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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,