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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.