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THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
A. ItIAKM IIILK' )
W. A. MAKsi'IiALKJ Editors and Proprietors.
THE FAINT FL O WEE.
Up where the meadow-arf sa
Boms toward the river,
Stood little Bluebell
All in a shiver.
“ River! ob, River !
Where are yon going?
Slay jrtst a moment
In yonr swift flow in (
“ Ob, little Bluebell!
How can I wait l
Toe miller will chide me,
The boats wilt te iate. ’
“ Rain-clouds! oh, Itain-c’ouds
Where are you flying ?
am so thirsty,
Fainting and dying!”
“ Ob, little Bluebell!
Afar in the air
The storm-Ain" is calling,
And we must be there.”
“ Robin, dear Robin !
t am so ill,
And you’re at the river-brink,
Drinking yoor ill'.”
“ Ob. little Bluebell!
Do, then, look up ;
Some kind cloud will give you
A drop iu your cup.”
Here little Bluebell
Ceased ber complaint,
Drooping still lower,
Hopeless and faint.
But down fell the twilight,
And up came the Dew.
Whißp’ring, “Dear B'uebel',
We're sorry for you.
“ We are net strong,
Dike the Rain or the River,
But never a flower fain s
For he’p we can give her.”
By thousands and thousands,
The Summer night through,
BPently gathered
The hosts of the Dew.
At dawn, little Bluebell
Held gratefully np,
Her s'lent thank-ofl'eiing—
The Dew in her cup.
Mary A. Lathbury
HIS LETTER.
Ono rainy night, about half past
o’clock, the train had dashed into
McKibben’s Corners, and the mail had
been delivered at the store and post
effiee.
John Fairjohn, the postmaster, had
opened the bag and counted the letters.
There were, as he made out, just ten,
and one was larger than the others and
had a red seal; and then he had found
that he had left his glasses on the news
paper in the back room, and without
his glasses he could not read a line;
and so, of course, he had gone after
them, returning to find two persons in
the store—Farmer Roper and ’Squire
McKibben, whose ancestors had given
name to that plaoe.
“ Wet, ain’t it ?” said Mr. Fairjohn,
nodding.
“ Wet or not, our folks ain’t going to
do without their groceries, you see,”
said the Squire. “Mail’s in I see. That,
train come near running into my truck,
too. Wasn’t noticing the flag, and
drove across just in time to save myself.
Any letters for me ?”
“I’ll see,” said Mr. Fairjohn.
He turned to the little pile of envel
opes, and told them over like a deck of
cards.
“ Why there’s cnly nine,” he said.
“I’m sure I cocnted right. I counted
ten, and I thought one had a red eeal.
I might as well give up keeping the
< lliae if I’m going to lose my senses like
that. There wasn’t any one in here
while I was gone, was there, Squire?”
“ Only Roper and I,” said the Squire,
and Roper’s sou. But he didn’t come
in, did he?”
“No,” said old Roper. “I don’t
think that Job came in at all. He just
went off somewhere.”
“ Well,” said the postmaster, after
nuother search, “ well, I must bo mis
taken, Yes, there is a letter for you,
your folks, anyway—and something for
you, Mr.. Roper. And you wouldn’t
mind tossing that in at the Smith’s as
you nass?”
“Ob, no,” said Farmer Roper.
" ( hve it to me. That’s from Smith
that’s clerking it in New York, I reckon.
Can’t get any of ’em to stay and farm.”
1 j our son Job did,” said the Squire.
“Oh, my eon Job. He’d try the
patience of his namesake,” said Farmer
F >per. “My son Job, bah.”
Jimtat this moment the door of the
store opened, and there entered a
little woman dressed in a cheap calico
and wrapped in a thin aud faded shawl.
She looked timidly about the store,
still more timidly at the heap of letters,
aud then, in an appealing voice like ihafc
of a frightened child, said :
“ Mr. Fairjohn, is there any letter for
me this time ?”
The postmaster, who was a little deaf,
had turned his head away and did not
know that she had entered, and she
came closer to the counter and the lielit
upon it, before she spoke again. She
Whs a faded little woman, and her face
had signs of grief w r ritteu upon it, but
she was neither old nor ugly yet, and
there was something in the damp curls
elusteriug around the faded calico hood,
and in the little round, dimpled chin
absolutely childlike eveu yet.
“Js there a letfcr for me this timo,
Mr. Fairjohn ?’’ she said again; and this
time the postmaster looked.
“ No, there ain’t; and you’re a fool
for taking such a walk to ask,” said he
"hth rough kindness. “ Wouldn’t I
have sent it if it had a come, Mrs. Les
ter.”
“ Well, you see, I felt in a hurry to
get it,” said she, “You can't blame me
for being in a hurry, it’s so long.”
“ That’s true,” said the postmaster.
“Well, better Inck next time. But why
dou’t you wait ? Mr. MeKibben will
take you over when he goes. He passes
yourcrner.”
“ Yes, wait, Mr3. Lester,” cried Mr.
MeKibben, ‘Til take ye and welcome.”
But she had answered :
“ Thank you. I don’t mind walking,”
and was gone*.
“ Kerp? it up, don’t she ? ’ asked the
postmaster.
“ It’s a shame,” said Mr. MeKibben.
How many vears it is now since Lestei
vent off.
“Ten,” said the postmaster. “]
know, for it was the day I came hero,
‘■'lie was as pretty a women as you’c
want to see then, wasn’t she ?”
“ Well, yes,” said Mr. MeKibben.
“Sailed in the Sphynx,” said the
postmaster. “And we all know that
Sphynx went down in that voyage.
a 1 haedi alcmg with her. The rest of
the women put on widow’s weeds, them
* Hat lost their husbands—four in this
t )wn itself. They took what the Al
mighty sent and didn’t rebel. She set
np hat her husband wasn’t dead, and
vould come back. She’s kept it up
evf r siDca; comes for his letter regular
and ho was drowned along with ail the
rfß ** of course, ten years ago. She
must he thirty. Well, she’s changed a
good deal in that timo.”
“Yes,” said the other man; “but
there’s my son Job wild over her yet
He s offered himself twice. He stand*
ready to offer himself again any day—
ready to be a father to her boy, and a
good husband to her. He’s better off
than I be. His mother’s father left
him all he had. He’s crazy as Job
craz y> I oall it. Plenty of pretty gal
and healthy, smart widows, and he sees
no one but that pale slim little thing
that a jnst gone out into the mud, and
she—why. of course, she’s lost her
•tenses, or she’d have him. Works like
a slave to keep herself and the child,
lives in a rickety shanty waiting and
waiting for a drowned man to come
back again. Why, every one knows
Charlie Lester was drowned in the
Sphynx. There wasn’t a soul saved—
not one. It was in the papers. Now,
the bottle was found with a letter in it,
writ by someone before the ship sunk.
And she’s waiting’ for him yet!”
“Crazy on that point,” said the post
master. “Well, poor soul, she’d only
been marritd a week when the Sphynx
sailed ; that makes a difference.”
“Oh, yes,” said the farmer.
Then, their parcels being ready, they
went out to their wagons, and Mr.
Fairjohn having stared out into the
rainy night awhile put up his shutters
and went to bed. Meanwhile the wo
man plodded on through the mud.
“ Walking off her disappointment,” she
said to herself. It was one she should
have been used to, and now the ab
surdity of it seemed to strike her for
the first time in all these years.”
“They laugh at me,” she muttered
to herself. “ I know they laugh at me.
Perhaps I am mad ; but they don’t
know what love is. Charlie wouldn’t
have left me like that. If he had died
he would have given me some sign ;
aud, yet—yet, if he were alive, it would
be stranger still. No, no; they are
right—l am wrong. He must be
dead.”
And as though the news had just
been whispered to her, she clasped her
hands to her forehead, gave a cry, and
sank down on her knees in the road.
She knelt there a few moments and
then arose. In this interval the wind
had blown the clouds form the fky,
and the moonlight lay white upon the
path and lit her on her way to her poor
home.
There at the door eat a man, a strong,
determined looking fellow, who arose
as she approached and held out his
hand.
“ Here you come,” he said, “tired to
death, worn out, still on that fruitless
errand. Jessie Lester, can’t you give
up this nonsense and think of the living
a little. Think of me, Jessie, for just
half an hour.”
“Ido think of you,” she said. “I
am very sorry you should be so good to
me when I must seem so bad to you.
Then she sat down on the porch and
took her little hood off, and leaned her
head wearilv against the wall of the
house ; and the man arose and crossed
over and sat down beside her.
“ Give it a softer resting place,
Jessie,” he said, “ here on my heart.”
She looked out into the night, not at
him, as she spoke:
“Job,” she said, “I begin to think
yon are right, that he went down in
the Sphynx with the rest ten years ago.
But what good would Ido you ? What
do you want to marry me for ? ”
The man drew closer still as he an
swered :
“ Before yon were married to Charles
Lester I loved you. While you were a
married woman I loved you. All these
ten years since that vessel went down
I’ve loved you. A man must have the
woman he loves if he gives his soul for
her.”
“ What a horrible thought! ” said
she. “ His soul.”
“ I should have said his life,” said
Job. “I don’t want to shock you.
But you don’t know what it would be
to me to have you. And then I’d do
everything for your boy.”
“Yes,” she answered; “I know you
would.”
There was a pause. Then slio gavo
him her hand.
“Job,” she said very softly, “I shall
pretend nothing I don’t feel, but I know
I’ve been crazy all this time, and if you
wan’t me you may lxavo me. It’s very
good of you to love me so.”
And thus it seems to have ended, that
ten years’ watching and waiting, and
there was triumph in Job's eyes as he
turned and left her with his first kiss
upon her brow. But at the end of the
green lane he paused and looked back.
“I told her the truth,” he said,
“ when I said that when a man loved a
woman as I loved her, he must have
her, if the price were his soul itself.”
And then he drew from his breast a
letter with a griat red seal upon it,
looked at it for a moment, and hid it
away again.
Married ? Yes, they were to be mar
ried. Every one at McKibben’s Cor
ners knew that now. Jessie Lester
went no more to the postoffice for her
long-expected letter. Job was furnish
ing his house—had furnished it, for on
the morrow the weddiDg was to take
place. And it was night agaiD. A month
from that night, when she had come
for the last time, as every one thought,
through rain and mud, to make her
sadly foolish query, she was sensible
at last—very sensible. She had chosen
the substance instead of tne shadow.
And now, as we said, it was night,
and a wetter one than that other—later,
too, for Mr. Fairjohn had closed the
store, and was compounding himself
what he called a “ night cap ” of some
fragrant liquor, warm water, lemons
and sugar, and was supping it by the
stove, when there came upon his door a
feeble knock, and when, being repeated,
he heard it, there staggered in out of
the rain a dripping figure—that of
Jessie Lester, the bride who was to be
on the morrow.
She was trembling with cold, and as
he led her to the fire she burst into a
flood of tears.
“ I’m frightened,” she said. “Some
one followed me all the way. I heard
them.”
“ You’ve no business to be out alone
at night,” said old Fairjohn, bluntly,
“ And what’s the matter ? ”
She looked up at him piteously.
“ I thought there would be a letter.”
said she. “ I dreamt there was on°. I
thought Charlie came to me and paid,
‘Goto the office once more. I have
written, I have written.’ And 11bought
[ seen a letter with a red seal.”
“So did I,” muttered old Fairjohn to
himself.
And he went to the box where the
letters were kept and brought them to
ht r in his hand.
“ Look for yourself,” he said. “And
now, Mrs. Lester. I’m an old man.
Take my advice. Remember what your
duty will be after to morrow. Remem
ber not to go crazy.”
“ len years have gone since your
husband ieft this place. If he’s aiive
he’s a rascal, and you are free of him
by law ; but we all know that every
man on board the Sphynx was drowned.
So boa good wife to Job Roper and
forget this folly. I’ll take you home
again this time. Don’t come agiin.”
She made no answer, but only tos:ed
the letters over in her lap, and said :
“I seemed to know it had a red
seal.”
And as she spoke, old Fairjohn,
glancing at the door, saw a dark shadow
there, saw it grow darker ; saw it enter,
and starting up on his defense, if need
be, recognized Joe Roper.
He was very pale, and he took no
notice of Fairjohn, but crossing the
store, stood beside Jessie Lester.
“ You love that man best, even now,
he said. “ You’d rather have found a
letter from him than not, though to
morrow is our wedding day.”
She looked up into his face with a
piteous glance.
“ I never lied to you,” said she.
“ You know that.”
He grew whiter still.
“ I told you a man would lose his
soul for such a love as mine,” said he.
“Did you think those were idle
words ?”
Then he plunged his hand into his
bosom, and the next instant a letter,
with a red seal, lay in Jessie’s lap.
“ I’ve made yon happy, and now I’ll
go,” h 9 said. “Fairjohn, I stole that
letter a month ago, off the connter
yonder. I knew who wrote it at a
glanceand then the door closed be
hind him and he was gone.
But Jessie had torn open the letter
and looked after him.
Aud these were the words she read,
old Fairjohn reading over her shoulder:
“Aboard the Silver Star. —Jessie, dar
ling. I don’t know what makes me believe
that I shall find you mine still, after all those
years, but something does.
Five of us wero cist on a desert island when
the Sphynx wont down. The two yet alive
were taken off it yesterday in skins, with our
beards to our knees. We "must go to England
first—then home. Jessie, Jeesie, if I do not
find you as X left you I shall go mad.
Your husband, Charles Lester.
And so Jessie’s letter had come at
last. And as John Fairjohn looked
into her face he saw how angels looked
in Paradise.
And Job. Job was found drowned in
the Kill the next morning. Jessie
never knew it, perhaps, for she and her
boy were on their way to New York to
meet tho Silver Star when it made port.
Death of a Nob’e Woman.
Lady Jane Griffin Franklin, the ven
erable widow of Sir John Franklin,
whose death was announced by cable a
few days ago, deserves to rank in his
tory as one of the most remarkable
women of this or any other age. She
was born in 1502, and was 26 years of
age when she become the second wife of
Sir John Franklin, the distinguished
English navigator and Artie explorer.
When Sir John was appointed governor
of Van Dieman’s Lund, in 183(5, Lady
Franklin accompanied him, where she
remained until 1812. She took an ac
tive interest in all her husband’s enter
prises, and assisted him greatly in his
preparations for the fatal voyage of dis
covery to the north pole. This expe
dition started in May, 1815, on the
Terror and Erebus, but never returned.
For several years no intelligence of the
expedition reached England, and a
majority of the people came to the con
clusion that it had been lost and all on
board had perished. But Lady Frank
lin was not of the number. She clung
to the hope that her husband still lived,
and that, although perhaps wrecked in
the Arctic seas, he had found a home
among the Esquimaux, and would
eventually be rescued. She besought
tho government to send out au expe
dition in search of the explorers. Sev
eral expeditions went out, both from
England and America, and in 1850 Lady
Franklin herself fitted up an expedition
to join in the search. It was not until
1851, however, that any tidings came
back from the frozen zone. In that
year Dr. Rea found some relics of the
lost navigators, but they were only suf
ficient to demonstrate that the vessels
had been crushed in the ice, and to dis
pel all hopes for the safety to the crew.
But Lady Franklin refused to believe
the inevitable, and again in 1857 fitted
up the steamer and placed it under
command of C ipt. McClintock. In the
summer cf 1859, Capt. McClintcck dis
covery 1 on the shore of King William’s
Land a rt cord deposited in a cavern by
the survivor’s of Franklin’s company.
The document, dated April 25, 1848,
stated that Sir John Franklin had died
on the 11th of Juce, 1847 ; that the Ere
bus and Terror had been abandoned on
April 22, 1848, when the survivors, 105
iu number, started for the great fish
river. Oilier relics were discovered
that tended to confirm this statement,
when the Fox returned to England.
Lady Franklin was now compelled to
abandon all hope of again seeing her
husband alive. But she still hoped
that some of the crew would be found
who coutd give an account of his last
moments, and perhaps give to the world
the result of the expadition. Up to the
day of her death she never wearied of
patronizing expeditions fo the north
pole, and took an active interest in all
such explorations. When the expedi
tion from Portsmouth started for the
Arctic region a few weeks ago, Lidy
Franklin, although feeble in health,
was present to see the ships off, and
sent words of kindly encouragement
to the crew. One of her sons accom
panied tho expedition.
In her search for some relics of her
lost husband, Lady Franklin expended
her entire fortune, and died compara
tively poor. She was esteemed by all
who knew her for her many charities
and great personal worth. The world
has lost a brave, good woman, whose
devotion to her husband is almost with
out a parallel in history, but who, in the
midst of her own great grief, did not
forget the wees of others. Not only
Eagland, but the whole world will
mourn her death and speak worcts of
praise in her memory.
The State of the Cotton Trade.
While the wheat market is “boom
ing,” cotton manifests more depression
than at any time within the past two
months. Notwithstanding the fact that
our crop for the year just ending has
fully 300,000 bales less than the
preceding one, the stock of American
ootton at Liverpool is 150,000 bales
larger than it was a year ago, and the
Liverpool price on the 22d was G 15-
IGJ., against 8d in 1874. The Liver
pool Economist says that the market
at Manchester is flat, that stocks are
accumulating and that the raw material
is in but little demand at Liverpool.
England wants our wheat, for, however
dull trade may become, her people
must have bread to eat; but as
to eotten the case is quite different.
India is competing with her cotton
manufacturers on so formidable a scale
as to drive them almost altogether out
of the market there and in China.
This was the prime cause of the recent
heavy failures in LondoD, Liverpool and
Manchester.
B cower, in one of his early novels,
writing on love, pays, “Perhaps it would
be better if we could get rid of it alto
gether. Life would go on smoother
and happier without it. Friendship is
the wine of existence, but love is the
dramdrinking.’
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, MONDAY EVENING, AUGUST 2, 1875.
THIEF-LIFE IN DUBLIN.
Extracts from a Story in the Atlantic Monthly
by D. 11. Johnson.
We clip the following extracts from a
cleverly-written story in the July num
ber of the Atlantic Monthly, entitled
“Broke Jail,” the author of which is
D. H. Johnson, Esq., of Milwaukee :
I suppose I was born in Dublin,
though iu what corner or cellar or gar
ret I have no idea. My first recollection
is of leading an old woman around the
streets who pretended to be blind, but
could see like a cat. She called herself
my grandmother. If that was true it
was the only truth I ever heard her tell.
She begged in the streets, and did a lit
tle in looking up good jobs for the burg
lars. We lived in a cellar in the
thieves’ and beggars’ quarter. Old
Masr Rnnnells—that was the woman’s
Dame —was quite a character there.
People who feared the police, or who
had stolen something bad to hide or
hard to sell, used often to come to her
for advice. They always brought with
them a bottle of whisky, for devil a
word would old Mag say tiii her whistle
was wet. Sometimes a man or woman
of onr set would want to borrow a small
sum of money of her, and would bring
some valuable to be left in pawn for the
loan. She would say, “Go away wid
yer bawble and don’t be cracking yer
jokes on a poor old blind body. If ye’ll
come back in an hour, maybe I can 'find
some pawnbroker where i can spout it
for yees. They all know that ould Mag
is honest, and not wan of them fears to
put out the money on what she fetches
tnim. Yes, yes, come back in an hour,
honey, and I’ll thry what I can do for
yees.” Then she’d send me off to play,
and while she was alone she would get
the money out of some hiding-place she
did have somewhere.
She was not very hard on me. I
must say that for her. She did cuff and
bang me about a good deal when she
was out of soits or drunk, but she fed
me well and clothed me comfortably,
and taught me to read and write and
reckon, for she was quite a scholar, and
had done something at forgery in her
day.
It would have edified you to see the
old woman and me on our rounds in the
streets. She went always in black,
threadbare clothes, with never a speck
of dust on them, and the whitest and
stiffest starched cap in all Dublin. She
did look as decent as a church warden’s
widow. Her square old eyes stared
straight before her. She looked blinder
uor a wooden god, and older nor the
Lord Lieutenant’s castle. I wore nice,
clean, patched jacket and trowsers, and
a close-fitting skull-cap. Ob, but wasn’t
I the meek, dutiful little grandson,
leading his poor, blind grandmother,
and didn’t I know how to blarney the
kind gentlemen and beautiful ladies !
We didn’t waste much time on the citi
zens, but devoted our attention mainly
to the country gentlemen and country
traders and their good wives, who almost
always gave us something. Wo were the
best beggars in Dublin. Old Mag used
to say that, if one had a talent for it,
begging was far more profitable nor
stealing, to say nothing of tho danger.
Sure, the old body had a right to know,
for she had tried both. She had been
in jail I don’t know how often, and had
spent fourteen years at Botany Biy.
Sometimes we would go into a house
or shop to beg. If we got nothing else
we were sure to get an observation of
the premises that might be useful to
the burglars. I believe Mag’s only no
tion of honor was that it would be a
scaly trick to report a house where the
people had given her silver, to the burg
lars. But woe to those who gavo ber
nothing, or coppers, if there was any
thing m the bouse worth stealing.
These same burglars did use to bor
row me now and again of a dark night,
to lift me in at windows and poke me
through holes where a man couldn’t go.
One morning when I was about ten
years old, or maybe eleven, I lay in my
bed of rags in one corner of our cellar
long after I had waked up, wondering
why the old woman didn’t call me as
she used to do. At last I crawled out
of my own accord, and went to see what
ailed the old body. She was dead. I
was a sharp little devil, and hunted the
cellar through for old Mag’s money,
before I called the neighbors. I only
found a few shillings.
Shakspeare’s Death-Mask.
The admirers of Shakspeare every
where wili be interested to learn that
the Page bust of the bard has been com
pleted. This bust, as is gem rally known,
is a reproduction from the German
death-mask that came into the light of
criticism about thirty five years ago,
and which was only seen by Mr. Page
last year. Tae artist is entirely con
vinced, from the most assiduous investi
gation, that the death-mask is genuine.
In 1810 Ludwig Becker, court painter
at Darmstadt, purchased at an auction
sale a small picture, by an unknown
i lemish artist, called “The Death-bed
of William Shakspeare.” From a study
of the face, he came to the conclusion
that it must have been painted not
from the body, but from a mask. So
struck was he by this inference, that he
began making inquiries in regard to the
matter. After rambling over Germany,
inspecting old portrait galleries, and
searching junk shops, at length became
upon an old plaster mask, which, on
turning over, bore a mortuary cross and
the date A. D. 1616, the year in which
Shakspeare died. As the pietu r e was
dated 1637, and as there is a striking
resemblance between it and the mask,
the evidence of the genuineness of the
latter is, when other things are taken
into consideration, quite strong. When
Shakspeare died, there were but two
portraits extant, and these are now
known as the Draeshout engraving and
the Ohandos portrait. The latter rep
resents the poet in his later years, with
a beard and mustache, and dressed in
black, with a wide, square collar turned
over, and little rings in his ears. The
former shows him as a man of about
26, his face smooth and incipient
mustache shading his upper lip. When
Shakspeare died, however, a monu
mental effigy was determined on, and a
plaster cast was taken off! he face. Mr.
Page, after the most careful study of
the bust at Stratford, the Draeshout
engraving and the Chandos portrait,
and by the aid of his artist-faculty for
noting the resemblances of faces and
figures, has become firmly convinced
that the Darmstadt mask gives the im
pression of the features of the poet.
He has finished the bust since his re
turn from Germany. It is life size, and
represents the poet in the maturity of
his powers. The mustache is fully
worn, and a doublo tuft is upon the
chin. It is not Shakespeare at twenty
six, nor at fifty two, but only Shaks
peare. These facts were gleaned bv a
reporter of the New York World from
conversations with Mr. Page. A Ger
man professor has advised that, in order
to test the genuineness of the mask, the
skull of Shakspeare, which is in the
grave at Stratford, be disinterred and a
comparison instituted. This reminds
the reporter of the inscription on the
granite slab in the Stratford church :
Good Frend for Jesu's sake ferbeare
To digg the D\st enclosed lie&re ;
Blose be ye Man yt spares thes stones
And curst be he yt moves my bones.
The Next Duty.
This is au epoch of elevators. We
do not dimb to our rooms in tne hotel;
we ride. We do not reach the upper
stories of Stewart’s by slow and patient
steps; we are lifted there. The Simplon
is crossed by a railroad, and steam has
usurped the place of the Alpen-stock on
the Riigi. The climb which used to
give us health on Mount Holyoke, and
a beautiful prospect, with the reward of
rest, is now purchased for twenty-five
cents of a stationary engine.
1! If onr efforts to get our bodies into
the air by machinery were not comple
mented by our efforts to get our Lves
up iu the same way, we might not find
much fault with them; but, in truth,
the tendency everywhere is to get up in
the world without climbing. Yearnings
after the Infinite are in the fashion. As
pirations for eminence—even ambitions
for usefulness—are altogether in ad
vance of the willingness for the neces
sary preliminary discipline and work.
The amount of vaporing among young
men and young women, who desire to
do something which somebody else is
doing—something far in advance of their
present powers—is fearful and most
lamentable. They are not willing to
climb the stairway ; they must go up in
an elevator. They are not willing to
scale the rocks in a walk of weary hours,
under a broiling snn ; they would go up
in a car with an umbrella over their
heads. They are unable, or unwilling,
to recognize the fact that, in order to
do that very beautiful thing which some
other man is doing, they must go slowly
through the discipline, through the
maturing process of time, through the
patient work, which have made him
what he is, and fitted him for his sphere
of life and labor. In short, they are
not willing to do their next duty, and
take what cornea of it.
No man now standing on an eminence
of influence and power, and doing great
work, has arrived at his position by go
ing up in an elevator. He took the
stairway, step by step. He climbed the
rocks, often with bleeding hands. He
prepared himself by the work of climb
ing for the work he is doing. He never
accomplished an inch of his elevation
by standing at the foot of the stairs with
his mouth open and longing. There is
no “ royal road ” to anything good—not
even to wealth. Money that has not
been paid for in life is not wealth. It
goes as it comes. There is no element
of permanence in it. The man who
reaches his money in an elevator does
not kuow how to enjoy it; so it is not
wealth to him. To get a high position
witbout climbing to it, to win wealth
without earning it, to do fine work
without the discipline necessary to its
performance, to be famous, or useful,
or ornamental without preliminary cost,
seems to be the universal desire of the
young. The children would begin
where the fathers leave off.
What exactly is the secret of true
success iu life ? It is to do, without
flincliiug, and with utter faithfulness,
the duty that stands next to one. When
a man has mastered the duties around
him, he is ready for those of a higher
grade, and he takes naturally one step
upward. When he has mastered the
duties at the new grade, he goes on
climbing. There are no surprises to
the man who arrives at eminence legiti
mately. It is entirely natural that he
should be there, and he is as much at
home there, and as little elated, as
when he was working patiently at the
foot of the stairs. There are heights
above him, and he remains humble, and
simple.
rreacliments are of little avail, per
haps ; but when one comes into contact
with so many men and women who put
aspiration iu the place of perspiration,
and yearning for earning, and longiDg
for labor, he is tempted to say to them :
“Stop looking up, and look around
you ! Do the work that first comes to
your hands, and do it well. Take no
upward step uutil you come to it natu
rally, and have won the power to hold
it. The top, in this little world, is not
so'very high, and patient climbing will
bring you to it ere you are aware.”—
Dr. J. O. Holland.
A Terrible Moment.
The Bein Public of Tarbes, June 29,
thus describes the destruction of the
bridge of the Adour : From daybreak
the entire length of the structure was
crowded with people, too busy in
watching the passage in the stream of
trees, gates, articles of furniture and
other things, to have any apprehension
of the danger they ran. At a quarter
before one, some workmen, noticing
the water dashing violent against the
piers of the bridge, and the flood
attaining the crown of the arches, saw
the masonary begin to open. A lock
smith named Barthez was one of the
first to perceive the danger, which ho
at once announced, begging the crowd
to retire at once. At first no attention
was paid to the warning; but some
men employed at the arsenal came be
hind the store of M. Roes and saw the
dust fly and the mortar give way, on
which a workman called Coulinet hur
ried away and joined Barthez in giving
the alarm. Still the idea prevailed
that the whole incident was a piece of
pleasantry. But on seeing those two
men pale, and terrified, the people be
gan to leave tb.e bridge. At that mo
ment an oscillation was felt, and the
panic reached itß height ; a few seconds
later a detonation was heard like the
firing of several pieces of artillery ; it
was the bridge which had given away,
precipitating with it several unfortunate
persons into the river. They are said
to have four in number, and to have
succeeded in saving themselves, and
we sincerely trust that such is the case.
The crash was followed by the cries
and lamentations of the populace ; one
calling out for his brother, another his
son ; this one seeking his wife and that
other her husband. After the first
moment of terror had pas=ed crowds
hurried to cross by the railway bridge,
still intact, in order to reassure their
families and friends.
How to Have Good Eggs. —There is
a vast difference in the flavor of eggts
Hens fed on clear, sound grain and kep.
on a clean grass run, give much finer
flavored eggs than hens that have accees
to stable and manure heaps and eat all
kinds of filthy food. Hens feeding cn
fish and onions flavor their eggs accord
ingly, the same as cows eating onions
or cabbage, or drinking offensive water,
imparts a bad > aste to the milk and
butter. The richer the food tho higher
the color of the eggs. Wheat and corn
give eggs the best color, while feeding
on buckwheat makes them colorless,
rendering them unfit for some confec
tionary purposes.
NEW ENGLAND’S SCEPI’RE.
Why She Will Have to Hand it Over to the
South —The Impending Revolution in Cotton
Manufacture.
The New York correspondent of the
London Standard furnishes some im
portant facts as to cotton manufacture
in the northern and southern states, and
draws a comparison between the two.
He says :
First, as to the north. I have some
facts bearing upon the profits of cotton
manufacture in six mills, which have
been adduce 1 to prove the profitable
ness of northern manufactures. I give
these as presumably correct. The Chic
opee Mills, with a capital of 8430,000,
made an average profit of 25 6 per cent,
during the period from 1862 to 1871—
the period of the six calculations. The
Saulsbnry Mills, with a capital of 82,-
000,000, made a profit of 22 5 per cent.;
the Pacific, capital, 82,500,000, made
21.25 per cent.; the Naumkeag, capital.
81,500,000, made 19 62 per cent.; the
Merrimac, capital, $2 500,000, made 15.5
per cent.; and the Middlesex, capital,
8750,000, made 12 5 per cent. Those
profits, leaving out of the calculation
the capital invested, shows an average
per centage of 17.98. But the re
sult is pretty nearly correct, as we see
two facts of opposite character—
namely, that the largest profits come
on the smallest capital, and that the
amount of capital that made above the
general average is largely in excess—
nearly double, in fact—that which fell
below it.
Secondly, as to the south. I have no
comprehensive figures to show in this
region, for the reason that such indus
tries as these were all in a confusion
during the whole of the period of great
prosperity, embraced in the northern
reports. The Macon Mills (steam) dur
ing the last year or two claimed to have
realized profits to the enormous extent
of 30 to 40 per cent. —say, the average,
35. The Petersburg Mills are said to
realize a profit of 25 jier cent.; the
Langley Mills, over 25 per cent.; the
Augusta Mills, over 20 per cent.; the
Columbus Mills, the largest probably in
the south (running 32,000 spindles and
900 looms), over 20 per cent, and the
Tallahasse, 20 per cent. These six av
erage, as above calculated, a profit of
over 24 per cent. This, it must be re
membered, has been mainly since the
financial crisis, September, 1873, during
which time many of the northern mills
have been running on half time. These
facts, so far as they constitute any com
parison, tell very strongly in favor of
the greatest profits of southern over
northern mills. The per cent, profits
are—northern, in prosperous times,
17.98 ; southern, in times of great finan
cial stringency, 24. But, as I intimated
above, the facts h°>re given, while I be
lieve them to be honestly estimated fnd
very close to the truth, are not to be
taken strictly.
Thirdly, as to ore mill, mentioned
above, I have specifio and trustworthy
statements. The mill is the Grauite
ville manufacturing company, located
in South Carolina, Mr. H. H. Hick
man, president, has just published his
annual report, and it is from this that
I take the following details : The cap
ital stock of the company is six hun
dred thousand (600,000) dollars; and
the net profits for the year ended on
the 27th of February have been 114,588
dollars, which is 19 08 per cent on the
capital stock. President Hickman states
that the trade of the country in all its
departments has not yet wlolly recov
ered from the depression caused by the
momentary panic o! 1873. The mills in
the north ran on short time daring a
large part of the year, and some of them
stopped work altogether, while the
Grauiteville ran without interruption.
The profits from salep of goods in New
York were $41,940 ; from domestic sales;
$71,799 ; from sales of waste, $15,963;
from rent, $595 —in all, $133,287, The
amount at credit of profit and loss ac
count has been reduced by the sum of
$18,699; and by subtracting that
amount from the gross profits above
given, the remainder is $114,589, which
shows the net profits, namely, 19.09 per
cent, on the capital stock. The con
sumption of cotton during the year
amounted to 3,676,892 pounds, or 171
commercial bales, 450 pounds each, of
the value of $528,602, an average of
14,38 cents per pound. The cotton
used was made into 259,826 pieces of
cloth, in 10,536,500 yards, a piece being
about 40 yards. This is an increase of
170,036 pounds of cotton, 4,755 pieces
of cloth, and 793,500 yards over the
preceding year. They have in store
1,855 bales, or 834,750 pounds, which
cost an average of 13.66 oents a pound—
less than the preceding year’s prices.
Fourthly, as to the reasons for the
greater profits of the southern manu
facturers. Prominent among these is
the faot that they have cotton at their
doors. The transportation from the
south to, say Lowell, the centre of
Northern manufacturers, costs, for
freight; $5, for commission on purchase,
$1.50 ; for insurance, 50 cents ; and for
exchange and shipping expenses and
truckage, 65 cents, in all 7.65. Now,
a bale of cotton 450 pounds, at, 15 cents
a pound, is $67.50 a bale ; and $7.65 for
expenses incidental to transportation
deducted is a deduction of moro than
II per cent of the capital invested.
But this is not all. Of the 450 pounds
in a bale the waste is always calculated
at 15 per cent, which is 67.5 pounds,
and this from 450 leaves 382.5 as the
bale of fibre. Now, $7.65 for transpor
tation is 13.33 per cent of the whole
value; and this is the disadvantages
with which the Lowell manufacturer
begins his work. It costs him then
$1.41 a bale to get the cloth to New
York, the common market. It costs
the southern manufacturer—at Augus
ta, say--$2.41 to ship his sloth to the
same market. But, by referring again
to President Hickman's figures above,
we find that his market is at home;
that is, 62 per cent of his sales are
domestic, while 38 per cent are in New
York. He has to pay the $2.44 freight
on onW 38 per cent of his cloths, while
the Lowell manufacturer pays his
$1.41 uu all of his. Another point of
economy to the Augusta manufacturer
is the cheaper labor he can command.
He has no fear of strikes, as his brother
in Lowell has to deal with every
month. Food and firewood are both
cheaper, and fr less of the latter is
required.
Thebe is a story related of Jarvis, the
distinguished painter, to the effect that,
walking down Broadway one day, he
saw before him a dark looking foreigner
bearing under his arm a small red cedar
cigar- box. He stepped immediately
into his “wake,” and whenever he met
a friend (which was once in two or three
minutes, for the popular artist knew
everybody), ho would beckon to him
with a wink to “fail into line” behind.
By and by the man turned down one of
the cross streets, followed close by
Jarvis and his “tail.” Attracted by
the measured tread of so many feet, he
turned round abruptly, and, seeing the
procession that followed in his foot
steps, he exclaimed : “What for de
debbil is dis ! What for yon take me
eh? What for you so much oome after
me, eh?” “Sir,” exclaimed Jarvis, with
an air of profound respect, “we saw
you going to the grave alone with the
body of yonr dead infant, aud we took
the opportunity to offer you our
sympathy, and to follow your babe to
the tomb.” The man explained, in his
broken manner, that the box eontained
only cigars, aud he evinced his grati
tude for the interest which had been
manifested in his behalf, by breaking
it open and dispensing them very liber
ally to the mourners.
A New Freak of Fashion.
“ Batter be out of the world than ont
of the fashion ” is, and has been the
ruling doctrine of the favored few to
whom fortune has been lavish of her
gifts.
The latest freak of the aristocratic
world of London will somewhat sur
prise the time-honored proprieties of
tinman life. It is coffins ! A strange
fancy, no doubt, for health, wealth, and
beauty, but such it is. There has been an
exhibition of coffins at Stafford House,
the town residence of the dnke of
Sutherland, and young ladies in gay
bonnets, old dowagers in gorgeous silks,
whiskered dandies in all patterns came
to see, and to admire. The coffin show
has been tlie success of the season.
There must be some element of cheer
fulness iu the trappings and the suits of
woe. Otlnrwise, we presume, the
countenances of persons who attend
funerals would not wear so cheerful and
even hilarious an aspect. At all eventß,
society would seem to have agreed to
accept the most esthetic and pleasant
view of the inevitable it possibly can.
The coffins exhibited were in accord
ance with Mr. Haden’s views of the
expedience of using wickerwork with
moss and herbs in room of a closed
box and screw nails. Tnere were abont
a dozen new styles, made of osiers,
white or stained, plain and ornamental.
A double basket is provided where char
coal is required, the powdered dust be
ing placed in the interval—of two and
tLree inches—between the two baskets.
It is proposed to fill the baskets with
ferns, lichens, mosses, shrubs, and
evergreens. It is admitted that in some
cases linings of some imperishable ma
terial will be necessary, and in general
the wicker coffins, when filled with
foliage, will be less gloomy and repul
sive than the wooden ones.
The fashionable world is discussing
coffins. They are the subject of con
versation iu drawing-rooms, kettle
drums, and promenades. Such remarks
as the following may doubtless be
wafted from the usual lounging grounds
of wealthy idleness : “So nice ! ” “so
sweet!” “so cool in summer! ” “so
comfortable in winter! ” and so
death would appear to have lost its
terrors, and the old reverential awe
which used to attend the “first
dark day of nothingness ” to have
passed away. Still, the world moves
on, and the skeleton grins, and
the Mephistophelean laugh is doubtless
heard above the chatter and the din of
careless mockery.
The Secretary-Bird and Snakes.
Many and various are the names ap
plied to this extraordinary bird, by the
natives of the different countries in
which it is common. By some it is
known as the “devil’s steed,” by others
as the “ bird of fate.” We must own
that to us these fanciful appellations
are quite unintelligible, nor has any
eastern tale that we have ever read
thrown a light upon their origin ; never
theless onr unpeetioal imagination at
once recognizes the appropriateness of
its nickname of tho “ secretary,” as the
crest upon its head, when laid back,
looks most comically like the quill pens
which clerks or secretaries used some
times to put behind their ears. Its
common name is crane-vulture, while it
is known to men of science as the G.y
poyeranus serpentarius. The crane
vulture inhabits Africa, from the cape
to fifteen degrees north latitude, and
from the Red Sea to Senegal ; it is also
occasionally seen on the Phillipine
Islands. One species is also met
with in northern Africa. Snakes of
all kinds are the objects of constant at
tack by these birds. When a serpent
sees one of these dreaded enemies ap
proaching, it will rear itself and swell
and hiss in rage and fear ; but the bird
will spread his wiDgs, forming with one
of them a buckler in front of him, and
wheD the reptile makes a spring ab him
the bird will bound about, always pre
senting that hard, well-protected wing ;
and while the serpent is vainly spend
ing its poison on the thick bunch of
feathers, the foe is inflicting heavy
blows on the defenceless head with his
other wiDg, until, stunned and faint,
the venomous creature rolls on the
ground ; the bird then catches it and
throws and dashes it about, finally kill
ing it with its sharp bill. Then he
swallows his victim with great relish,
beiug in no way afiected by the poison
it contains.
Female Society.
All men who avoid female society
have doll perceptions, and are stupid,
and have gross tastes, and revolt aga.nst
what is pure. Your club swaggerers,
who are sucking the buts of billiard
cues all night, call female society in
sipid. Poetry is uninspiring to a yokel;
beauty has no charms for a blind man ;
music does not please a poor beast, who
does not know one tuna from another,
but, as a true epicure is hardly ever
tired of water, sauce and brown bread
and butter, I protest I can sit for a
whole night talking to a well-regulated,
kindly woman about her daughter Fanny
or her boy Frank, and like the evening’s
entertainment.
One of the greatest benefits a man
can derive from woman’s society is that
he is bound to be respectful to her.
The habit is of great good to your mor
als, men, depend upon it. Our educa
tion makes us the most eminently sel
fish men in the world, and the greatest
benefit that he has is to think of some
body to whom he is bound to be con
stantly attentive and respectful.
Dynamite or giant powder may b
transported by all ordinary means with
no danger of explosion. In contact
with fire it burns to ashes like saltpeter
paper. It may be poured upon a red
hot plate, it may be dashed c’own upon
rocks from any height, it may be lieaten
with a sledge hammer, and yet will not
got mad ; but apply a large percussion
cap, and the explosion is terrible, the
lightest charge bursting the heaviest
cannon.
During the recent floods in France, a
Newfoundland dog saved the live3 of
twelve persons, but was drowned in at
tempting to Bave the thirteenth,
VOL. 16—NO. 32.
SAYINGS AND DOINGS.
Milkmaid (singing without).—
Shame upon you, Robin,
Rheme upon you now!
Kiss mo would you ? with my hands
Milking the cow ?
Daisies grow again.
Kingcups blow again,
And you came and kiss’d me milking the cow.
Robin came behind me,
Kiss’d me well I vow;
Cuff him conld I ? with my hands
Milking the cow ?
Swallows fly again.
Cuckoos cry again.
And you came and kiss’d me milking the cow
Come, Robin, Robin,
Come and kiss me now:
Help it can I ? with my hands
Milking the cow ?
Ringdoves coo again.
All things woo again,
Come behind and kiss me milking the cow l
Common sense is only a modification
of talent—genius is au exaltation of it.
Now that glass which is not brittle
has been invented, people who live in
glass bouses will be able to throw stones
as safely as other people.
Lately they had tremendous thunder
storms in France, and it was noticed
that the wild animals on exhibition wi re
uncommonly intractable and dangerons.
The Kansas people have tested the
qualities of grasshoppers as an article
of food and pronounce them, after being
boiled in water to clean them, and fried
in butter, to be quite palatable, and
even good eating, like small fi?h.
A gentleman said to an old lady who
had brought up a family of children
near a river, “I should tliiuk you would
have lived in constant fear that some of
them would have got drowned.” “ Oh,
no,” responded the old lady, “we only
lost three or four in that way.”
Finis.—
After the heat of the noon-tide ?&y
After the cares of the wearv day—
Finished the duties and toils of tho (ay—*
Cometh the eQd.
Into the unknown spirit land.
Over the river bv no fridge spanned,
Crossing alone the misty strand.
Beginning the end.
Onlv a flutter and gasp for breath,
Only a cross and lily wreath.
Only a sleep the daisies beneath.
Not yet the end.
Cleav ng the sky with wings of a dove,
A crown of light in the realms above,
A dwelling forever where God is love,
This is the blissful end.
Sixty nrles to the north of Duluth
“ the zenith city of the unsalted seas,’
an iron mountain has been discovered
which rivals its namesake in Missouri.
It is eight miles lone, one and a half
miles wide, and 1.200 feet above the
level of Lake Superior.
The Chicago balloon reporter always
begins like this : “ The monster ship,
freighted with its living, cargo, shot
upward into the lioundless vacuity of
aerial space.” Merely saying that
“the balloon went np prettv fast,”
would be playing into the hands of the
other papers.
It was'at the house oT a well-known
doctor of divinity, and the little tod
dling girl, who did not like to see her
aunt trim a lighted kerosene lamp, had
come honestly by a somewhat modified
theory of predestination. “Take care 1
tske care l or we’ll get blown np intc
the sky ; and then God’ll say : 4 Girls,
what are you in such a hurry for ?’ ”
Isn’t it about time to quit talking
about people “offering their lives a
willing sacrifice upon the altar of their
country?” People don’t do anything of
the sort. Thosuands of men have fallen
in battle while fighting for their
country, but don’t you know that nine
tenths of them would have crawled into
a hollow log at the sound of the first
gnu if they had known they were going
to be killed.
Not long ago, at a mansion oa Murray
Hill, a sentimental young lady strolled
with a gentleman, on whom she had her
eye, .into the conservatory. Looking
np pensively into his face, she said, with
tears in her .voice, “Ah, no cne loves
me. Mr. Birnes ?” “Someone does!”
“Yes!” said the lady, dropping her
hpad, and pressing his arm ever so little.
“Yes, Miss Nellie,” said the wretch,
“God loves you.” “Mr. Barnes, let’s
go in!”
The Two Squirrels.—
There wore two squirrels
That lived in a wood—
The one was naughty.
The other was good.
The naughty one’s name was Dandy Jim,
His mother was very ford of h m :
The good one’s name was Johnny Black,
He had beautiful fur upon his back.
And ho Dover went near the railroad track.
But Dar.dy Jim,
Alas for him!
He ran away.
One summer day.
Over the hills and far away ;
And his mother sought for him far and near,
But never a word of Jim conld she hear;
For crossing the track,
The railroad cars ran over him
And that was the end of Dandy Jim.
But Johnny Black
He alwavs came batff,
Whenever he went from home away,
He knew that home was the place to stay,
He minded his mother where’er he might be,
He thought that his mother kaew better than
he.
John Paul’s hotel experience : “Can
I have a room ? ” I modestly ask after
registering my name. Clerk looks at
me a moment, takes in the general
nnostentatiousness of my apparel at a
glance, tnms away and attends to the
swells who get credit of Bell instead of
buying for cash of Porter, chats with
the young men whom he knows for a
few minutes, pauses to tell some old
gentleman with a bald head the last
brilliant bon mot apropos of the Beech
er trial, and when everybody else is
roomed and he has settled the pen
right behind his ear, then he calls the
smallest bell-boy in the office and turns
to mo with, “ Show this gentleman up
to 993 !” And by this time I feel so
humble about it that I bc w to the bell
boy end look round for his bag and
wonder how I’m to find No. 993 to show
him to.
Women in India.
According to the Hindoo law-giver, a
woman has no god on earth but her
husband, and no religion except to
gratify, obey and serve him. Let her
husband be crooked, old, infirm, offen
sive; let him be irascible, irregular, a
drunkard, a gambler, a debauchee; let
him be reckless of his domestic affairs,
as if possessed by a devil; though he
live in the world without honor; though
he be deaf or blind, and wholly weighed
down by crime and infirmity—still shall
hie wife regard him as her God. With
all her might shall she serve him, is all
things obey him, see no defects in his
character, and give him no cause of un
easiness. Nay, more ; in. every stage of
her existence, woman lives but to obey
—at first her parents, next her husband
and his parents, and in her old age she
sue must be ruled by her children.
Never, daring her whole life, can she
be under her own control. These are
the general principles upon which the
life of women in India is to be con'
ducted.