“ t a —— ■- w \
Bennett, Greeley and Raymond, in the
publication of a newspaper, would have
cafflng. Stewart, CTalTih" and otfeer
merchants who have risen to the head
of their business enterprises, owe their
suocess neither to capital nor its absence,
but to those personal qualities of energy
and ability which secure prosperity
everywhere; and there is no royal road
to fame or success in the publication of
a newspaper that does not apply equally
to every other profession. It requires
the same careful management, prudent
economy, untiring industry aud fair
ability which is required in commerce
or in the learned professions ; so that
those who embark in these enlet prises,
lured on by some hopeful confidence in
political or religions enthusiasm, must
always meet with disaster.— Washing
ton National Republican.
Against Trains.
Oliver Wendell Holmes writes : Onr
landlady’s daughter is a young lady of
some pretensions to gentility. She
wears her bonnet Well back upon her
head, which is known to all to be a
mark of high breeding. She wears her
trains very long, as the great ladies do
in Europe. To be sure their dresses
are so made only to sweeD the tapes- ‘
tried floors of chateaus and palaoes ; as !
those odious aristocrats of the other
side do not go dragging through the mud
in silks and satins, but, forsooth, must j
ride in coaches when” they are in fall
dress. It is true, when considering
various habits of the American people, j
also the little accidents which the best
kept sidewalks are liable to, a lady who
has swept a mile of them is not exactly
in such a ooudition that one would ca r e
to be her neighbor. But confound the
make-believe woman we have turned
loose in onr streets! Where do they
come from ? Not out of Boston parlors, j
I trust. Why there isn’t a beast or a
bird that would drag its tail through
the dirt in the way these creatures do
their dresses. Because a queen or a
duchess wears long robes on great oc
casions, a maid of all work or a factory
girl thinks she must make herself a
nuManco by trailing about with her—)
pah ! that’s what I call getting vulgarity ]
into your bones and marrow. Making
believe that you are not is the essence
of vulgarity. Show over dirt is the one
attribute of vulgar people. If any :
man can walk behind one of these wo
men and see what she rakes up as she
goes, aud not feel squeamish, he has
got a tough stomach. • I wouldn’t let
one of ’em into my room without serving
them as David served Gaul at the cave
in the wilderness—cut off his skirts, sir,
cut off his skirts. Don’t tell me that a
true lady ever sacrifices the duty of
keeping all about her sweet and clean
to the wish of making a vulgar show.
I won’t believe it of a lady. There are
same things that no fashion has a right
to touch, aud cleanliness is oue of those
thing*. If a woman wishes to show
that her husband or father has get
money which she wants and means to
spend, but doesn’t know how, let her
buy a yard or two of silk and pin it to
her dress when she goes out to walk,
but let her unpin it before she goes into
the house.
The New Dolly Varden Style.—
We have been permitted to inspect a
new Dolly Varden dress. The star
board sleeve bore a yellow hop vine in
full leaf, on a red ground, with numjoers
of gray birds, badly mnltilated by the
seams, flying hither and thither in wild
dismay at the approach of a green and
black hnmter. An infant class was de
picted on the back, and in making up
the garment, truant scholars were scat
tered np and down the sides and on the
skirt, while a oountry poultry fair and
a gronp of hounds hunting, badly de
moralized by the gathers, gave the
front a remarkable appearance. The
left sleeve had on it the alphabet in
five different languages. —Once a Week.
The* say now that George Washing
ton’s father was a hard character. He
used to go hunting wild bees on Sunday
and swear at the Digli ox because he
wouldn’t come under the yoke and let
him pot the pin in the tow,
VOL. 16-NO. 25.
SAYINGS AND DOINGS.
Mischief fob Inna: Hands.—
The origin of the fn is told very prettily ia
those arch and gracefully turned verses:
When fallen Evo became aware
How ill she had behaved to man.
To hide from his reproachful stare,
She went and made herself a fan.
But when she pooped above the rim,
In wistful, depreciating wise,
The action ral her tick ed him—
He “didn’t know she had such eyes.”
So when he asked ber to explain
The object of that no v conceit.
Away went shame—eh * peeped again.
And said. “To screen her from the heat.*
The day was her’s ; fn'l many, too.
Have conquered thus in many lands;
Eve told her daughter t what to do
In future with their idle hands.
The largest gas-meter in the world
has just been built in London. Ito
capacity is the enormous quantity of
150,000 cubic feet ]>er hour, and ita
measuring dram delivers for each rev
olution 1,600 feet.
Where was Bishop Latimer burned
to death?” asked a teacher in a com
manding voice. “ Jeshna knows,” said
a little girl at the bottom of the class.
“ Well,” said the teacher, “if Joshna
knows, he may tell.” “In the Are,”
replied Joshua, looking very grave and
wise.
“What’s this crowd around here
j for ?” demanded a policeman the other
! night as he came upon a dozen boys
grouped near a house on second street.
! “Keep still,” replied one of the lads,
“there comes old John, tight as a brick,
and we’re waiting here to see his wife
pop him with the rolling pin as he opens
the front door.”
A Parisian who wan known as a free
thinker, met a friend fhe other day, and
taking him by the hand, said, “ I have
become a Christian. ” “ I am glad to
hear it, ”he replied ; snpoose we now
have a settlement of that, little aooonnt
between us ; pay me that thou owest. ”
“ No, ” said the new-born child, turning
ou his heel, “ relieior, is religion, and
b isiness is business. ’’
Sib Boyd® Roche was deeply im
pressed with the sanguinary disposi
tions of the French revolutionists, and
in advocating some measures to prevent
t! eir invading Ireland, he said to the
speaker, “Sir, if Treasures are not
taken to those ’ -iood-thirsty ruf
fians out of Ireland, th -y will break into
this very house, and cut off our heads
before our faces.”
Looking for the Adtab —A man
came out of the tax offioa, the other
day, and, exhibiting an emp’y pocket
book to a friend, eloomilv observed :
“ Bill, where’s the al’ar of our ooun
try? I want to find it.”
“What r or?” asked the other in
some asdonis iment.
“Well. 1 want to lay that poeket
lannt on i£ **
A Tragedy nr Private Life.-Miss
Lily—“A box for Salvini for to-night?
fortunately ’M-v’d and 1 are engaged
and mamma is away, so we Bhall not be
able to go with you, but grandmamma
and Aunt Tabitha will be delighted to
take our place ! ”
(Grandmamma and Aunt Tabitha ex
press their delight. The room turns
round; Mr. Lovell’s head swims; all
his preseuoe of mind forsakes him ; he
leans on a chair for support.)
. The New York papers stand aghast
at the prospects of the two hundred
fresh lawyers turn and out in that city the
other day. How in the world they are
to be provided for no one will attempt
to presage. The legal business in New
York is in wonderfully few hands. A
few firms make their tens of thousands,
a few more their thousands, but the
bulk their hundreds, and not many of
them. For the thing is woefully over
done.
The following is given as the costume
of a fashionable lady in 1709, per ye
last Bhip from ye port of Bristol, Eng
land, to his majesty’s plantations in
North America : “ A black silk petti
coat, with a red and white calioo bor
der ; cherry-colored stays, trimmed with
bine and silver ; a red and dove-colored
damask gown, flowered with large trees;
a yellow satin apron, trimmed with
white Persian; muslin head-cloths,
with craw-foot-edging; a black silk
furbelow scarf and spotted hood.”
M. de FoNvtLiiE made a balloon ascent
from La Villette on the 2d inst., with a
view to elucidating the causes of the
late Zenith balloon catastrophe, reach
ing the altitude of about 12,000 feet.
No effect was experienced by the human
excursionist, but a bird in a cage sus
pended from the netting, where it was
exposed to the inhalation of the escaping
gas, died of hemorrliago into the brain.
M. de Fonville had previously surmised
that the fatal result in the case of the
Zenith roronauts was due rather to the
inhalation of this gas tLan to the height
attained, and is convinced that with
proper precautions scientific experiments
may be safely conducted at an immense
i alt tude.
The London Times lately printed a
loEg editorial article, based on a meet
ing of St. George’s societies in Phila
delphia, in which the Timnderer as
serted that the chief hope for America
lici in the influence of the English resi
dents within our borders. It pain- up,
therefore, to read in the reports of cer
tain police officers of Philadelphia that
a great many Englishmen have left that
city abruptly this winter for their native
land. It seems that Englishmen are in
the habit of leaving their wives and
j families in the old country and coming
; here, where they marry again, accumu
late three or four chi dren and some
property, aud then return suddenly,
leavjng their American wives destitute.
Tne Philadelphia police say they have
had “ dozens and dozens ” of such cases
of deiertion by Englishmen during
the past winter. It is to be regretted
that these gentlemen, so necessary to
the preservation of a lofty tone among
us, should show such a wholesale dis
position to leave America to her fate.—
Chicago Time*.
A Washington Girl s Mistake.
Yesterday afternoon a youn* lady in
the navy-yard was terribly shocked by
her own foolish mistake. Being sent
for some flour to Harry Comb’s store in
a hurry, she took whet she supposed
to be a clean pillow-slip from the
bureau drawer. When she bounded
into the store, smiling like a basket of
chips, she handed the tliiDg to Harry
to fill with flour. Ete didn’t notice
what “they” were till a scoop *f flour
had gone through them. When he
raised them up and exposed two onllete
at the bottom nieely fringed, etc., the
young lady ran toward the tunnel, with
out saying a word, and poor Harry,
covered with flour, laicl the garment in
the money-drawer to wait her return.
At a late hoar, last evening. nobody
had called for the flour and Harry had
engaged a seamstress, to sew up the
bottoms and make a alt sack ©ut of
Washington Chronicle,