Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS. A . ITI VKM II ALK 1 -. ~, , .. U. A. KUItM IIALKj an*! Proprietors. FiUIJIKK JOHN'S ICKTI 10. Home from his journey Farmer John Arrived this morning safe and sound ; ITis black coat off. and his old clothes on, “ Now I’m myself,"’ says Farmer John ; And he thinks, “ I’ll look around.” TTp leaps the dog—“ (Jet down, you pup! Are you so glad you would eat me up ?” Toe old cow lows at the gate to meet him ; “ Well, well, old Bay! Ha. ha, old Gray ! Ho you get good feed when I am away ? “ You have not a rib!” says Farmer John, “ The cattle are looking round aud sleek; The colt is going to be a roan, And a beauty, too; li iw he lias grown ! We’ll wean the calf next week.” Pays Farmer John, “ Wheu I’ve been oft", To ra'l you again about the trough, And watch you, and pet you while you drink, Is a greater comfort than you think J” And he pals old Bay, And he slaps old Gray ; “ Ah, tli'B is the comfort of going away J” “For after all,” says Farmer John, ‘ The best of the journey is getting home. I've seen great sights; but would I give This spot, and the peaceful life I live, For a 1 their Paris and Koine ? These hills for the city’s stifled air, And big hotel, aud bustle and glare, Band all houses, and roads all stones. That deafen yonr ears, aud batter your bones. Would you, old Bay? Would you, old Gray ? Thai’s what one gets by going away !” “ There money is king,” says Farmer John, “ And fashion is queen ; ami it’s mighty queer To see how sometimes, wliile the man, Eiking and scraping all he can, The wife spends every year, Ktiougb you would think for a score of wives, To keep them in luxury all their lives ! Tiie town is a perfect Babylon To a quiet chap,” says Farmer John. “ You see. old Bay, You see, old Gray, I'm wiser than when I went away.” “ I've found out this,” says Farmer JohD, “ That happiness is not bought and sold, And cla!cbed in a life of waste and hurry, In nights of pleasure and days of worry ; And wra th isn’t all in gold, Mortgages and stocks aud ten per cent., But in simple ways and sweet content. Few wants, pure hopes, aud noble ends, Some land to till and a few good friends, Like yon, old Bay, And you, old Gray, That’s what I’ve learned by going away.” And a happy man is Farmer John, 0, a happy man is he; IT roes the peas and pumpkin" growing. The corn in tassels, the buckwheat blowing, And fruit on vine and tree; The large, jund oxen look their thanks As he rub*, heir foreheads and strokes (heir flanks: The doves light, round him. and strut and coo, Says Farmer John, ‘ I’ll take you too, And yon, old Bay, And yon, old Gray, Next time 1 travel so far awav!” OUR SEUONII-FLOOB LOOKER. When John find I first began house keeping wo were doubtful whether to live in apartments or to take a house ami let them. We finally decided upon the latter; for as John remarked, lodging housekeepers were such pilferers that one never knew when oue’s expenses ended ; bke a lawyer’s bill, there were so many items. We began to fancy we had chosen ill, however, when the little ombossed card hung for three weeks in the little sit ting room window without getting one application, save from an old lady in the neighborhood, who, I am certain, carno only out of curiosity. But at the end of that period au elder ly gentleman, in delicate health, called to look at them with his niece aud de rided to rent three rooms at once. t was very glad for they appeared to be quiet people, and meeting John with a hearty kiss that evening I told him we were in luck at last, “ I am pleased to hear it, my girl,” answired John. “Only take my ad vice ; don’t be on more friendly terms with them than need be. Keep to your place. All persons have their iittle fads and peculiarities, and when those become antagonistic one house cannot hold both parties. The warmest friend- f 1 op with lodgers generally turns to the bitterest dislike. Mrs. Joucs, presum ing upon Mrs. Brown’s good nature, hot rows her electro teapot. She makes a dent in the Id and thus strikes the first nail into the coffin of their friend ship. ” J stopped John’s mouth with a muffin - ii failing of his—but promised to do as ho recommended. That, however, was not so easy. Mr. Fortesque’s niece —Miss Kathleon Mtl brooke—was such a quiet, sweet, amia ble girl, and seemed so alone, Uiat I 'v is irresistibly drawn to her; and, when we met, always had a little conversation, w hieb, I felt sure, gave her considerable pleasure. Indeed, her life was terribly monoto nous. No one visited them, and Mr. Fort esq ue, a cob firmed invalid and a hard, austere man, was irritable from disposition as well as delicate health, and, I fear, led his poor niece so weary ing an existence that, I amagine, when fiho could get a way for a chat with me she found it a wonderful relief. Well, they had been with us nearly a fortnight, when, late one evening, a gentleman called to see the room we had on the second-floor backhand which he had heard of at the stationer’s. He was very good-looking, tall, with a pale face and heavy dark beard and mus tache. It’s very foolish, I know, but I have always been mistrustful of dark beards and mustaches. Dear John’s face is as smooth as an egg. Bit the stranger spoke openly and fairly enough ; gave me references to his last landlady aud to the firm where he was employed, while, to clinch the matter, he put down the first two weeks’ rent in advauce, as be wished to come in that night. 1 felt I ought not to have left him, but I was yet nervous in the part of landlady, and hadn’t the courage to re fuse. And when, in about an hour, lie returned, carrying his own portmanteau, aud I, having lighted him to his room, came baek to my own room, I conld not help speculating a little tremulously upon what John, who had been detained m the city, would think. John thoitght I had done a very foolish thing, and so terrified me out of my wits by saying our second-floor lodger was no doubt a burglar, who, when we were in bed, would break open all the cupboards and drawers with the skeleton keys and “Jemmy” (yes, that was what John called it), which he had concealed 10 bis portmanteau, that I couldn’t get a "fink of sleep through the night. I found everything secure, however, jke next morning, and our second-floor lodger qnietly waiting for his breakfast, ue took it at half-past seven, leaving homo at eight, and seldom returning until nearly the same hour in the even lnf>> when he rarely went oat again, doing this so regular that John began leave off jesting aud terrifying me about “my burglar,” aud onee, happen ■ug to meet him on the door-step, he Mr. Airlie in to have a cigar and a glass of ale. Oar lodger accepted the invitation, a ud sat and talked for over an hoar, during which he saw John was frying 0 learn Something about him; but luefiectually. ‘Ny dear,” I said, smiling, when we alone. “I suspect you know now as much about our burglar as I ’Near about the atne,” bo answered, “o eas clcee as the two -abed* bf * J knjiw tbi®-’* “That ho is exceedingly good look ing,” I broke in. “Good-looking! Bah! That is all you women think of.” “Exactly, or perhaps I shouldn't have married you, John.” That made him laugh, and, getting up, gave me a kiss for my compliment. “ No,” he went on, resuming his seat. “What I meant to say was that he has something upon his mind. Though he can’t be more than twenty-sevi n at the most, he hasn’t a bit of spirit, and talks with all the air of a preoccupied man, who is ever brooding over some trouble. Perhaps,” said John, extend ing his slippered feet to the fire, “he has robbed or is about to rob his em ployers. ” “John!” I cried, “you horrid mon ster ! How can you say such dreadful things? It’s only out of spite, because ‘my burglar’ has turned oat the very pattern of lodgers.” “ I stopped, checked by a single tap at the door. It was Miss Kathleen Milbrooke. Her uncle was asleep, and she had made an excuse to come down for a chat. I know, poor child ; so, as she was a favorite of John’s, I asked her in.” When she again went up stairs, after a pause, John said : “ I say, Meg, suppose Mr. Airlie and that vonng girl should fall in love ?” “Nonsense, John! Mr. Fortescue would never hear of it.” “ Why not?” “Because I am certain, from what I have caught here and there, that he is muoh richer than he lets be seen. So it is scarcely likely he would permit his niece, who is his heiress, to marry a man who has probably robbed his em ployers. ” “ You have mo there, Meg; so we had better have supper.” What subject is more prolific of ideas to a woman than marriage? John had I put a thought into my head, which, though small as a pin’s head at first, soon grew to large dimensions. When ever I saw Mr. Airlie I thought of Miss Milbrooke, aud whenever I saw her I thought of him, until, in my mind, at they were united. And I began to hope that what John had “supposed” might be possible, for the more I saw of the two the more I liked them. They appeared more in need of happiness, I reflected. One might bring it to the other. But how could it ever be brought about? Love at first sight is possible. But love at no sight at all is assuredly not; and owing to his early departure and late return, Mr. Airlie and Miss Milbrooke never met upon the stairs. “ Ask them both down to tea,” sug gested John, as we sat in onr cozy parlor, I at work and he doing some writing. “Mr Fortescue would not let her come,” I said. “ Ask Airlie alone, then, and make au excuse to get her down afterward. At auy rate it will be a relief to him, seated moping up in that little room every evening, with not a friend with whom to exchange a word.” “ That might do,” I pondored. press ing the tip of my needle thoughtfully to my lips ; then gave such a start that I pricked myself as I exclaimed : “Good gracious ! John, what is that ?” “ How can I tell, Meg?” he answered, rising quickly. “It is Mr. Fortescue’s voice.” “He is quarreling," I exclaimed, in alarm, as I hurried after John to the door. The words which made me start wore: “You unmitigated scouudrel!” Opening the door John was about to hasten ont; but, abruptly drawing back, motioned mo to silence. Then, mute as mice, wc listened. Remember, we were lodgiDg-house keepers. “As Heaven is my witness,” replied the clear, firm tones of Mr. Airlie, “ I never dreamed you were under this roof; cr, as I staud here, I would never have placed a foot in it.” “You expect me to believe that?” “You must, seeing that I could gain nothing by such proximity to you.” “ Nothing !-—nothing ! Yon sneaking hound 1 Do you think I am blind ?” cried the old man; and we heard the stick with which he walked strike sharp ly on the floor. “Not gain Kathleen, I suppose? Hov do I know you would not persuade her to wed you on the sly and thus rob me of my money ? How do I know that you have not done so ? Yon are both capable of the trick ?” “ Beware, Rir ?” ejaculated onr lodger, his voice all of a quiver. “Call me what you please—all terms are alike to me, coming from such a father’s lips— but, by Heaven 1 you shall not malign that pure, noble girl, who has sacrificed herself to yon. When you drove me— your son—from your doors, I offered to share my home with her, knowing the miserable life to which I left her, but she sacrificed love to gratitudo; aud, because you had brought her up, poor orphan ! from her cradle, bowed her gentle head to your cruel will, and re mained under your tyrannical rule. You have used hard words to me, sir, and hard words to her whose mem ory is dearer to me than life; but I have managed to keep my hands off you. Bat take care ! tliero are bounds to every man’s forbearance. Do not speak ill of Kathleen.” “Dare you threaten me?” shrieked the old man. “True son of a shamo less mother.” “ Oh ! Heaven, have a care !"’ and the sound of Mr. Airlie’s voice showed the stupendous self-control he was exerting. “You drove my mother from your roof as you drove me.” “ Your mother left it of her own ac cord ; she ran away, the—” The word he uttered shall not be written. It was foMowed by a loud,fierce cry, and a sound which told Mr. Airlie had flown at the speaker. There was the noise of a struggle, the gaping cries of the old man, blended with his niece’s screams for assistance. “ Help 1 help ! ” she shrieked. “ Oh, Richard—Richard, let go. Reflect 1 He is your father ; he is old—he is ill 1 Yon will kill him 1 ” We had ruehed up stairs, but before we reached the landin ? those pleading words of his cousin had calmed the just ire of the man, and his passion was again subdued. We found Mr. Fortescue leaning against the drawing-room door, panting for breath, and half supported by Kathleen Milbrooke whose tearful eyes were turned with compassion upon Mr. Airlie, who stood apart, his arms folded, his head drooped upon his chest. “Would you kill me?” gasped the old man as we arrived. “No,” was the answer, “I would have you live that heaven may soften your heart by a slower approach of death, so that you may on your knees beg my dear mother’s forgivoness for the ill you have done her in word and deed. She may pardon yOn ; as yet I cannot. ” At tfcj* Mr, ¥VsH>aii*d(< fury more broke forth ; but his neice making John an imploriug sign they managed to bear him back into the room, swear ing terribly against his son, and avow ing that he would disinherit his niece if she ever exchanged words with him again. She did, however, for when the old man lay exhausted and insensible from his fury she left us in charge and slipped out to her cousin. When she returned tears were in her eyes, aud I caught these words through the closing door : “ My own darling, you are too good for me to blame though I am the suf ferer. Know I will ever love and watch over you until my death.” I expected after this that Mr. Airlie would leave, and he did that night. He told me his father was very rich, but almost a madman from a selfish, jealous temper ; that he had so cruelly treated his wife that she had been compelled to leave him when he had on ,t the most shameful accusations upon her, even after her death, which accusations, re peated to his son, had driven him away also. His father, Mr. Airlie added, pos sessed a large estate in Devonshire, and why he lived in apartments he did not know, unless it was an idea of hiding Miss Milbrooke’s whereabouts from him, her cousin, as he was aware of the strong affection existing between them. We were sorry to lose Mr. Airlie, and I could not help promising him that he should be well informed of ali that took place respecting Kath leen. This, however, I was not able long to do, for the next morning Mr. Fortescue gave me notice of hi intention to leave directly he could arise from the bed upon which his un natural passion had thrown him. But that night the climax came. It was about two in the morning, when I was awakened by a terrible smell of fire. Arousing John, we went into the passage to find it full of smoke. “Merciful heavens !” I cried, “the house is on fire i ” It was so. We thought of our lodgers, and strove to ascend to them, but were driven back by volumes of dark smoke rnshing down, through which the red glare of flame was visible. The lire was in Mr. I ortescue’s rooms. “Oh, poor Miss Kathleen!” I shrieked. “Help! help !” I threw the street door open, and filled the place with cries for assistance. I was soon joined in the appeal by Mr. Fortescue and his nieca from the upper window. They had evidently tried the stairs and found it impossible to descend. John had just run off to the eDgine station, when, lrom the opposite direc tion, I perceived a man coming toward me. I recognized him at once. “Oh ! Mr. Airlie, thank hoaven it is you!” I ejaculated. “ Good Heaven ! what is the matter ?” he asked. I began to tell him, but the form of Kathleen Millbrooke at the window re lated it quicker than words. In a second her cousin had darted into the burning house. I followed, bnt already he had van ished up the stairs. One, two minutes, and, blackened, burnt, ho was back with Kathleen Millbrooke. “Oh, dear Richard !” she cried, “Mv uncle.” “Do not fear ; I will save him, if possible, darling,” he answered, again disappearing amid the smoke. Three, four, live minutes it seemed now before he descended, with the old man wrapped in the coverlet, and cling ing wildly around his son’s neck. We bore him into the open air, for he seemed half suffocated and paralyzed with terror. Airlie rested him on his knee ; but Sir. Fortescue would not un clasp his arms from him. His eyes were closed. The crowd gathered. I bade them keep back. The fire-engine rattled up, but I could not leave that group. Abruptly Mr. Fortescue looked up, and his eyes rested upon the blackened features of Mr. Airlie. He started violently, then exclaimed : “Richard! was it you, then, who saved me?” “ I was so fortunate,” he answered qnietly. “ You are in no danger now, sir.” There was a pause. The old man never removed his gaze. Then I saw a great change come over his features. “ Richard,” he said in a low voice, “can you forgive?” “Yes, father; but rather ask it of her,” and he poiuted upward. “ I do—l have, when in yonder awful room. Mary, pardon !” he murmured, lifting his eyes. Afterward ho added, anxiously: “My will—my will ! It is there—burnt 1 Thank Heaven for that.” He made an effort to turn toward the burning house, and in the effort fell back on his son’s shoulder dead. I have no more to say. The will be ing burnt, of course Richard Fortescue, alias Airlie, succeeded to his father’s property, aud also married his tousin Miss Millbrooke. They now reside in Devonshire, and when we pay a visit there—which we do frequently—we always are sure of a hearty welcome from the family of our second floor lodger. Not long ago there was witnessed in Paris a rather singular scene. A gen tleman with a lady on his arm was pass ing down the boulevards, when there suddenly sprang out of a cafe another gentleman, who dealt him a violent kick. The victim bounded round, and the assaulter recoiled with consterna tion, for the kick had been dealt under mistake of identity. Explanation, how ever, though most contritely offered, did not appease the victim, who furious ly yelled, “ Some of my acquaintances may Iqave seen me kicked, and will go about saying that I did not wipe off the insult. I must slap your face.” And be did bestow a box on the ears, which the other received in a spirit of humiltty very commendable. There is no reason to suppose that this gentleman was less brave than his grandfather, who, hav ing once administered a kick, would probably have accepted no other retri bution for it than that of the sword’ point. Brooklyn Argus : Twenty years ago a poor boy, after attentively perns ing the life of Lord Nelson, secretly left his parents’ roof with a pocket knife, a sandwich and a bunch of twine as his. sole capital, resolving to go to sea and become an admiral. Five miles away from home this brave, ambitious lad was kicked into a duck pond by an exasperated mule, and he is now one of the wealthiest and most. dtVoted RgrU ''!(irvrtuD In ste.tr of YpjV. CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JULY 8, 1875. TOUKTIIMIK. lax SABAH O. JEWETT. I wonder if you really send The?e dreams of yon that come aud fto 1 I like to say, “ She thought of me, And I have known it." Is it so ? Though other friends walk by your side, Yet sometimes it must surely lie They wonder where yonr thoughts Uavo (tic Because I have you here with me. And when the bu c y day is done. And woik it ended, voices cta s e, Ween every one h is said g.iod-night, lii fading firelight th< u in jicace. Idly I rest; you come to me— Your dear love bolds me close to you, If I could see you face to face, It wouid not be more sweet aud true. I do not hear the words jon Fpeak, Nor touch your hands, nor see your eyes ; Yet far away the flowers may grow From where to me the fiagrance flies. And so across (lie empty miles, Light from my star shines. Is it, dear, Your love has never gone away ? I said good-by, and kept y*u here ! Jetties at the Mississippi's Month. In the recent announcement that Gapt. Eads was already beginning the work of pile-driviag for the jetties to be constructed in the South Pass of the Mississippi, there is, we might almost say, an occasion for national congratu lation. The whole country suffers so long as navigation at the outlets of the Mississippi is impeded. It is not only our greatest river; when we trace it and its affluents from the Alleghanies to the Rocky mountains, from our northern to our southern boundaries, and count the sites of commerce and industry that line either bank, no piling up of statistics is necessary to tell us that the Mississippi should be our great highway to the ocean. In a letter re cently published, giving a partial report of the proceedings of the convention of civil engineers at Pittsburgh there was afforded the means of comparison be tween the cost of conveyance by rail roads and by our great river. Including interest on their capital, it was shown that railroads might afford to carry the cereals of the west from Chicago to the seaboard for eight mills per ton per mile. Making the same calculation, based on actual experience for two years, the cost of water carriage be tween Cincinnati and New Orleans was only one and four-tenths mills per ton per mile. Here then is an artery of trade by which four-fifths of the coot of inland transportation might bo saved. Rat the mouth of the artery is tied up. Xu the closing lettev reporting the Engineers’ Convention, there is a brief discussion on the work which Cipt. Eads has undertaken. No layman is so competent to offer au opinion on the subject as these professional experts, and they regard the work with evident favor, and consider the government for tunate in its choice of the superintend ing engineer. It is au immense work, and may require more time and expen diture than was at first estimated. But the end will fully justify the means. Borne things, however, may warrant us in expecting comparatively speedy suc cess. A now survey of the South Pass by the United States survey department shows that most of the work will be in very shallow water. There is now a depth of 81 to 9 feet on the bar. As the work makes progress, the depth of wa ter will increase, so that navigation will be facilitated long before completion. The experience of Gen. E lis, in charge of the jetties now constructing in the mouth of the Connecticut, shows that wheu they are only finished in part, there is a depth of four or five feet added over the bur. They produce a marked and immediate deflection of the current. Especially is it a pleasant thing to know that this improvement will be of great benefit to Louisiana. She has not had much of late years to thank the general government lor. It will be a refreshing experience to the tax-ridden, plundered citizens of New Orleans, to see the levee again crowded with traffic and to count the funnels of ocean steamers among those of the river boats. —New York Tribune. Health Notes. Persons who work hard under 20 years of age, should be allowed ten hours’ rest in bed. The health of girls is sometimes ruined by over-pushing mothers. Always air your room from the out side air if possible. Windows are made to open, doors are made to shut—the troth of which seems extremely difficult of apprehension. Every room must be aired from without —every passage from within. Let it always bo borne in mind that ioid air is not necessarily pure, nor is warm air necessarily impure. In all ordinary ailments and accidents, secure quiet of body, composure of mind, pure air, pure water and simple food at regular intervals—being a little hungry all the time. Children should be compelled to be out of doors for tho greater part of day light, from after breakfast until half an hour before sundown. Wc do not advise a warm bath oftener than once a week. But we must con sult nature and facts. Each man ehould bathe in a manner which, from observa tion and personal experiment, does him most good. In matters of health aud disease each must bo his own rule. Im mense mischief is daily done by ignor ing this principle, which is at once the dictate of a sound policy and of common sense. The more sick people can sleep, the sooner they will get well. Sleeping in the daytime, if before noon, enables them to sleep better the following night. Fan is worth more than physic, and whoever invents or discovers anew source of supply deservos the name of a public benefactor; and whoever can write an article the most laughter-pro moting, and at the same time harmless, is worthy of our gratitude and respect. It is a bad plan to be always taking medicine ; such persons are never well. A teaspoonful of blood from the nose has prevented many a fatal attack of apoplexy; hence a nose-bleeding is sometimes the safety valve of life. Multitudes bring on themselves the horrors of a life-long dyspepsia by drinking large quantities of cold water at their meals. Infants and animals never have dys pepsia if let alone, for nature is the wise apportioner. Thus is it with sleep. Nature, herself sleepless, wakes us up the moment we have had enough, if we are not tampered with. Swallowing ice freely in small lumps is the chief treatment in inflammation of the stomach. Of Confession.— True humility being a wise virtue, will deal more in sslf-examination and secret contrition than in confessiou. For confession is oftets a mere luxury of the conscience, used as the epicures of ancient Rome wgn n * urtqrn t}*ib before they pat down to feast. It is often also a very snare to the maker of ii, and a delusion practised on the party to whom it is made. For, first, the faults may be such as words will not adequately explaiu ; secondly, the plea of guilty shakes judgment, in her seat ; thirdly, the indulgence shown to con fession might be better bestowed on the shame which conceals, for this tends to correcliou, whereas confession will many times stand instead of peni tence to the wrong doer ; and sometimes even a sorrowful penitence stands m the place of amendment, aud is washed away in its own tears. —Henry Taylor. Hard Up, jet, Rich in Eloquence. Ue walktd out of the depot wiih a satchel in his Land—a good looking satchel, yet terribly gaunt aud thin. If satchels had ribs, one could have seen that satchel’s ribs, and noted how thin in flesh it was. When a professor of hack driving asked the stranger if he would have a carriage he smiled blandly and replic and: “ Not this time, colonel—not just now, although I warn thee that it is plebeian-iike for a duke to walk around with his baggage in his hand. lam in search of a hostelry —a caravansary where I can recuperate and refresh.” When he stood before the hotel clerk the clerk noted that the stranger’s hat was fall of dents and caves ; that his shirt-front was badly soiled; that his garments were becoming threadbare, and that there was need of thorough repair. “ I desire a seat, at the banquet board without delay,” said the stranger. “ I have traveled far aud feel the need of refreshment.” The clerk smiled as the satchel was lifted over the counter. He “hefted” ifc*aud smiled again. “ I carry the ducats here, in my wallet, said the stranger, “aud after I have sipped the amber Mocha and carved the spring poultry, I shall cheerfully re quite thee.” ne might have seventy-five cents about him—the clerk would chance it. Victory lurked in the stranger’s eye .as he turned to one of the bell-boys and said: “Youthful slave, eondnet me to a placo where I can lave my fevered bn w. ” He was conducted, and after lie had laved he looked a little better. Even a boot black is improved by a liberal ap plication of soap and water. Still, there was ihat lank satchel behind the counter, those threadbare garments and that hungry voice. Seated at tho table and approached by a waiter, he remarked : “ Thou caust. bring me rare viands of any kind, and I will not quarrel with thee about the cookery.” “Beefsttak—fried ham -mutton chops or liver ?” queried tho girl. “Fair lady, to thine own good judg ment do I leave it,” he replied ; “only let wings be added to thy speed, for my castle is leagues away and I hunger.” She brought him a well-selected stock of groceries and provisions, and he got away with them as a steam ditcher goes down through sandy soil. He ate his fill and then he crammed another meal down on top of that. He emptied his coffee cap again and again, and when he finally rose from the table he could hardly lift himself. Turning to the fatigued waiter he gently said: “Fair maiden of the valley, thou hast done thy culinary work in a manner which speaks volumes for thee. Permit me to offer thee my heartfelt thanks.” He strolled into the office, put some matches in one vest pochet and some toothpicks in the other, and then leaning bis elbow on the counter, said to the clerk: “ Tlion knowest thy duties well, and when I am far away I shall gladly sound thy praise.” “Come, no fooling now—ont with that seventy-five cents.” “ As soon as my retainers arrive I shall give thee a weighty purse aud thou canst keep overv ducat in it.” “ Ducats be hanged ! I want scrip— nickles—stamps 1 I want pay for your breakfast 1” “ Gently, my friend with tho Roman nose,” continued the stranger, “thou cans’t not say I am a lord or a duke in disguise.” “ Aud I don’t care a cent! Are you going to pay ? ” “ Am I going to turn theso fragments of wood into gold?” queried the stran ger, as ho hold up a number of pine tooth-picks. The clerk came out of the office, having the lean satchel in his hand, and he took the stranger to the door, kicked him with great good will and pointed to i he street. “I go,” said tho man in a solemn voice, “but when my retainers arrive, I shall seek revenge—human gore shall be shed to satisfy me?” “ Yon want to gore right away from here—quick smart 1 ” exclaimed the clerk. He went. His face was clouded for a moment, but then a grand smile covered it, and he stopped a newsboy and asked: “ My faithful minion, cans’t thou di rect me to an oflice over the door of which hangs the traditionary golden balls of the base money-lender—a place where I may exchange a few precious Leirlooms for some vile dross ?” And tho boy did. — Detroit Free Press. Was Napoleon A Fatalist? It was in 1709, when the directory had named him commander-in-chief of the army of Italy, and at the same time had refused, or were unable to supply him with the means for repairing to headquarters with the state and dignity befitting his new rank. In this diffi culty the young general raised as large a sum as he could by neans of his own credit and the kindness of his friends, and as this was miserably small, he in trusted it to Junot, a young officer who frequented gaming tables, and bade him lose it all or increase it in enormous proportions. “On your success,” he said, “depends the possibility of my accepting this command, and taking you as my aid de-camp.” According to one account, Junot first augmented the amount of his capital by selling a gold hilted sword which belonged to him, for Bonaparte never failed to win the love of those who came in close contact with him. After several hours’ play, in which Junot had been successful" be yond his hopes, he repaired to his chief and handed him his winnings, which he thought would be more than sufficient to meet all immediate claims. The general sent him back once more to tampt fortune, with an order not to re turn till he had doubled the sum or lost every cent. When Junot appeared again it was with enough money to enable Napoleon to make a splendid appearance at Headquarters, 'xhe last pttra won by Junot that night has been pat at SStfiOCO, while tli j rests on JdCaDaot •Ptl'crßy, BURIED ALIVE. Slrßiise Autlx-utlc stories of Persona Kuioinbeit Wliile Living. We select the following as cases well authenticated : TUB CASE OF VICTORINE LAFOURCADE. Victorine Lafourcade, youug, beauti ful, and accomplished, Lad a great number of admirers. Among them was a journalist named James Bossonet, whose chances of being the successful suitor seemed to be the best, when suddenly Victorine, contrary to all ex pectation, accepted the hand of a rich banker named Renelie. Bossouet was inconsolable, and his honest heart ached all the more when he learned that the marriage of his lady-love was uuhappy. Ranello neglected his wife in every possible way, and finally began to mal treat her. This state of things lasted two years, when Victorine died—at least so it was thought. She was entombed in a vault of the cemetery of her native town. Jules Bossouet assisted at the ceremony. Still true to his love, and well-nigh beside himbelf with grief, he conceived the romantic idea of breaking open the vault and securing a lock of the de ceased’s hair. That night, therefore, when all was still, he scaled the wall of the cemetery, and, by a circuitous route, approached the vault. When he had broken open the door and entered the vault he lighted a candle and proceeded to OPEN THE COFFIN. At the moment when he bent over the supposed corpse, scissors in hand, Vic torine opened her eyes and stared him full in the face. He uttered a cry and sprang back ; and immediately recover ing his self-possession, ho returned to the coffin, coveroditsoecupant’s lips with kisses, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her in full possession of all her faculties. When Victorine was suffi ciently recovered, they left the church yard and went to Bossouet’s residence, where a physician administered such remedies as were necessary to effect the complete recovery of the unfortunate woman. This proof of Bossouet’s love naturally made a deep impression on Victorine. She repented her past fickle ness, and resolved to fly with the ro mantic Jules to America. There they lived happily together, without, how ever, being able to fully overcome their longing to return to their native land. Finally their desire become so strong to revisit the scens of their youth that they decided to brave the danger at tendant on a return and embarked at New York for Havre, where they ar rived in July, 1839. Victorine, in the interim, had naturally changed very greatly, and Jules felt confident that her former husband would not recognize her. In this hope he was disappointed. Renelie had the keen eye of a financier, and recognized Victorine at the first glance. This strange drama ended with a suit brought by the banker for the recovery of his wife, which was decided against him on the ground that his claim was outlawed. The scene of the following two cases, with which we shall end our review, is in England : One Edward Stapleton died—as was supposed—-of typhus fever. The disease had been attended by such strange phenomena throughout that the physicians were desirous to make a post mortem examination of the ease. The relatives, however, positively refused their consent. The physicians; consequently decided to steal the body —not an unusual thing in England—in order to satisfy their curiosity. They communicated with a band of rascals who at that time made a business of stealing bodies, and three days after the funeral had the body of Stapleton brought to the dissecting-room of a neighboring clinic. When they made the first incision, which was across the abdomen, they were struck with the fresh appearance of the flesh, and the clearness and limpidity of the blood. One of the physicians proposed that they should subject the body to the action of a galvanic battery. This they did, and obtained abnormal results; the move ments and contractions of the muscles were more powerful than are usually ob served. Toward evening a young stu dent suggested that they should make an incision in the pectoral muscles, and introduce the poles of the battery into the wound. This was done, when, to their amazement the body rolled from the table, remained a second or two on its feet, stammered out two or three unintelligible words and then fell heavily to the floor. Fora moment the learned doctors were confounded, but soon re gaining their prosence of mind, they saw that Stapleton was still although he had again fallen into his former lethargy. They now applied themselves to resuscitating him, in which they were successful. Ho afterward said that during the whole time ho was fully con scious of his condition, and of what was passing around him. The words he attempted to utter were : “i AM ALIVE !” A somewhat similar experience was that of an Eoglish artillery officer who, : n a fall from his horse, had fractured his skull, and was trepanned. He was in a fair way to recover, when one day he fell into a lethargy so profound that he was thought to be dead, and, in due time, was buried. The following day, beside the grave in which he had been interred, another citizen of London was buried, and at last one of the assistants chanced to stand on it. Suddenly the man cried out that he felt the ground move under nis feet as though the occu pant of the grave would find his way to the surface. At first the man was thought to be the victim of an halluci nation, but the earnestness with which he persisted attracted the attention of a constable, who caused the grave to be opened. They found that the officer had forced the coffin lid, and had made a partially successful effort to raise him self up. He was entirely unconsious when they got him ont but it was evi dent that the effort to extricate himself had been made but a short time before. He was carried to a hospital near by, where the physicians, after a time, SUCCEEDED IN RESUSCITATING HIM. He stated that, for an hour before his last swoon, he was fully conscious of the awful situation he was in. The grave had fortunately been very hastily and lightly filled with clay, and here and there the continuity of the mass had been brokfn by large stones, which allowed the air to penetrate as far down as the coffin. He had tried in Vain to make his cries heard, and finally, partly in consequence of having an insufficient supply ot air, and partly in consequence of the mental agony he suffered, he had fallen into the unconscious state in waich be was found. Another Ecglishman describes what he experienced, while lying in a coffin in a p rfcc’L conscious btate, :n thefol | lowing wonls : “It would be impossi ble to find words that would express tne ! iifoiy and despair that T suffered. Erery blow of the hammer with which ! they nailed do* my eoffia-lid went ! through n-y b*aiu bke *he of A death knell. I would never have be lieved that the human heart could en dure such terrible agony and not burst into pieces. When they let me slowly down into the ground, I distinctly heard the noise the coffin made every time it rubbed against the sides of the grave. ” This man also awoke under the knife of a doctor. He, like Stapleton, had been stolen, and carried to the dissecting room of a medical school. At the moment the professor made a slight in cision down the abdomen the spell was broken, and he sprang to his feet. Paddy Ward’s Epitaph. There was a droll debate the other day at a meeting of the guardians of the Drogheda union. It happened in this way. Long ago in Drogheda there lived one Paddy Ward, a jovial gentle man, who took a fancy to erecting his own monament in the place where he intended to be buried. He did so ; and upon the stone he cansed to be inscribed the following: “ Beneath this stone here lieth one, That still his friends did please; To heaven I hope he’s surely gone, to enjoy eternal ease. He drank, he sang, whilst here on earth, Lived happy as a lord, and now he has re signed his breath, God rest him, Paddy Ward!” Having set up this memorial of him self, Mr. Ward, according to tradition, dedicated it by giving a party on the spot, at which he, with all his guests, got “ gloriously drunk.” In due time he was gathered to his fathers and placed under the stone. When the Rev. Mr. Powderly, came to rule spiritually over the vicinage, he was greatly shocked and scandalized by the in scription, and he ordered it to be effaced, allowing only the words “ God rest Paddy Ward ” to remain. Then, indoed, there was a row and riot and rumpus in that parish, and Mr. Owen Markey, taking the matter up, asked for the dismissal of Johnny McGeough, the sexton who had not reported the deface ment. Mr. Markey said that so much did he admire the inscription that when ever he had employed a stone-cutter he had always ordered him “to give a lit tle touch to Paddy Ward’s tombstone.” The Rev. Mr. Powderly being called upon to defend his prima facie piece of vandalism, made a most solemn speech to the guardians, in which he argued the matter thus : “ There would be no sense at all in writing that Paddy Ward drank, if it was not intended to convey that he drank too much—in plain Eng lish, that he was a drunkard ; and the words ‘he sang’ oould only mean that he sang the indecent and ribald songs in which drunkards are wont to in dulge ;” “ and yet,” said Mr. Powderly, “we are told that ‘to heaven he is surely gone.’” Was this a thing “to be read ” by the children of the “par ish ?” at a time, too, when “ the vice of intemperance was spreading over the whole country?” He hadn’t in the least injured the stone, but he had given the deceased a respectable, decent, temperance epitaph, with “ God rest Paddy Ward !” as legible as ever. The board of guardians appears to have been bothered and unable to come to any decision. Mr. Mangan asked Mr. Markey “if he intended to renew the inscription?” Mr. Markey answered promp’ly and decisively, “I will, by the blessing of God!” and so the matter was allowed to drop. Fashions in Stockings. Tl e Paris shops are full of the most fancitnl designs in this one detail of feminine attire. They are made in or )am color, lemon color, orango yellow, straw color, pink, pale blue, pale green, lilac, light brown, dark brown, crimson, scarlet, purple—in short, in every shade of every color. But the precise tint is only half the question; the designs worked upon the stocking are by far the most important part of it, as regards fashion, and these are of the most varied description. One pair of stockings which excited much admiration from the passers of a certain well-known shop in Paris was in lemon color, and the instep of each foot was covered with bunches of black currents, with their twigs and leaves most delicately embroidered in the colored silks. Another example of ornamentation lay close at hand, in the f jrm of a black silk stocking, round the log of which a garter of silk rosebne’s and leaves, winding upward from the ankle, was exquisitively embroidered. This last fashion is very popular just now. Stockings so embroidered are, of course, enormously dear. Few women can afford to buy many such expensive articles of dress as these garlanded stockings; therefore, it becomes a matter of eager competition among the leaders of fashion to secure as many: specimens of the latest rage as their purses will allow. The mania is in stilled, and henceforth the woman of the world takes rank according to her stockings. Garlands of flowers do not hold the field alone, it mast be observed. In some cases inscriptions and devices are embroidered round the legs of the modern stockings and rows and patterns are worked in colored silk stars or spots. The ground, however, of all this work must, on no account be white. Professor Tice’s Prophecies. A writer in the Louisville Commer cial says : It certainly looks as if Prof. Tice is either the teacher of anew philosophy in regard to meteorological laws, or a good gnesser. He first ac counted for the dry snmmers of the past two years upon a theory which ho said was based upon observed facts. The theory fitted what had transpired ad mirably. Bnt he went farther and pre dicted a summer of storms up to the middle and possibly all through Jaly, based upon the same theory. And he also stated that these causes were oosmi cal, and would affect the whole globe. And up to this time his prediction has been verified. For not only has the at mospheric ocean been perturbed in an unusual manner everywhere, but we hear of earthquakes in various quarters of the globe, and volcanio convulsions to an unusual degree—in Asia Minor, in Central and South America, in the islands of the sea. Then storms are numerous and constantly occurring, and the rain fall abundant The professor ascribes these to planetary influences and the frequent occurrence in a limited time of planetary equinoxes, which, he says, have accompanied like phenomena in all cases since they have been re corded, and verification possible. It must be that the atmosphere is subject to fixed laws just as all other elements are known to be. But as we cannot see it, or tonch it, or handle it, these laws have remained undiscovered, and we know less about the ocean of air that surrounds us than of any other, or rather we know nothing of it. Prof. Tice has struck out anew path, which he says is based upon f acts recorded, and his book now in press will ba looked for with great interest, in view of the remarkable luifidmeid of bin untwebou?- VOL. 16--NO. 28. SAYINGS AND DOINGS. Identity T. B. ALDRICH. Somewhere—in desolate, wind-swept sp* e,— In Twilight-land, in No-man's land,— Two berrying Shapes met face to face. And bade each other stand. ‘An and who are yon ?” cried one, agape, Shuddering in the gloaming lijjht. ** I do not know,” said the second Shape, “ I only died last night!” Providence has decreed that those common acquisitions money, gems, plate, noble mansions, and dominion— should be sometimes bestowed on the indolent and unworthy; but those things which constitute our true riches, and whioh are properly our own, must be procured by our own labor. The Nevada ninuy hammer who ha just buried his wife in a silver coffin has done a good deal of harm. Other women will now feel that nobody cares a farth ing for them if they are not laid away in the same style, and they won’t put up with any of your German-silver oof lins, either. “ No, gentlemen of the jury,” thun dered an eloquent advocate the other day in a Denver court, “ this matter is for his honor to decide, who sits there sleeping so beautifully.” His honor opened both eyes and his month, and said, “ All owing to your narootic speech, sir.” We are having too many local centen nials. Better save them for next year. A man celebrates the anniversary ef his birth and his wedding; but nobody ever heard of his giving a ballon the anniversary of the day he first put ol trousers, or a dinner to commemorate his first cigar. Fitzhcoh Lee, the friskiest dragoon that ever led liis troopers against loyal legions—the boldest knight in all the array of southern chivalry—the Du Guesclin of the rebellion—Fitzhngh Lee cheered in the streets of Boston ! Clasping hands across the bloody chasm ! Where’s your chasm—Brook lyn Art jus. At a camp-meeting last summer, a venerable sister began the hymn— “ My soul be on thy gnarJ : Ten thousand foes arise.” She began in shrill quavers, but it was pitched too high : “Ten thousand— Ten thousand,” she screeched, and stopped. “Start her at 5000 !” cried a converted stock-broker present. Passing up Beaubien street yester day a gentleman 6aw a man sitting on the steps of a dilapidated old house, and looking so lonely and friendless that he halted and asked : “ Anybody dead in the house ? ” “ Noxt thing to it,” sighed the man, as he scratched his knee through a hole in his trowsers, “ the old woman’s got an idea that she wants twenty-one yards in a calico dress.”— Detroit Free Press. With a white chip bonnet, paper of pins, and a box of miscellaneous feath ers, lace, ribbons and flowers, any girl of the period, with a small stock of in genuity, can convey the impression to the public at large that she has half a dozen bonnets this season. Avery fashionable shape is that male by sit ting down and stamping on an ordinary frame, and then putting in some large roses ! An English officer at Boston thus wrote of our revolutionary sires : “In this army (the British) are many of noble family, many very respectable, virtuous, and amiable characters, aud it grieves ono that gentlemen, brave British soldiers, should fall by the hands of such despicable wretches as compose the banditti of the country, amongst whom there is not one that has the least pretension to bo called a gen tleman. They are a most rude, de praved, degenerate race, and it is a mor tification to ns that they speak English, and can trace themselves from that stock.” A Javanese editor writes of European customs: “If we observe the practioe of Europeans, it would appear that the power of the wife is greater than that of the husband, and that this error has been brought aliout by the want of a correct view of the dictates of nature. We will point ont examples of this. In going through a door the wife passes first and the husband follows her ; the wife takes the best seat and the husband the next best; in visiting, the wife is first saluted ;in forms of address, the wife is first mentioned. Moreover, while men are in the company of ladies they must be particular in their conver sation, and are not permitted to smoke without the ladies’ permission being first obtained. These and like customs are innumerable, and the power of the ’ women is far greater than that of the ! men.” I'lie London Men and Women's Club. The Albemarle Clnb baa at last, after many months delay, opened its doors. This is an association organized on the principle of ignoring sex, and giving to men and women together the ordinary facilities of a London clnb. It is the firet exjieriment of the kind. There is a clnb for women separately already in existence on a small scale, but there never has been one where the two sexes meet on even terms. Bold as the ven ture is, it has the countenance of some of the best women and men in England, and it l*egins with over three hundred members, having accommodation for five hundred. Care has been taken to meet some ef the obvious difficulties in the case. Only some of the rooms are to be used in common. There is a sepa rate drawing-room for ladies and a smoking-room for men, from which la dies are expressly excluded—though smoking among ladies is not unknown. The dining-room is open to both, but if a lady likes a cup of tea in the ladies’ drawing-room she may have that. At present there is nothing in the rules to prevent a member of the club of either sex from asking a friend of either sex to lunch of" dinner. The only security taken on this point is that the name of the guest and the host shall be entered together in a book open to inspection. The marriage relation gave rise to some debate, I hear, in connection with the question of membership, but it was decided that the club had nothing to do with it—in other words, that a wife might be a member without her husband and the husband of course without his wife. I indicate only one or two out of several curious points of inquiry, some of which remain yet in doubt and yet must be disposed of. The experiment is made in perfect good faith, and the club is entitled—since they would make it—to fair treatment. But i* is difficult to see how its life can be much pro longed without giving rise to scandal, though scandal and entire innocence, as is often the case, go together, or to be lieve that its members will not by and >yy fine that they hav triad" a. 1