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STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
W. A. ittAK ii iLK,/ nd Proprietor*.
IN AUTUMN.
BY JOHN O. WHITTIER.
, rt'ir grows splendid; on tlie mountain steep
\ lingers long the warm ami gorgeous light,
nving l y 4<iw degrees into tke deep
Delicious night.
fatal triumph of the perfect year,
‘ [>iv~ the woods’ magnificent array;
\ ml the purple mountain heights appear,
And slope away.
foe elm, with musical slow motion, laves
‘ ui< iung, lithe branches on the tender ail,
While from his top of gray, Sordello waves
His scarlet luiir.
When Spring first hid her violets ’neath the fern,
Where Summers fi tigers opened fold on fold
Tiw, mlorous, wild rl rose, now burn
The leaves of gold.
The loftiest hill—lowliest flowering herb—
The fairest fruit of season and of clime—
.ll wea r alike the mood of the superb
Autumnal time,
But where the painted leaves arc falling fast,
Among the vales, Iwhondthe farthest hill
There sets a shadow —dim, and sad, and vast,
And lingers still.
tiul still we hear a voice among the hilts,
\ voice that moans among the haunted woods,
tud with the mystery of sorrow fills
The solitude*.
y„: while gay autumn gilds the fruit and leaf,
And doth her fairest festal garments wear,
Time, all noiseless, in his mighty sheaf
Binds up the year.
The mighty sheaf which never is unbound—
The reaper whom your souls beseech in vain—
The loved, lost year, which'never may be found
Or loved again.
HIBERNIA'S HISTRIONICS.
Somethin* About Famous li-Imli Author*
,in<l tetor*.— Dublin hire in the ha*t >n
lurj—Ho* They Played and Fought
Utilising Incident* in the hive* of
O'Keefe. Kelly . Maeklin. Foote. <ll inin.
unit Father O’heary, Ete., Ete.
Around the heroes and heroines of the
-tatr<* there is a sort of personal glamour
that gives to the story of their lives a
kind of enchantment. They seem to
live in a mimic world, apart from others,
and we seem to know them not as them
sdves, hut as the characters in which
they are famous. You cannot look
upon the face of Edwin Booth without
-seriating him with Hamlet. In your
find s eye he is not dressed in everyday
nstnine ; he wears the sables of the
philosophic prince; and, wherever we
may meet Adelaide Neilson, we do not
>nlv look upon a lovely woman, but also
;|xm the fair “Capulet.” The charac
ters they have assumed are ever present
'tin l memory, for they have endowed
diem with a more potent individuality
than their own.
Bor this reason Ixxiks that are filled
with anecdotes of actors are always read
able and interesting. In the last issue
"f Scribner’s “Bric-a-Brac” series—for
a copy of which we are indebted to
firav, Baker & Cos., 407 North Fourth
street—there are some very interesting
ana from the autobiographies of
O'Keefe, Kelly and Taylor.
•John O Keefe was an actor, born in
Dublin in 1747. He was educated for
an artist, but he turned his attention to
the drama and became a dramatic writer
4 some celebrity. Constantly associa
ting with the famous actors of his time,
he tells some very amusing anecdotes
vneerning them.
BROADSWORD PLAYERS.
One of the favorite summer resorts of
tetors, about 1765, was to Ringsend, to
"fit cockles at a very good tavern of the
sign of the Highlander, and to play bil
liards at Mrs. Sherlock’s, the price two
pence a game to the table. The owner
of the table always remained in the
room, as she was herself the marker, and
the giver of judgment when appealed
to. She was the sister of the Sherlock
who many years before had been victor in
• very broadsword contest of importance,
at the time when skillful management of
that weapon was considered of impor
tance in London. A highly distinguished
military commander, and patron of the
art — or, as it was called, the science of
defence— not much liking the idea of
Sherlock* being the winner of all the
4;ige-fought laurels, imported into Lon
don from the continent a grand broad
sword player of the name of Figg, and
the word was, “a Figg for the Liffev
hoy. Emulation aro*ie to animosity,
and on the day of trial the place of ac
tion was thronged by both civil and mil
itary. Expectation and bets ran high,
hut mostly in favor of the foreign chain-
l!te two combattants on the stage
" itli their swords drawn, Sherlock shook
'lands with his opponent. “Mynheer
’ as he called him, and said:
Ihiard as well as you can, I’ll cutoff
’hp third button of your coat.” To it
they went, the foreigner parried, yet
Sherlock, with the admirable sleight of
art, had the third button on the point
"1 his sword. ‘‘Now,” said he, “I have
told, and I believe it, that under
show of a mere contest for superior
s kdl at our weapon, you intend to put
a finish to me at once. I have proved to
you that I could take vour third button,
and now, if I choose, I'll take your tip
per button; so guard your head.”
his antagonist was endeavoring to
?uard his heard, Sherlock’s sword took a
little slice off the calf of his leg, and
thus, bv the terms of the encounter,
Sherlock, having drawn the first blood,
was declared the conqueror. Thousands
>f guineas were sjairted on this broad
sword match.
Glover, Mossop, Barry, Garrick, Mack
lin and others of dramatic note, come in
lor pleasantly told stories, illustrative
not only of their individual character,
nut also of the manners and habits of
die time. Townley, a clergyman and the
author of “ High Life Below Stairs,”
"as -he unwitting cause of closing the
gallery to the servants. At that day
'here was in-the Ixmdon theatres a gal
,e{.v for servants, where they were ad
mitted free if their masters had places
111 the boxes. When Town ley’s farce
* as played, the servants became enraged
wliat they conceived would be their
r uin; they hissed and groaned and threw
at the actors upon the stage. This tu
mult lasted several nights, when Garrick
nuide an excuse of it to shut the galleries
the servants; and since that time
li *y have never been admitted free.
Oarrick wrote a piece and called it
Ton, or High Life Above Stairs,”
;• a sort of set otf to the other, and speak
*3 °f the first night that it was acted in
L ' u Win, O’Keefe describes the
, head dresses then worn
\ the ladies:
Brereton spoke the prologue to the
and at the words‘Bon Ton’s the
( l the feathers of a lady’s head
jl'ess caught fire from the chandelier
uinging over the box; it was soon in a
,’- az( ‘ and her life hardly saved. At this
* a lady could not go in a coach; a
sedan chair was her carriage, and this
had a cupola. The scat was in grooves,
to l>e raised or lowered according to the
altitude of the head-dress. I have seen
a lady standing on the street, the chair
man looking up at her feathers and
cap wings, and several times raising or
lowering the seat; at last, he thrust it
not above three inches from the fioor,
and then the belle was obliged to squat,
the feathers rising three feet perpendicu
lar, and the face the centre figure, with
her hoop on each side of her ears; and
there she sat laughing like the lady in
the lobster; nay, even the foretop of*the
Beau was built up, tier upin tier, as
Diana’s song in ‘Lionel and Clarissa’
says:
‘ His foretop so high, in erown he mav vie
With the tufted cockatoo.’ ”
Charles Macklin, a splendid actor in
his day, and a great favorite in Dublin,
is the subject of many witty stories.
Like many great actors, he was Very dog
matic, and jiossessed of a very irritable
temper. At rehearsal he is stated to
have been very particular, and was very
tenacious about actors throwing in words
of their own. In rehearsing his comedy
of “ Love ala Mode,” one morning, an
actor who was playing Squire Groom ,
said something which he thought smart.
"Hoy! Hoy!” said Macklin, “what’s
that?”
“Oh,” replied the actor, “it’s a little
of my nonsense!”
“Ave,” replied Macklin, “but \ think
my nonsense is better than yours; so
keep to that, if you please, sir!”
O'Keefe says “that Macklin was full
of information, had a powerful mind,
and his conversation gave me great
pleasure. I often contradicted him, pur
posely to draw him out. This few dared
to do, except myself; hut I was his fa
vorite of all whom he made happy by his
society. His conversation among young
people was perfectly moral, and always
tended to make us better; he was, in my
opinion, as to intellect, a very shining
character, and in all instances I knew him
to be a very worthy man, but a great bit
ter-up at nights for the sake of conversa
tion. Many a morning sun has peeped
into our convivial parties. He was then
between seventy and eighty vears of
age.”
Dawson, the Dublin manager, put his
pen over some smart things in mv little
piece of “Colin’s Welcome.” On Mack
lin remarking that Dawson had wit, and
cut good jokes himself, 1 replied in a
couplet:
Dawson has wit, and cuts good jokes no doubt,
He finds them in sew play—and cuts them out.
Macklin repeated this in high glee to
Dawson, who restored my jokes.
DUBLIN COLLEGE LIFE.
Some amusing stories of college life in
Dublin are told, and how the collegians
lived. Thcv each hail a cellar book, as
it was called; they were in the habit of
lending these to their friends, as it gave
them the privilege of entering the
college cellar and obtaining the fare pro
vided there. O’Keefe described his
visit. He took two companions with
him and awaited the ringing of the hell,
at 9 o’clock, the notice that the cellar
was open. The place stretched under
the great dining-hall of the college in
low arches, extending a long way, and
containing large butts of ale, regularly
arranged. Close by the entrance, on the
left hand, he describes a box, like an old
fashioned pulpit, in which sat the butler.
You delivered to him the book, and he
gave orders to his attendants, and then
you were led to a large table. <)n it was
a large iron candlestick containing a wax
candle as thick as a man’s wrist, and a
silver cup or vase with two handles, con
taining about three quarts, and full of
college ale called “ Lemon October,” was
placed before you. A wicker basket was
also brought around, full of small loaves,
called “manchets.” O’Keefe goes into
raptures over the qualitv of this bread
and ale, and calls it a delicious regale.
He also takes a peep into the kitchen,
and saw five or six spits, one over the
other, and of great length, full of legs of
mutton roasting. And the notice for
dinner to he served was given by a man
bawling up under the cupola: “The
Dean’s in the hall; the Dean’s in the
hall.”
DUELING.
Dueling was in constant practice in
O’Keefe’s time in Ireland, and many com
ical stories are told of the absurd way in
which some of the quarrels were made
up, and how the blood-thirsty combatants
became good friends again over a liottle
of wine, although it sometimes resulted
differently, the favorite mode of settling
an affair of honor being to fire across a
table with horse-pistols, large enough to
blow a man’s head off.
FOOTE.
Foote must have been an excellent
comedian; he made a great reputation in
Dublin. He wrote a piece called “ Piety
in Pattens” which had a great run. Its
object was to ridicule the sentimental
comedies, which where then coming into
fashion. The famous Mrs. Jewel played
in it, and the main humor of the piece
was in its grandiloquent sentences and
high-flown words. It was really a bur
lesque on forced sentiment.
Tom Sheridan, Moody Henderson and
Richard Daly were among the wits of the
Irish stage at the time, and many are the
good stories told of them and their ex
ploits. In O’Keefe’s later days he be
came almost blind, and he tells of many
of the scrapes it led him into, with true
Irish humor. On one occasion, he says:
“ I was with my brother Daniel in a read
ing room at Margate, and wishing to get
some news by the aid of his optics, and
having just sight enough to see the white
papers on the green table, I hastily got
one. and, handing it to my brother, said,
‘ read that to me.’ A loud and surley
voice the same instant came to my ear
from lips not two feet from me: ‘ What
the devil, sir, do you mean by snatching
that newspaper out of my hands; I
haven’t done with it.’ I was too con
founded to apologize, and walked off,
leaving my brother to explain the state
of my sight which led me into the mis
take of seeing only the newspaper, and
not the gentleman who was reading it.”
On another occasion lie relates that,
according to the privilege of an author
franking a friend, his brother once asked
him for an order to the theatre. He re
fused him, as he had already given away
more than was proper. The same even
ing he unexpectedly went himself, and a
gentleman coming in and standing near
him, lie thought he recognized Ids
brother, and said: “How the deuce did
you get in?” A strange voice answered:
CARTERS YILLE, GEORGIA, MONDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 4, 1575.
“ How did I get in, sir? Why, with mv
money. How did you get in?”
“Another gentleman,” he adds, “ex
plained it, and saved me from pistol
work, either on the stand of Clontarf or
behind Montague house, or in a little
tavern room across a table, or any other
battlefield west of Mother Red Caps.”
MICHAEL KELLY.
Kellv was a cotemporary of O’Keefe'
also a Dublin lx>y, and one of the fines
musicians that city has.ever produced.
He was the oldest of fourteen children,
who were all musical, and when only
three years old his father used to daily
place him on the table after dinner, to howl
Hawthorn’s song on “ Love in a Village,”
(There was a jolly miller,) for the enter
tainment of the company. At seven he
began to study music under a musician
named. Moreland, a genius, hut a great
drunkard; afterwards he was the pupil
of the famous Dr. Arne; he aftewards
studied in Italy, and made his debut in
Florence, in “ii Francese en Italia,” and
he afterward sang at the opera house in
Vienna.
His life was full of adventure, which
is narrated with racy humor. In his
early Italian experiences he states that
the Romans are the most sapient critics
in the world. They are certainly the
most severe. (Everyone who knows
anything of art criticism in Italy will
acknowledge this.) If you ask a Ro
man whether anew opera or musical
composition has been successful, the an
swer, if favorable, will be a andanto nl
settimo rielo —“it has ascended to the
seventh heaven.” If it has failed, they
say e andanto al abbiwo del inferno —“if
has sunk to the abyss of hell.”
If in anew work a passage should
strike the audience as Ixnng similar in
any way to another by some other com
poser. it will probably be saluted hv the
cry, Bravo il ladro —“bravo you thief.”
MOZART.
Michael Kelly relates his meeting
with Mozart at the house of Koselueh:
He (Mozart) favored the company by
performing fantasias and capricios on the
piano forte. His feeling, the rapiditv of
his fingering, the great execution of his
left hand, particularly, and the apparent
inspirations of his inspirations astonished
me. After his splendid performances,
we sat down to supper, and I had the
pleasure of being placed at the table be
tween him and his wife, Madame Con
stance Weber. He conversed with me a
good deal about Thomas Linley, the first
Mrs. Sheridan’s brother, with whom he
was intimate at Florence, and spoke of
him with great affection. Madame Mo
zart told-me that, tvs great as his genius
was, he was an enthusiast in dancing,
and often said that his taste lay in that
art rather than in music. He was a re
markably small man, very thin and pale,
with a profusion of fine fair hair, of
which he was very vain. He gave me a
cordial invitation to his house, of which
I availed myself, and spent a great part
of my time there. He was remarkably
fond of punch, of which I have seen him
take two copious draughts. He was also
fond of billiards, and had an excellent
table in his house. Many and many
a game have I played with him, but al
ways came off second best.”
“Melody is the essence of music,”
he said, “I compare a good melodist to
a fine race, and counterpointist to hack
post horses. Therefore be advised; let
well alone, and remember the old Italian
liroverb, ‘ Chi sa pin meno so’ —who
mows most, knows least.”
GLUCK.
Among other celebrated musicians
that Michael Kelly met was the Cheva
lier Gluck. He was then living in
Vienna, crowned with professional
honors and a splendid fortune, courted
and caressed by all, at the ripe old age of
seventy-four.
“One morning,” said Kelly, “after I
had been singing with him, lie said:
‘ Follow me up stairs, and I will intro
duce you to one whom all my life I have
made my study and endeavor to imitate.’
I followed him into the bed-room, and
opposite to the head of the bed saw a full
length picture of Handel in a rich frame.
‘ There, sir,’ said he, ‘is the portrait of the
inspired master of our art. When opening
my eyes in the morning, I look upon him
with reverential awe, and acknowledge
him as such, and the highest praise due
to your country for having distinguished
and cherished his gigantic genius.”
Kelly sang in Mozart’s “Nozze di Fi
garo,’ under the Maestro’s own direction,
before tli%court at Vienna.
PRIEST AND LAWYER.
After his return to Ireland, he de
scribed a meeting at the dinner-table with
Curran, the barrister, and the well-known
priest, Father O’Leary. He says: “Our
tastes were genial, for his ‘riverencc’ was
mighty fond of whisky-punch, and so was
1, and many a jug of Bt. Patrick’s eye
water night after night did his riverence
and myself enjoy, chatting over that ex
hilarating and natural beverage. I al
ways had a cold shoulder of mutton for
him when he came to dinner, for, like
some others of his countrymen, who shall
be nameless, he was ravenously fond of
that dish.”
One day Curran did me the honor to
meet him. To enjoy the society of such
men was an intellectual treat. They were
great friends, and seemed to have great
resjx'ct for each other’s talents, and, as it
may easily he imagined, O’Leary vs. Cur
ran was no had match.
One day, after dinner, Curran said to
the priest, “ Reverend Father, I wish you
were St. Peter.”
“ And why, Counselor, would vou wish
that I were St. Peter?” asked O’Leary.
“ Because, Reverend Father, in that
ease, said Curran, “ you would have the
keys of heaven, and you could let me
in.”
“By me honor and conscience, Coun
selor,” replied the divine, “it would be
better for you if I had the keys of the
other place, for then I could let you out.”
Embden geese are so called from a town
of that name in Westphalia, though they
are sometimes called “ Bremen.” owing,
it is claimed, to the first two trios ever
brought into America having been im
vported from Bremen, in Germany, by a
Mr. Jaques, in 1821, and called by him
after that town. Originally, however,
they were brought to England from Hol
land.
Fifty thousand dollars has been ex
pended at Zacksonville, 111., in an un
suceccessful attempt to find a bed of coal
worth working.
Lying and Honesty in India.
It is a common expression on the lips
of those who have traveled in India:—
‘The natives have no regard for truth;
it seems easier to them to lie, and they
prefer doing so.” And yet no one can
have much intercourse with the inhabi
tants of India without finding out that,
in many respects, they are an especially
rustworthy race. The explanation of
this apparent paradox may perhaps lie in
Lie circumstance that the natives draw a
wide distinction between spoken and ac
ted truth. For instance, it is a well
known fact that the fidelity of bankers
was so great Ixffore the English rule that
a breach of trust in their case was quite
unknown, and bankruptcy is admitted to
he a transaction they have learned wholly
from their conquerors. Indeed, all busi
ness dealings were Hinsrularlv straight
forward and bona fider But the unfor
tunate notion seems to have prevailed
from the first in Hindoostan that language
was chiefly intended to conceal one’s
thoughts.
Before a native of India answers a
question correctly he wishes to know why
it was asked. His first replies, therefore,
are equivocal; and when to this element
of caution is added the atmosphere of
miracles and wonder surrounding all in
tellects out there—deceiving, as it does,
every sense—two Tory fair reasons arc
already forthcoming why spoken truth
should be far from a common perfoorm
ance.
But it is an undoubted fact, notwith
standing, that with a singular and sover
eign disregard for veracity, in the restrict
ed sense of the word, there do do-exist a
fidelity to engagements and a staunch
ness in fulfilling conditions, which amount
to not less than a national characteristic.
There is a high caste called Bhats, who
are now engaged in agriculture and serv
ice, and have no specialty except singing
legends and relating stories; but in form
er days they were employed to carry jew
elry or articles of value from place to
place. Absolute reliance could be put
on their trustworthiness; they fell back
on their religious rank to secure them
seives against marauders, as they would
threaten to destroy themselves if molest
ed and thus bring divine vengeance down
on their assailants; and indeed have done
so when hard pushed. Property might, of
course, lx> lost when the robber took his
chance of being punished by unseen pow
ers, hut embezzled or misappropriated it
certainly never was. An instance of
singular trustworthiness in a native serv
ant, which occurred within the personal
knowledge of an English writer, may
here lie mentioned. During the mutiny,
when preparing to leave his station, then
on the eve of outbreak, there was an old
family seal he wished especially to pos
sess; hut, unwilling to ineumber himself
with any valuables except mouey, he
asked a domestic servant to take charge
of it as long as he could, though the
chances of seeing it agaid seemed small.
It was gravely taken, with a peculiar
look, which indicated that the commis
sion was considered a sacred one. The
outbreak came, escapes and movings fol
lowed, and master and servant were sep
arated for many months. At length the
former was settled pretty securely at
Cawnpore, and in time the communica
tion with Agra was to a certain degree
opened out, though the countryside was
still seething with confusion; One day a
ragged figure—who had {forced his way
through villages tumultuous with riot,
and by outposts at which every passer-by
was searched lest he should lx? traveling
in the English, and had at length reached
the main road through fields which the
heavy rain had turned into swamps—
rushed up to his master, who was sitting
out in an open space, and, kneeling be
fore him, let down the long lock of hair
worn on the scalp, and from among its
folds produced the family seal! —All the
Year Round.
French Kid Gloves.
“Never do you believe,” writes one
sojourning in the French capital, “ that
the English can make kid gloves equal
to those we buy here. Tne Baroness
Burdett Coutts may give premiums for
the finest goats and kids, hut it will be a
long time before English kid skins reach
the perfection which characterize those of
France, or that English fingers will ar
rive at the deftness of the clever French,
who use their needles in the manufacture
of gloves. It takes the quick practiced
eye of a Parisian woman of the mode, to
instantly appraise a kid glove, and tell
you its quality and value. The finest
kid gloves always keep their price, and
even here are expensive articles of
toilette. Their making and finishing are
entrusted only to the l>est workmen and
women. The unintiated are often de
ceived, for not one third of the gloves
offered as kid, are really such. I thought
myself an excellent judge of the article,
but imagine my mortification when in a
coterie of French ladies, who were pro
nouncing upon the toilette of a country
woman, one of them expressed her admi
ration, adding, ‘all but the gloves.’ I
was about to exclaim, for my own were
out of the same box jus those of the lady
in question, when an interruption pre
vented this indiscretion. I subsequently
discovered —and my hand blushed under
its snugly fitting covering at my ignor
ance —that the beautiful gloves I wore
were not goat’s kid, but a skin so closely
resembling it that it was difficult to tell
the difference, hut a difference there was.
The French goat’s skin is the finest in
the world. From its birth the animal is
the object of as much care to its owner
as a babe is to its mother. It is kept in
a cage or coop, which is well aired and
cleaned, and is fed on pure sweet milk
several times a day. Every effort is made
to keep the skin fine grained, even and
flexible. While yet of’ tender age the
kid is killed and carefully skinned.
After preparation, this skin is delicate
and soft to a remarkable degree, and is
so pliant it can be stretched until it is
scarely thicker than tissue paper, and
when manufactured into gloves, they fit
with the closeness of a second cuticle.”
Keeping Milk from Souring Dl*r
ing Thunder-storms. —Experiments in
Sweden hare shown that the well-known
effect of thunder-storms in souring milk
may, in a great degree, lx? avoided or
counteracted by artificial heat in thedairv.
T 1 le plan is to start a fire in the room
where milk is kept whenever a thunder
storm is seen approaching. This is done
even in hot weather, the purpose being
to drive out moisture. The explanation
given is that during the approach of such
storms the atmosphere becomes loaded
with moisture, and the damp, moist heavy
air resting upon the milk produces acid
ity and spoils it. Dry air, then, is im
portant to the dairy, and whenever three
are atmospheric changes which bring ex
cessive moisture in the air of a dairy, a
fire should be at once started to counter
act the had influence it would have up
on milk.
“I ’FRAUDS NO MAN.”
Hum I iii'li' Juke Applied the Pin RiUa
(Principle tun LiMlng ConlraH.
Savannah Advertiser.
Some few days since one of our cow
tractors had occasion to tear down an old
brick wall and remove the material else
where. He agreed with an old darkey
to do the job for fifteen dollars; the job
to he jMiid for as soon as completed. The
sub-contractor filled with the importance
of his position, at once engaged the ser
vices of fifteen other negroes, agreeing
to pay them at the rate of one dollar per
day for their services. But, as the work
approached completion, the idea sudden
ly entered uncle Jake’s head that he was
not making any great profit out of the
contract. This would not begin to do;
so calling in the aid of a white friend
who kept a small grocery hard by, he
submitted the case, and was advised to
settle with his hands pro rata the liest
he could. It was a sight not readily to
be forgotten. Seated upon a nail keg,
uncle Jake, after clearing his throat to
attract attention, began by the assertion,
“ I FRAUDS NO man!”
“ Now, I wants all you colored gen’lemen
to un’stan’ dat I loses on dis yer con
track. I don’t see my wav to nuffin
’tall. I wants ehbry man to hah sumfin,
cause dat’s right; but, see yere, dis yere
money ain’t gwine to hole out; ’clar it
aint; and I don’t want any grumblin’;
nor no fuss kicked up with me; you
hear dat? How much does I owes you,
Lemuel ?”
“ Dollar n’arf. You knows dat well as
I do. Didn’t I work for dav’n’arf?”
Y-a-a-s! Well, you take a dollar, an’
say no more about it, de money ain’t
gwine to hole out, I tells you. I wants
ebbry man to get a share, and dat’s all
you gits anyway. t->ay, you Dan, wot I
owes you?”
“You owes me a dollar, Uncle Jake.
I done worked a day.”
“ Dat’s what I thought. Here is half
dollar and a dime to get you a drink of
whiskey wid.”
“But I wants my dollar!”
“Course you does, hut frauds no man;
dis yer money has got to go round some
how, you hear me? Now I don’t want
any of your foolin round here. Jim”
“Here I is.”
“ Oh, you’re dar, is yer?” How much
I owes you, Jim?”
“ Dollar n’quarter.”
“Mighty tight times for money, Jim;
nebber see such times afore. Here, take
dis yer sebbenty-five cents and thank de
Lord its no worse.”
“ Look heah, Uncle Jake, don’t ye
come none o’dat on me, kase I ain’t
gwine to put up wid it.”
“ Now don’t you go makin a fuss,
heah ; mind I tole you. De money ain’t
gwine to hole out, I done tole you all
dat. I frauds uo man. Every man
specks to get a little, and how you tink
dev’ll get it an you makin a fuss like
dis ? I done heard enuff, Joe ! ”
“ Now ’fore you logins to talk, ole
man, don’t you fool wid me; I done my
work, an now I wants de sperzerinctums.
Butter-berdam ef I takes any nonsense.
Hand ober that money. Dat’s wot you’s
got ter do.”
“ How much I owes you, Joe?”
“ You owes me sebbenty-five cents
and I wants it right away. And besides
I done lost my hatchet, so I don’t make
nuffin any way.”
“ You done lost your hatchet ?”
“ Dat’s wot I tole you ! ”
“ Sorroy bout dat,” responded Uncle
Jake, “kase I alius adopted a rule, when
a man lost any ob his tools, his got to be
docked till dey’re fotched back. Here
take dis quarter and trahble.
“ But de hatchet was mine, you ole
fool. You understand dat ?”
“ Don’t know nuffin about it, you no
business ter lose de hatchet. I frauds
no man; when you fetches dat hatchet
back, den I talks more wid you about it.
But I nebber ’lows any man to lose de
tools. Dat ain’t business.
“ See here man, you’s a fraud, you’s
worse dan de Freedman’s Bank. Han
ober dat money.”
“ Oh, g’long chillun —I tole you dis
yer’s a losin’ job anv way. How you
spect I makes anything by the opera
tion. De money has got to go around
somehow ; ebbry man gets a little, an’
no man godes off widout gettin’ sumfin.
Dis yer money is got to go around some
how.”
The old reprobate certainly gave any
thing hut satisfaction to his employes,
all of whom went off highly indignant
yet unable to help themselves in any
way. It is barely possible that a similar
mode of doing business miglit occasion
ally be found elsewhere and not among
the darkeys either.
Magnificent Custom. Writing of
the dresses worn by Mile. Persoons as
the Baroness de Cambri, is a perform
ance of “Frou-Frou” in Paris, Lucy
Hooper says: In the second act she had on
a costume which must have made a serious
hole in a two-thousand-franc note. It
was a marine blue velvet and silk. The
bodice was of velvet cut loose and square,
and the upper part filled in with silk to
make it high up in the neck; the sleeves
were also of silk. The front of the dress
was of silk, with a broad band of velvet
around the bottom. The back of the
skirt, which fell in a long train, was of
velvet, drawn hack in the centre, and
confined with a large bow of gold-colored
satin. The top of the bodice, the edge of
the skirt, and the sleeves were bordered
with a broad hand of embroidery in
golden yellow floss silk. The bonnet was
of the toque shape, of blue silk and vel
vet, with a single gold-yellow feather.
In the third act she wore a long trailing
skirt of black velvet, finished with a
wide gathered flounce, with a long, loose
sacque-shaped cloak of velvet, with wide
sleeves falling to the knee, and widened
with a fur and richly embroidered with
jet. The Ixmnet was of black velvet,
edged with fur and adorned with a single
glistening green bird.
Vermont copperas is used in tanning
and in the manufacture of *yes, ink and
Prussian blue.
“ SMASHING.”
M* V**r lairl* H*kf I.ove to Karti
Otkrr.
I wonder if any of your readers have
ever heard of the practise of “ smashing”
at Yassar College. If not, I fancy that
many might lx l somewhat .interested in
hearing about one of the most curious
freaks ever indulged in by school-girls. I
know whereof I speak, for I
have been for over two years a wit
ness of this wild species of insanity.
When a young woman at Yassar sees an
other whose appearance, general style,
talents or eyes (especially the latter) she
admires, instead of seeking her acquaint
ance in an orthodox manner, straightway
she announces to her friends and cronies,
with the most mysterious and confiden
tial air,- that she is hopelessly, complete
ly, entirely, utterly “ smashed ” —in fact,
“ dead gone.” Then follows a series of the
most idiotic performances. “ Smash ”
notes are written, elegant flowers, boxes
of candy, costly books, etc., are sent by
the “smashee” to the “smasher;” ap
pointments are made in dark corridors to
kiss each other good-night; smirking and
ogling are in vogue in the dining-room
and in the chapel. This state of affairs
is kept up for some time—length of time
depends upon the violence of the attack.
Then the “ smash ” develops into an as
tonishing friendship, or the parties drop
one another by mutual consent. It is
not uncommon to hear some bright girl
say; “ Oh, I am so ‘ smashed ’ou Miss
so and so. I just adore the ground she
walks on. I have the ‘ palp ’so when I
see her that I can scarcely stand up.”
I have known girls whose great power of
intellect could not be denied, who stood
at the head of their classes, to make abso
lute fools of themselves over other girls.
I have seen girls cry themselves sick be
cause their loved ones smiled more favor
ably on some rival than on them. I have
known ot six dollar boxes of confection
ery and fifteen dollar bouquets being
sent through some zealous friend by the
viotim to the victor. And speaking of
these tokens of pure, unadulterated af
fection reminds me of something quite
funny. The offerings are often more
practical than poetical. Dishes of pine
apple, hot lemonade, fried oysters, etc.,
are common, and one young woman of
an intensely practical turn of mind sent
to her adored one a hot boiled sweet po
tato! It is quite the thing at Yassar to
have the reputation of being a successful
“ smasher.” One enterprizing young
woman boasted of her three hundred and
fifty victims. She was a Maine girl, and
her charm lay in the fact that she was
quite gentlemanly in appearance. Very
few reach the zenith of two dozen, anil
if one were to successfully aspire to
more than that I think she might say:
“ Now let thy servant depart in peaee.”
I think, also, that under tne circumstan
cets it would be tlie most laudable peti
tion she could possibly put up. Now
Mr. Editor that I have shown tne ridicu
lous side of the matter, I might continue
to discourse in mournful numbers of the
serious side, of its cause and effects, of the
argument it furnishes for co-education ;
but I have some spark oi kindly feeling
left forJyour readers, therefore I will
spare them the ghastly recital.
A Vashar Girl.
The Galveston Flood of 1837.
There are many people now living in
New Orleans who recollect the terrible
floods which swept up from the Gulf and
overflowed the island on which the city
of Galveston now stands. At that time
there were hut about a dozen buildings
on the island, and they were nothing but
shanties.
It was during the month of September,
of that year, that the wind, first blow
ing from the south and filling the bay,
veered around to the north, and in one
of the most terrific gales on record, drove
the waters over the island in such
volume that in less than eight hours the
entire country was submerged under
seven feet of water and every house
swept away.
Sueh was the force of the tide that a
large brig, anchored off* the coast, was
carried to the center of the island and
there lodged—being subsequently cut up
into firewood, for of course she couldn't
be got afloat again. At that time the
water remained on the island for thirty
six hours, or until the wind changed.
A gentleman now living here, but who
was on Galveston Island at the time of
the ’37 flood, thinks that there can be
no doubt that Galveston is now under
water, and to a very great extent. His
argument is, that the same condition of
things prevails now that held in 1837,
and that the gales which have been
blowing along the Gulf coast for the
past three days, must necessarily have
driven the water of the Gulf over the
island, just as they did in 1837.
Tlie city of Galveston has absolutely
no protection from overflow. Up to
within a short time ago numerous great
sandhills afforded a measure of resistance,
but these have been cut down to use in
filling up low places, and the city front
is open to the encroachment of the floods,
as if rather to invite than to repel them.
—New Orleans Timet.
Frightening Children. — Nothing
can be worse for a child than to be fright
ened. The effect of the scare it Is slow
to recover from; it remains sometimes
until maturity, as is shown by many in
stances of morbid sensitiveness and exces
sive nervousness. Not tinfrequently fear
is employed as a means of discipline.
Children are controlled by being made to
believe that something terrible will hap
pen to them, and are punished by being
shut up in aark rooms, or by being put
in places they stand in dread of. No
one, without vivid memory of his own
childhood can comprehend how entirely
cruel such things are. We have often
heard grown persons tell of the suffering
they have endured, as children, under
like circumstances, and recount the ir
reparable injury which they are sure they
then received. No parent, no nurse, ca
pable of alarming the young, is fitted
for her position. Children, as near as
possible, should be trained not to
Know the sense of fear, which, above ev
erything else, is to be feared in their ed
ucation both early and late.
When i was vung, i used tew feel
good six days in two; hut now i am old,
if i can manage tew feel good two days
in six i think i am doing fust rate. —
Josh Billings .
VOL. 16--NO. 41.
USEFUL KNOWLEDGE.
If stock are allowed too much salt it
acts upon the stomach and intestines as
an irritant poison, and frequently causes
death.
Colonel Innis, of Columbus, Ohio,
claims that he gets rid of the green cab
bage worm by sprinkling his cabbages
with brine while the dew is on.
They are trying to acclimate the
Florida cedar tree in Germany, as it fur
nishes the only kind of wood suitable for
the manufacture of lead pencils.
A Mississippi professor has cauliflow
ers eleven inches in diameter, solid,
smooth and without a break. He ma
nures his land by plowing in rye.
If butter-makers would all try to pro
duce the very best article and take it to
the market in good shape there would
be more butter consumed, the price
would advance, and butter-making would
pay better than any other branch of
farming.
An experienced Kentucky breeder,
Mr. Vanmeter, gives us a specific for the
cure of barrenness in cows—work. Hi
mode of management is simply to reduce
the flesh without producing inflamma
tion. He adopts the plan of giving
severe exercise with only moderate feed
ing, and he had found it to work admir
ably.
According to the returns of the de
partment of agriculture, the direct losses
of sheep owners by the ravages of dogs
wool and mutton, and the indirect loss in
the repression of sheep husbandry, and
the consequent loss of a large percentage
of the grass crop, is still larger.
Ticks on Sheep. —P. Y. Bliss writes
to the Prairie Farmer that tobacco is not
so good as the following prescription:
“Turn that tobacco on the ground, and
then get one pound of sulphur and put
it into four quarts of salt, and give in
that proportion to your flock per hun
dred, once in two weeks, aud it will cure
your sheep of not only ticks hut scab.
When the ticks and scab are gone stop
the sulphur.”
Five hundred and twelve cubic feet,
or an eight-foot cube, is commonly reck
oned as the measure of a ton of hay; but
this rule is only partially accurate. A
high mow, long settled, will weigh a ton
to four hundred cubic feet, or even less,
and a low mow of clover or other coarse
hay will sometimes reouire six hundred
and fifty to seven hundred cubic feet. It
depends upon the fineness and compact
ness of the hay, and no accurate general
rule can be given; yet five hundred cubic
feet probably comes nearer an average
measure than any other.
Farmers’ wives lose health and life
every year in one of two ways: either by
busying themselves in a warm kitchen
until W’eary, and then throwing them
selves on a ‘bed or sola without covering,
and perhaps in a room without fire, or by
removingjthe outer clothing, and.perhaps
changing the dress for a more common
one, as soon as they enter the house after
walking or working. The rule should
be invariably to go at once to a warm
room, and keep on all the clothing, at
least for five or ten minutes, until the
forehead is perfectly dry. In all weath
ers, if you have to walk and ride on any
occasion, do the riding first.
A Singular Mathematical Fact.—
Any numl>er of figures you may wish to
multiply by 5 will give the same result
if divided by 2—a much quicker opera
tion ; but you must remember to annex
a cipher to the answer whenever there is
no remainder, and when there is a re
mainder, whatever it may be, annex a 5
to the answer. Multiply 464 by 5, and
the answer will be 2,320; divide the same
number by 2 and you have 232, and, as
there is no remainder, you add a cipher.
Now take 357 and multiply by 5; there
is 1,785. Divide the same number by 2,
and you have 178 and a remainder; you
therefore place a 5 at the end of the line,
and the result is again 1,785.
To cure a horse of bridle-breaking, get
a piece of bed-cord four times the length
of the horse and double it in the middle,
and at the double end make a loop,
through w T hich pass the animal’s tail.
Then cross the cord over his back, and
pass both ends through the halter-ring
under his chin and tie both ends of the
cord to the tough-ring, through which
the halter-strap nlavs, the end of the
halter being attacnea to a billet of wood.
Should the horse attempt to pull back
the strain will be on the root of his tail
before the halter-strap will become tight
ened, and he will at once step forward
to avoid it. After so fixing nim a few
times in the stable, he will abandon any
such propensity.
Big Bores.
John Paul is a juicy corresponnent of
the New York Tribune. He attended
the army of the Cumberland meeting
at Utica, and wrote of it:
“A good many big guns came. At
least I thought I recognized some big
bores. Generals Sherman and Hooker
are both here. They met pleasantly in
the hotel and interchanged hand-shakes
and cheerful commonplaces, but did not
embrace, nor do I think they would if they
had been alone. In the convention Pres
sident Grant nodded to Gen. Hooker in
rather a cool and restrained way. They
•explained this bv saying that Grant had
a boil on his nect; but I did not observe,
except that he was quite as graceful as
usual, and felt glad that the boil didn't
trouble him when he sat down. As lo
cated,it olfers no obstacle to a third term.
“ When Hooker, as chairman of the
convention, announced that speeches were
now in order from any one whom the
audience might call, there was an almost
unanimous cry for Sherman, and Grant
was conducted to the front of the plat
form, after a‘graceful opening address by
Col. Squire, of Illion. but only bowed
in response to the cheers, and sat down,
not on his boil, without opening his
valve. The band then played * hail to
the chief who in triumph advances,' and
it seemed to do the ooil good. It is
thought if the president had had his hair
brushed by machinery at Bragg’s hotel
this morning he might have done bet ter.
“ Sherman’s speech was witty and to
the point, especially in contrast to the
flash of brilliant * presidential silence
which proceeded it.
“ Hooker rose with difficulty, but
made a few appropriate remarks in re
sponse to the call for him, evidently
thinking that only paralysis of the brain
, could excuse refusal to say something.’’