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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.’’