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EASTMAN TIMES.
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VIOLETS IN AUTUMN.
lIY HOWABD GLYNDON.
I knew I Rhonld find the daisy
With her forehead ho brave and white,
For the pun is her lover, to comfort her
And to keep her in beauty bright.
And Hite folds the last T>f her Wieses
Tu the golden well of-lier cup;
Then fearless sleeps in thi frosty fields,
Till the morning wakes her up.
And the purple pink of the mountain
Uroppeth her velvet train,
Where the stricken glory of forest leaves
Is shed in a scarlet rain ;
And nods to the late red ■clover.
And the stoical immortelle,
And the timid ltildn of the dewberry
Hid down in the sunny dell.
but the violets, 0 the violets !
I thought they wore all asleep,
Each on her pillow of thistle-down
In the pine woods dark and deep:
but they stood in hapless beauty
Under the sullen skies,
Each lamenting her mother, spring,
With the sorrow of dewy eyes,
Five o’ them, April’s darlings,
On a hank of yellow mos-,
That long ago *he south wind
Had forgotten to blow acroHs.
PASSAGE OF THE CANYON.
Interestin'; Account of (Explorations in
Arizona anti New Mexico.
Seemingly but a few miles in front of
us we readily imagine we are about ap
proaching some enchanted castle, where
we shall not fail to find the rest, as well
as food, which we so much need, when
wo suddenly find ourselves upon the
edge of a canyon, 2000 feet in depth. As
we gaze down into the depth of this
dark abyss, a feeling of terror creeps
over us, as we vainly strive to pierce the
deep gloom that shrouds its rocky
sides, and verges into total darkness far
beneath üb. The walls are perpendicu
lax, and of a blood-red color. No veg
etation is anywhere to be seen; nothing
but the stones around us, and the gray
ish-white alkali on the surface of the
plain on which we stand, with its sur
roundings of crags, pinnedes, towers
and mesas of rocks risiDg far above us,
until their summits pierce the clouds on
the one side and this black, yawning
abyss just before us. Cochise moves to
the left, and thero we find a narrow
shelf of rock jutting out from the per
pendicular walls, iust wide enough to
stand upon. We follow its course with
our eye until it is lost in the gloom;
and yet this is the only way of crossing
the canyon before us. Cochise now dis
mounts, and from him I endeavor to
learn something of this wonderful gorge
which we are about to cross; but, Indian
like, ho is reticent, and reveals nothing.
He motions to me that wo must leave
our mules to follow us and utters the
single word “adelant,” or forward. As
we descended into the gloom, we felt as
if we were about to bid good-by to the
earth and the sunlight, and to enter the
abode of the fiends. Our imagination
peoples the chasm with myriads of imps
and gnomes. Just before us, the point
of rock standing out so prominently re
sembled a huge g'ant, ready to crash us
in his terrible grasp for our audacity in
presuming to venture within the realms
guarded so sedulously by his misshapen
form. On, on we go, now avoiding a
rook in our path, here sending a pebble
over the brink of the abyss at our side.
The gloom becomes more intense as we
descend. We cast our eyes upward; a
perpendicular wall on either side of us,
and far above us a narrow band of light,
against which the ragged and scarred
edges of the gulf seemingly almost meet
ing, stand out in bold relief, giving us
the impression that we are about to be
crushed between the teeth of two gigan
tie saws.
Not a sound is to be heard, save the
hesitating footsteps of our mules, when
suddenly Cochise, who is some distance
in advance, utters an oath in Spanish.
The opposite side of the canyon echoes
it, and it is carried from side to side,
ftom point to point, from rock to rock,
from crag to crag, with fearful distinct
ness, till it resembles, to our ears, the
cries of the demons, who, we are sure,
surround us and inhabit this direct de
scent to the home of Los Infernos.
Still we go on, still continue to descend.
Soon we hear the faint murmur of wa
ter, as, far below us, it forces its way
among the rocks and boulders that form
the bed of the river, and we feel re
joiced that the poor animals so careful
ly following us are soon to be refreshed
with a draft of cool water after their
tedious journey over masses of rock,
baked clay and alkali powder. Instinct
ively we look behind us, and we see
that they, too, have heard the grateful
sound and are hurrying along, as though
impatient to taste its refreshing cool
ness.
Then comes the thought, that fre
quently, when suffering from thirst,
mules have been known to stampede at
the smell of water. Suppose this should
be the case with ours ? What, then,
would be our fate ? We cast our eyes
over the brink of the yawning chasm,
and then back upon our mules, as if to
measure distance and strength. The
sight of their erect ears, distended nos
trils and glaring eyes does not tend to
reassure us, and we look in vain for
some spot wide enough to enable them
to pass us in safety. Nothing but a
solid perpendicular wall above us, and
empty space for <>oo feet below. We
must go on. There is no turning back.
The gloom increases with every step.
The walls around assume in the dark
ness a thousand grotesque and missha
pen forms. The obstacles in our path
way become more frequent and danger
ous. The darkness becomes more and
more intense. We can no longer see
the path for more than four or five feet
ahead of us.
Now, as it abruptly turns an angle,
wo lose sight of it altogether, and we
feel as though the next step might pre
cipitate us into —what? And so we go
on, hesitating, doubting, fearing, until
after hours of tedious toil, such as I
hope never again to experience, we
finally reach the bed of the river that
has worn this mighty wrinkle in the face
of mother earth. After allowing our
thirsty animals time to drink, and fill
ing onr canteen and leathern bottles
with fresh water, we follow down the
bed of the stream for a mile, cautiously
feeling our way in the darkness as best
we can, stumbling against boulders of
granite, stones and masses of trap
that have been precipitated from the
vast heights above us, until at length
wo reach the point w here we are to be
gin the ascent. Wearily toiling up the
steep path, picking our way over rocks
and fissures, gullies and stones, all the
while gaining light, though losing
strength, we at last reach the level of
By R, S, BURTON.
VOLUME I.
t he plain that we left in the morning, to
find ourselves in the twilight, only four
miles below the point where we began
the d<.-scent, having been more than ten
hours i u making the journey.
Here, upon the very brink of this
fearful chasm, we throw ourselves upon
the ground, declaring we can go nofur
ther. Here we must camp for the
night. No vegetation, no grass for our
mules, no water, no food—nothing but
desolation. We are no nearer the en
chanted castle than we were before we
made the passage of this frightful can
yon. The pipes of that same grand old
organ look down upon us. The same
buttes, mesas, pillars, towers, ravines,
chasms and fissures, surround us, that
surrounded us in the morning. Then
we saw them as the beams of the rising
snn gilded their summits; now' we see
them towering up in the twilight, and
assuming a thousand fanciful and gro
tesque shapes that we had not dreamed
they possessed before. Tired and ex
hausted, ire wrap ourselves in our blank
ets and throw ourselves upon the ground
to sleep. To sleep did I say ? No; for
again the scenes of the day pass in rap
id succession before us. Our fears,
our doubts, the descent of that peril
ous path, all a thousand times more
fraught with danger than we had imag
ined at the outset. While we are de
bating in our minds whether we shall be
able to cross in safety an immense fis
sure that yawns frightfully before us, we
hear the voice of Cochise saying “ ar
riva,” and we awake to a repetition of
yesterday’s toils. I am fully aware,
kind reader, that I have failed to give
you but a fai it idea of the perils that
beset the traveler into the Apache
wil ls. I only wish 1 possessed the
pencil of a liierstadt, that I might
portray upon canvas some of the fea
tures of the remarkable country which
T visited during my two weeks’ trip
with Cochise.
Babies.
Babies are not to be blamed for be
ing di agreeable ; they can’t help it.
They want to be let alone and ‘kept out
of sight, if they are well bred; but
their foolish parents won’t let them
have their way unless the word is dif
ferently spelled. The unfortunate ba
bies must be taken into the light, and
looked at, and criticized, and poked in
the ribs, and asked to laugh a little.
The idea of laughing under such cir
cumstances ! Crying is much more
natural, and they cry, of course. Who
wouldn’t ? To put a sensitive and sen
sible baby on exhibition, and insist on
it playing a comedy part with a doz
en pins in its flesh, and several doses
of medicine internally, revealing the
ignorance of physicians, is much like
insisting that a bereaved son should
dance a hornpipe at his mother’s fu
neral.
Nor are babies bound to resemble
their i'tvfcbcr, or mother, or botli at a
time. They must have a coufused no
tion what their personal appearance is
after being assured they are exact
counterparts of their parents, aunts,
uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers,
and all their cotemporaneous relatives.
The truth is they don’t look like any
thing in particular but themselves.
Beautv is impossible to them and they
know it. Their family pride is revolted
at the thought of being compared to
their ancestors who may chance to be
comely. Their intuitive sense of art is
quite sufficient to inform them that
seven to thirteen pounds of scarlet
avoirdupois, with imperceptible noses,
protuberant eyes, and entire absence of
svmmetry, do not constitute beauty.
They are conscious that they suffer by
comparison with other little animals,
even with geese and pigs, so far as as
thetics go, and, therefore, beauty is a
delicate subject they would prefer not
to have discussed. Babies have no in
dividuality of appearance whatever,
and discovering a likeness between them
and mature persons is as if we compare
the tender loins of a steak with the ex
pression of a human countenance.
Thought and the Condition of the
Brain,
It is now a well-established physio
logical foct that mental action is a dis
tinctly physical process, depending
primarily on a chemical reaction be
tween the blood and the brain, precisely
as muscular action depends primarily
on a chemical reaction between the
blood and the muscular tissiles. With
out the free circulation of blood in the
brain, there can be neither thought nor
sensation, neither emotions nor ideas.
It necessarily follows that thought, the
only form of brain action which we have
here to consider, is a process not mere
ly depending upon, but in its turn
affecting, the physical condition of the
brain, precisely ns muscular exertion of
any given kind depends on the quality
of the muscles employed and affect the
condition of those muscles, not at the
moment only, but thereafter, conducing
to their growth and development if
wisely adjusted to their power, or caus
ing waste and decay if excessive and
too long continued. It is important to
notice that this is not a mere analogy.
The relation between thought aud the
condition of the brain is a reality. So
far as this statement affects our ideas
about actually existent mental power,
it is of little importance ; for it *is not
more useful to announce that a man
with a good brain will possess good
mental powers, than to say that a mus
cular man will be capable of considera
ble exertion. But as it'is of extreme
importance to know of the relation
which exists between muscular exercise
and the growth or development of bodi
ly strength, so it is highly important
for us to remember that the develop
ment of mental power depends largely
on the exercise of the mind. There is
a “training” for the brain as well as for
the body—a real physical training—
depending, like bodily training, on rules
as to nourishment, method of action,
quantity of exercise, and so forth.
—A newspaper man of London pro
poses to establish a daily to be issued
about 9 o’clock in the forenoon, which
shall be made up from the news of all
the other morning dailies in the city, but
the publishers think they will block the
scheme by getting a bill through parlia
ment giving them a copyright on all
their news for forty-eight hours after
its publication.
EASTMAN, DODGE CO., GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1873.
DOWN UNDER THE SEA.
A Chapter of Suhteroceanic Wonders.
Forest and Stream has a communica
tion from Com. Beardslee, commanding
the steamer Blue Light, assisted by
Prof. Verrill, of Yale College, from
which we copy the following passages :
Cape Cod is a dividing line upon our
coast. South of it one class of crea
tures are found in profusion, but the
quohog clam (the Calista convexa), cer
tain star-fishes and woims, and the oys
ter have not existed, or, having existed,
have become extinct north of this line,
except in a very few localities. A live
Calista convexa (a species of clam)
brought up in Casco bay upset at once
the opinion held till then that it was
extinct so far north. Quohog shells in
plenty we find in ancient Indian shell
mounds, which dot every slope of the
island, showing that once they existed
in plenty. Now but one little bay, a
mere cove at the head of Casco bay,
furnishes this creature, which, south of
Cape Cod, is but the common plentiful
clam. Oyster shells, of a size to which
a saddle rock is but a pigmy, lie thickly
planted six feet below the present bot
tom of Portland harbor. They too,
however, are extinct. In that great
convulsion of nature that was so sweep
ing in its effects not a living oyster was
left to fulfill a mission. It seems a sad
mistake up here, where oysters could
be eaten every day in the year, and the
nightly blanket renders superfluous the
mosquito bar. But the ocean is still
well filled, and with fruits and flowers,
with vegetables and plants, masons and
well-diggers, robbers and cannibals, and
each bearing in a greater or less degree
a resemblance, either in appearance or
habits, to the creature or object above
water that it is named for. Way down
in the dark depths animal life utilizes
every inch of ground, and no square
foot above the surface can equal in num
ber or variety of forms the same space at
the bottom of the sea. Strange, odd, hor
rible creatures, with none or many eyes,
with speckled bodies and long, slimy,
clinging arms, changing at once their
form and size at will, and, like the genii
of the Arabian tales, from a mere start
ing point extend themselves almost in
definitely in size. Beautiful creatures,
too, as the anemonies and dahlias, at
first frightened and jarred as we see
them in the dredge, mere masses of pink
or purple flesh cover and with a tough
skin; left to themselves in a cool, dark
place, they protude from an opening in
their bodies, clusters of gay colored and
gracefully-moving antennae, which in
some branch like coral, in others bear
close resemblance to the stamens and
petals of flowers. Down here the ani
mal kingdom takes from the floral tribe
the duty of embellishing. Living,
breathing, food-devouring flowers, and
the kitchen garden too, and orchard, are
not unrepresented. Sea cucumbers
(Pentaccta frondosa ), sea peaches (Cyn
thia pyriformis), sea pears (/lot tenia
clavala), and apples, are found in plen
ty, the former so close a simile of the
fruif, both in form and color, that it
could be mistaken, the one for the other.
The flowers, though beautiful as they
are, are but brigands; those graceful
petals wave but to entice and grasp a
victim, which, when seized, is pressed
close to its mouth, and then, even if
larger than its captor, is swallowed
whole. The process of swallowing
whole a morsel larger than the swallow
er, is rather an unusual proceeding
among animals, and of course an unusu
al method lias to be adopted. The aDe
monie does it in this way : Holding
t : ghtly its prey, it gradually protrudes
its stomach from its mouth, and turning
it inside out, envelopes its dinner, and
then it lies quietly awaiting death an 1
digestion. It rejects such portions as
are not suitable, and stows away its
stomach for future use. What a bless
ing some men would esteem this faculty
to be.
The sea cucumber is another curious
creature ; first found it a small compact
“gherkin;” left to itself, it will swell
and develop to an immense cucumber,
quite large enough to make a boat of, if
the sea urchins had the same habits as
did those urchins of whom I was once
one.
Starfish we find in great numbers and
varieties; different according to the
character of the bottom. The common
“live-fingered Jack” is found every
where, and at each haul of the dredge,
whether from mud or rocks, “ aster is
vulgaris" is the first object called out
to the note taker.
An Old Ship.
The bark True Love, Capt. Thomas
Wetherill, has just arrived from Green
land with a cargo of kryolite. This
vessel was built in the year 1764, and is,
consequently, 109 years old. The sides
batter inward to the top of the gun
wale, and this makes the vessel much
broader at the water-line than on deck.
In nautical language, the sides are
known as “tumbling home,” because
they fall in above the bends. This bark
■was built at Philadelphia, but it cannot
be ascertained with any degree of cer
tainty at what particular point. The
custom-house register does not contain
the record, because the vessel was built
twelve years before the beginning of
the American revolution. It is most
likely that she was built in Kensington,
as it appears from history that the first
ship-yards on the Delaware were estab
lished in that locality, not far from the
Penn treaty ground. The bark was
built for parties residing in Hull, Eng
land, and still hails from that place,
and for forty-seven years was engaged
in the whaling business in the northern
seas, and appeared to be at home among
the icebergs of the Arctic region. It is
understood that the vessel lias never
required any considerable repairs. The
original timbers appear to be as sound
as the day they were erected on the
stocks in old Kensington. The bark
registers two hundred and ninety-six
tons, but will carry much more.
Catching a Mouse.—A Keokuk lady,
while engaged in the pursuit of domes
tic duties, encountered a mouse in the
flour barrel. Now most ladies under
similar circumstances w T ould have ut
tered a few feminine shrieks and then
sought safety in the garret. But this
one possessed more than an ordinary
degree of female courage. She sum
mons'd the hired man and told him to
get the shot gun, call the bull dog, and
station himself at a convenient distance,
In God we Trust.
Then she climbed half way up the stairs
and pounded the flour vigorously
with a pole. Presently theijouse made
its appearance and started' across the
floor. The bull dog at once went in
pursuit. The man fired and the dog
dropped dead. The lady fainted and
fell down the stairs, and the hired man,
thinking that she was and fearing
that he would be arrested for murder,
lit out, and has not been seen since.
The mouse escaped.
The qf Genius.
Conceit does not depend on the rela
tion between a man’s feme value and his
estimato of his value. If so, it would
be scarcely possible for some great men
to be conceited at all. If Shakespeare,
for example, had guessed only one-half
of the truth about himself, if he had
known that; the minutest details of his
life and writings ' Aiie discussed
in all civilized language* That his in
fluence would revolutionize foreign lit
eratures, centuries after his death, and
that Ben Johnson and Fletcher would
appear to his posterity as mere pigmies
by his side, he would have been thrown
off liis balance by sheer astonishment.
Such incense would have been too
strong for any moral brain. And in
this sense it is almost impossible for
any man of genius to be conceited.
Nobody, however brilliant his promise,
can be confident that he will draw one
of the stupendous prizes in the vast
lottery of life. A young man who
should say, I will be a Shakespeare, or
a Dante, or a Homer, would either be,
or be in the way of becoming, a fool.
Genius must so far be unconscious that
it can scarcely dare to recognize its own
: superlative merit, and yet a man may
conceivably be overpowered even by a
revelation of only a part of his own
glory.
In another sense genius must be
necessarily more or less unconscious.
Newton is supposed to have said that
his mathematical excellence was due to
nothing but to his having labored more
perseveringly than others. And the
theory has been packed into a formula
that genius* is nothing but an infinite
capacity for taking trouble. In spite of
the great names which may be adduced
in behalf of this doctrine, w r e venture
to think that the source of the fallacy is
transparent. We will not dwell upon
the fact, which is sufficiently obvious,
that a capacity for endurance is just as
rare and valuable an endowment as the
capacity for immediate insight; and
that a man, for example, who can keep
his mind fixed upon a mathematical
problem for many hours together, as
Newton is said to have done, has one of
the rarest of powers. But the argu
ment is more vitally defective. Newton
saw that, by alio wing liis mind to dwell
upon certain problems, they gradually
became clear to him, and that the
longer he could attendee them the
clearer his mind became... In other
words, since his success in the mathe
matical operations varied as the amount
of labor bestowed upon them, he as
sumed that the labor was the one es
sential element of success. But ob
viously it does not follow that the same
amount of labor from a feeble brain
would produce equal effects. The
length of time during which a
problem was exposed to the action
of his intellectual and ingestion was
one condition of his success; but
so was the vigor of the digestion for a
given time. In short, Newton could
compare his owm mental operations, and
pronounce those to have been most
fruitful which were most laborious ; but
he could not look into the mind of an
other man, and see by comparison how
slow' and blundering was his reasoning
machinery in comparison with his own.
We are all liable to make mistakes of
this kind, in one way or the other. We
fancy that a man of genius has accom
plished success by a lucky hit, because
weeanuot at all realize the faculty with
which he can at a given moment com
mand all the resources of his mind.
And, in revenge, the man of genius
attributes to obstinacy or idleness what
is th.e result of good, plain, honest
stupidity. Each of us can only have <
direct experience of the working of one
mind; and we naturally assume, till
the contrary has been forced upon us,
that all other minds are cast in the same
mold. Perhaps it would be as well if,
for a brief period of his life, everybody
was condemned to be a school-master or
a crammer, in order that he might more
or less fathom the stupendous abysses
of human stupidity. Meanwhile it is
easy to understand how a Newton or a
Pascal, to whom propositions ordinarily
reached by 1 mg processes of calculation
appear to be self-evident truths, may be
unconscious of the difference between
himself and his fellows. It does not
occur to them that men can be so blind
as not to see in broad daylight, and it is
easy to imagine that they are willfully
closing their eyes.— London Saturday
Review.
Catching Bugs. —A writer in a French
horticultural journal relates this sug
gestive experience : “After sunset I
place in the centre of my orchard an
old barrel, the inside of which I have
previously well tarred. At the bottom
of the barrel I place a lighted lamp.
Insects of many kinds, attracted by the
light, make for the lamp, and, while
circ ing around it, strike against the
sides of the barrel, where, meeting with
the tar, their wings and legs become so
clogged that they fall helpless to the
bottom. In the morning I examine the
barrel, and frequently take out; of it
ten or twelve gallons of cockchafers,
which lat once destroy. A few pence
worth of tar employed in this way will,
without any further trouble, be the
means of destroying innumerable num
bers of these insects, whose larvae are
among the most destructive pests the
gardenner or farmer has to contend
against. ”
—The Etruscan museum of Florence
has lately been enriched by the acquisi
tion of a beautiful marble sarcophagus,
found in a tomb at Tarquini, in the
Mareme, the sides of which are fres
coed in the highest style of Grecian
art, with a battle of Amazons and kin
dred subjects. Some of the heads are
wonderfully fine in expression and the
horses and general action most vividly
spirited. The museum paid 23,000
francs for it. Next to the “ Muse of
Cortona,” it is, perhaps, one of the
most precious of modern finds,
Significance of the Fingers.
Each finger, and the mount at the
base of it, is named from a planet. In
the normal hand the second finger is
the longest, the first nearly as long as
the third, and much longer than the
fourth or little finger. Jupiter is the
first finger. If it be long and not ill
shapen, and if the mount at its base be
well developed, it indicates a noble and
lofty character and a religious-minded
person. If disproportionately long it
will mean different things according to
the type of hand in which it may be
found, or according to the type of that
particular finger ; in the first type an
over-long first finger would denote an
inclination to the fantastic or the exag
gerated in religious matters; or it
might mean religious madness ; or if
other signs in the hand favored this
view, it cc,uld be taken to denote pride.
Pride is a form of worship—the love of
self. In the second type of hand the
excessive development of Jupiter might
mean ambition, or, if it were in a hand
that was eminently unselfish, it w'ould
stand for a something puritanical in
manners and morals—a too great severi
ty. In the third type a very long first
finger would probably signify vanity.
The second finger is Saturn. If too
prominent, it announces melancholy, or
misanthropy, or downright cruelty, ac
cording to the type of hand ; but if the
finger be within one purport on, this
sadness may take the form of pity for
others, or it may mean merely a be
coming gravity. The third finger is
Apollo, and belongs to the arts. In a
“ pointed” hand Apollo will give poetry
and music (composition); in a “square”
hand, painting, sculpture (here art
leaves the domain of the purely con
templative ; it becomes partly active
from (he combination of manual skill
with what is only imaginative); and in
a well-shaped hand Apollo will give his
torical power, an aptitude for acting, or
a love of theatrical amusements. On
the stage, art is joined in the closest
manner to motion. The fourth finger
is Mercury. If well proportioned it
promises a scientific turn of mind,
resourcefulness and diplomacy—tact.
The thumb is Venus. Chirognomony
and palmistry agree in almost all par
ticulars about the thumb. In both
systems it is treated as the most ini"
portant part of the hand. The upper
joint, that with the nail, stands for the
will ; the second division, the reason
ing difficulties ; the base, the animal
instincts.
What the English Think About Ris
tori’s Acting.
The power of dramatic art could
scarcely go further—it certainly has not
gone further within our recent memo
ries—than in the sleep-walking scene
from “Macbeth,” as rendered in the
broken English of the great Italian ac
tress. Ristori, aided only by a feeble
gentle-woman and a tiresome physician,
with no assistance from dramatic situa
tion or from scene, left on the minds of
her audience an impression which is in
delible, and which none could wish to
lose. The high expectation of the
house was readily discernible from the
irritation with which all preliminary in
terruptions were hushed down, and in
the excited longing with which all eyes
were turned toward the dimly-lighted
stage. That none were disappointed
might easily be determined by the wild
rapture of the triple or quadruple call
which summoned Madame Ristori again
and again before the curtain. The
younger members of the audience
frankly confessed that they had seen
nothing like this before ; and the elder
had to rack their brains in order to dis
cover performances worthy, in all points,
to be ranked with this. To.take one in
stance out of many that might be ad
duced —the nervous rubbing of hand
over hand to remove the hideous stain,
a movement which was continued
throughout the scene, was a master
stroke of art. Without being obtru
sive, the nervous action of those rigid
hands nevertheless held the horror
stricken gaze of the spectators, and
thoroughly conveyed the haunted feel
ings of the wretched murderess. Then,
again, who but Ristori would dare imi
tate for us, in realistic fashion, the
heavy breathing of the somnambulist;
and who but she could, through it all,
make even her whispered words of ter
ror audible over the whole house ?
Once more the intense artificial calm of
the utterance, “What’s done cannot be
undone,” and the attempted conviction
of or assurance, ‘‘ He cannot come out
of his grave,” these triumphs of histri
onic art can never pass out of our mem
ories, any more than can the weird pic
ture of the white figure as, witii grand
ly conceived gesture and mein, it
departs from us, beckoning and hoarse
ly calliug, “To bed! to bad! — Liver
pool Paper. •
How Raisins are Made.— Charles
Nordhoff, writing from California to the
New Fork Tribune, speaks of the manu
facture of raisins as follows : For mak
ing rai-ins, they wait until the grape is
fully ripe, and then carefully cut off
the bunches and lay them either on a
hard clay floor, formed in the open air,
or on brown paper laid between the
vine rows. They do not trim out poor
grapes from the bunches, because, as
they assert, there are none; but I sus
pect this will have to be done for the
very finest raisins, such as would tempt
a reluctant buyer. The bunches re
quire from eighteen to twenty-four
days’ exposure in the sun to be cured.
During that time they are gently turned
from time to time, and such as are ear
liest cured are removed to the raisin
house. This is fitted with shelves, on
which the raisins are laid out a foot
thick, and here they are allowed to
sweat a little. If they sweat too much
the sugar candies on the outside, and
this deteriorates the quality of the rai
sin. It is an object to keep the bloom
on the berries. They are kept in the
raisin-house, I believe, five or six weeks,
when they are dry enough to box. It is
as yet customary to put them in twenty
five pound boxes, but no doubt, as
more experience is gained, farmers will
contrive other parcels.
Slang.— ln his recently-published
diary, Mescheles records an amusing
instance of the perplexities which
“ slang” causes to learners of Enerlish,
“To-day,” he writes, “I was asked at
dessert which fruit of those on the
table I would prefer, * Some sneers, ’ I
$ 2 Ou per Annum.
NUMBER 40.
replied, ingenuously. The company
first of all were surprised, and then
burst into laughter when they guessed
the process by which I had arrived at
the expression. I, who at that time
had to construct my English laboriously
out of dialogue-books and dictionaries,
had found that ‘ not to care a fig’ meant
‘to sneer at a person,’ so when I wanted
to ask for figs, fig and sneer I thought
were synonymous.”
Dervishes.
In Leland’s “Egyptian Sketch Book”
he writes : “The dervishes sang and
chanted with tremendous energy, and,
as the spirit entered them, let off cries
much like those which are to be heard
in camp-meetings and at revivals. Then
they begin to bow, keeping the legs
straight. This is not easy to do. Just
try it. Put your back to the wall and
try to pick up a sixpence at your tip
toes. I believe there are howlers who
can do it with their mouths. As they
bowed all together they uttered what I
believe was Allah! Recovering their
perpendicular they bowed and Allah’d
again. They increased the time, work
ing magnificently; in about a minute
the whole fifty of them went like one
man, and the ‘jerks’ were superb!
Closing my eyes, I realized a curious
thing—that no one could have distin
guished by sound alone any difference
between the dervishes and a hundred
horse high-pressure steam-engine.
Something like a dreamy feeling of the
olden time stole o’er me. Methought
I was in the sanctum adjacent to the
press-room, while the fourth edition
was being worked off. Once in a while
the head dervish or an assistant uttered
shrill cries, and these I thought came
from newsboys out in the street. 1
opened my eyes ; (hey had got up to
the highest rate, and were running her
off at eighteen thousand copies an hour,
I mean fifty-two bobs and fifty-two
Allahs in a minute. I know this, for
one spectator timed them and joyfully
proclaimed it aloud. Suddenly one of
the dervishes, who had distinguished
himself by his zeal, became mel bus,
or possessed, and fell down. Had he
been a Methodist or a Roman Catholic,
a disciple of Madame Guyon or any of
the five hundred writers whose names
are given in Poiret’s ‘De Mystics,’ I
should liava said that he was inspired,
or at least have shook my head gravely,
and tenderly declared that it was won
derful and not to be lightly spoken of.
It is thus that I feel and think ever of
Convulsionnaires. But as he was only
a poor devil ©f a dervish, and a misera
ble heathen of a Mohammedan, it was
plainly enough only an epileptic fit,
and we regarded it accordingly.”
What is Genius ?
We have had many definitions of ge
nius, and many refusals to attempt to
define it, as somewhat that is indefina
ble, a thing that eludes and takes some
shop©, and when we think we have it,
we have it not. Like beauty, inspira
tion and instinct, it lies in a region of
uncertain and shifting lights ; is itself
and not itself; appears to be this till
another view dawns and it must be that;
but the last will not stick better than
the first, in the presence of some other
revelation. But after all the learned
clamor, what if genius was so simple a
thing as a larger and finer degree of
sensibility, a plus of vital heat, some
more feeling and spirit among our tal
ents. Every one knows what advan
tage lies in being kindled. For he who
could say nothing before can say any
thing now, and with rare logic, imagin
ation and persistency ; sterility becomes
suddenly fertile, as if the desert were
to bloom and bear fruit at once; cow
ardice gives place to courage, or we
have exchanged our fawn for a lion. Am I
the same man, to-day, I was yesterday ?
Now so aerial and lithe and full of rapt
visions and eager for better commun
ions, having down my rare books for
rare occasions, or fleeing to gaze again
and worthily at some fine landscape or
work of art, but then only a mole with
out eyes in some dark corner, an oys
ter in the mud, or a foolish bat flying
blind in the day. The same and not
the same ; the same plus a heat that
has freed the frozen and pent-up cur
rents, or a quickened sensibility that
gives me to myself, installs me iu full
command of my powers, and befriends
intuitions and spontaneities, as a better
atmosphere gives sharpness and range
to the eye. —Sumner Ellis.
Painters’ Vengeance.
In the Princess Lichstenstein’s late
work, “Holland House,” a curious an
ecdote is told of one of Hogarth’s pic
tures. A nobleman refused to pay for
a portrait he had ordered,, and the artist
being in want of money, informed him
that if he did not do so in three days he
would add to it a tail and other append
ages, and sell it to Mr. Hore, the fa
mous wild beast exhibitor. A similar
threat was executed sixty years ago, by
a painter named Du Bost, who, failing
to extract an enormous price for a pic
ture of Mr. and Mrs. Hope, showed it
in Pall Mall as “Beauty and the beast,”
which so enraged the lady’s brother
that he cut it in pieces. The case was
tried before Lord Ellenborough, who
decided that the picture being a libel,
the plaintiff could only recover for the
loss of the paint and canvas. Some
thing of this kind is related by Senor
Castelar in “Old Rome and New Italy.”
Biagio, master of the ceremonies to Paul
111., offended Michael Angelo by im
ploring him to drape his figures. Asa
punishment for his want of taste, the
artist painted him with the ears of an
ass in the depths of hell. The master
of the ceremonies ran to complain to
Paul 111. of the insult put on his res
pectable person. “I beseech your holi
ness to take me out of tkai,”"he cried.
“But where has he placed thee?” de
manded the pontiff. “In hell, your
holiness, in hell!” replied Biagio, sob
bing. “If thou hadst been in purgato
ry,” said the pope, “I would have re
moved thee; but I have no authority
whatever in hell.”
—A deceased Indian, who had neg
lected to “molder to dust,” was re
cently found under the root of a tree
near Augusta Ga., completely petrified.
He had probably lain there "a hundred
years, the tree having grown over him
meantime. His head was cleft in twain,
and a stone hatchet, which probably
had a hand in his murder, was found
near it,
EASTMAN TIMES.
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GLEANINGS AND GOSSIP.
—The panic has hung Lent’s circus
up at Atlanta, Ga., but it will resume
in the spring.
—Frank Blair thinks that we have
only to shako the Spanish nation a lit
tle'and Cuba will “drop into our lap
like ripe fruit.”
—Mrs. M. H. Burnham, the Twell
known correspondent of the St. Lotus
Republican, has been lecturing to the
St. Louis people.
—The last surviving servant of G.
Washington is dying very frequently,
this season. The latest is Arvena Trip
lett, 99, at Washington.
—The “ American university ” of
Philadelphia is to be indicted for issu
ing bogus diplomas, at the next session
of the supreme court in the Quaker
city.
—A man who subscribed $5,000 to a
Universaliat college at Logansport, Ind.,
a year or -two ago, now says he was
crazy, and the trustees have sued him.
i'he heirs of Remus Ferry, who
died recently in Elkhart county, Ind.,
spent most of the fall in digging over
one hundred and sixty acres of ground
for $2,000 of buried gold.
—A movement is on foot to establish
a line of six steamers from New Or
leans to Rio Janeiro, each to carry
2,500 tons of freight and make the pas
sage in twenty-two days.
—lt has not yet been settled what is
the true boundary line between Mary
land and Virginia, and Gov. Wise with
several assistants is wrestling with the
problem.
—Authority shows, according to an
alysis, the dried onion contains from
twenty-fivo to thirty per cent, of glu
ten and ranks in this respect with the
nutritious pea and the grains.
—Du Chaillu is overdue at New York
from Europe. He promised to lecture
to the Bostonians on the sth, and seve
ral of his appointments have been can
celed, but nothing has been heard from
him.
—Facts are cruel things, think Mrs.
Campbell and Mrs. Chambers of Geor
gia, who were go’ng to France to claim
an ©state of theirs worth $12,000,000,
but now find that there is no such estate
in France.
—lt is Nashville, Tenn., now, that
proposes to sublimate her fair-grounds
into a perennial state exposition, at
which the flora and the fauna and the
mineral kingdoms shall assemble, to be
looked at by coming generations.
—A sample of the tyranny of man
was shown at a woman’s rights meeting
in Titusville, where a gentleman en
tered and told his wife, one of the offi
cers of the meeting, to come home
quick, ‘‘ as the baby had the colic. ”
She went.
—The Greeley (Col.) market is full of
buffalo meat, which sells for two and
three cents a pound. The Utes .and
Sioux are very jealous of the white
hunters for meddling with an industry
which they think belongs more legiti
mately to them.
—George Alfred Townsend suceeeds
James W. Knowltou, deceased, as Wash
ington correspondent of the Chicago
Tribune, Cincinnati Commercial and
Missouri Republican combination, and
takes Col. Hilton’s place as correspon
dent of tne New York Graphic.
—After Joe Jefferson has fiuished his
engagements in Philadelphia, Baltimore
and Washington, he will retire to his
beautiful estate on the river Teche, in
Louisiana, where he owns some two
thousand acres of land, prolific of or
anges, Tiecans, etc., and only eight hours
from New Orleans.
—The railway association of America
held a meeting at Chicago, r;t which
seventy-two of the principal railroads
of the country agreed, by their repre
sentatives, co pay o mort commissions
on the sale of tickets. There is only
one leading road, the Baltimore and
Ohio, that has not signed the agree
ment, and this, with all the smaller
roads, it is thought, will be obliged to
fail in with others.
—The St. Louis live-stock dealers
celebrated on Friday the opening at
East St Louis of anew stock-yard, 650
acres in extent, containing an exchange
building, a large hotel, and all necessa
ry buildings for the accommodation of
the animals, the largest of which is the
“ hotel de hog,” 1122 by 100 feet in size,
with a capacity of 15,000 swine and 10,-
000 bushels of corn. The grounds are
provided with all the conveniencies of a
town, such as gas, water-works, res
taurants, etc.
—Preparations for the skating season
at Central park, New York, have already
commenced, and the large building on
the magin of the lower lake, containing
stoves, dressing-rooms, a restaurant,
etc., which is built up and removed
every year, at a cost of SSOOO, is now be
ing erected. The annual cost of clearirg
the ice on all the lakes of the park is
about $20,000. The largest number of
visitors to the park on any day, last
winter, was 75,000, of whom it is be
lieved at least 40,000 resorted to the
lakes and ponds.
—The argumentum ad hominem takes
an unusual form in the council of the
Cherokee nation. Sam Osage, the hon
orable Cherokee from a certain full-blood
district, was recently discussing a knotty
constitutional question at Tahlequah,
Ark., when Turn Foreman quieted him
with a pistol ball, but Turn himself was
afterwards worste i in the discussion bv
a home thurst, from the effects of which
he died in a few hours. It is, however,
considered both unparliamentary and
ungentlemanly to kill a man in the Che
rokee council.
—Fred Donglass told a Washington
audience about his personal connection
with the John Brown raid, the other
day. He said that the constitution for
the proposed republic was written at
his house in Rochester, and was still in
his He spent a whole day
and night with Brown and Shields Green
m a quarry Aaas
just before the
Ferry, and tried to dissuade
the execution of their plan. Twelve
years before the raid, Brown laid before
Douglass the pi an for a general insurrec
tion all along the Alleghany ridges of
the slave states, with the idea of mount
ing hundreds of black men on their
masters’ horses, and letting them ride
to free soil.