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EASTMAN TIMES.
x K<*al Xjivo Country Paper.
rUBLIWHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
-BY
PL. S. BURT OZNT.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION :
One copy, one year $2.00
One copy, six months 1.00
I*en copies, in clubs, one year, each 1.50
Single copies Sets
A FRECIOUS SEEING.
Mv fairies, weary of snow and Are,
Of frost on window and ice on tree,
I can show you summer uutil you tire;
Come— look behind you awhile and see ;
Why, here is the nest in our old bent brier,
Where the brown bird used to be!
Ah ! here is the brown bird, just as shy,
In the little leaves with her warm wings down,
On the wee white eggs, that, bye and bye,
Will change into other birds as brown
]f you go too m ar you will make her fly,
And that may make me frown.
And here is the flower you must not touch
The first, that bloomed iu our grass, you know.
Your butterflies, look !—were there ever such ?
Wild with the sun they glitter and go.
And here are the lambs you loved so much—
How little they seem to grow !
And here are the berries black and sweet;
And here, in the glimmer of lightning flies,
Is the gray strange man you used to meet,
Who walked at eveniDg—to reach the skies ?
oh, never look up through the dark and sleet—
Look down in your own fair eyes !
WHO ROBBED MADAME?
I had waited but a few minutes when
she entered.
The tasteful cap surmounting the
brown locks clustering in a pretty con
fusion of short curls about her forehead
proclaimed her no longer young, though
the fair blooming face and shapely form
were far more suggestive of youth than
of old age. Altogether, Madame Le
roux was a lady of most attractive ap
pearance.
She approached me with nervous
haste, her eyes fixed on mine.
“ I sent for—you are—” sho faltered
almost inaudiblv, and then paused in a
pitiable state of agitation, her slender
fingers slowly intertwining themselves,
and her whole frame trembling.
“ Detective Ashton,” I responded,
hastily, drawing forward a chair.
She sunk into it, and by a silent ges
ture invited me to be seated. Present
ly she murmured in a low quivering
voice :
“Monsieur, I am in great distress.
My—” and again paused, overcome by
her emotions.
I waited a minute in expectant silence,
and then said :
“ A case of robbery, I understand,
madame. Permit me to ask whether
your servants are entirely honest ?”
“ Entirely,” she auswered, brokenly.
“They have served me for twenty
years.”
“ And your pupils V”
“ Not a shadow of suspicion may touch
them.”
“ And the resident teachers ?”
She gasped once or twice, and then
controlling herself with a mighty effort,
answered tremulously:
“Pardon my agitation; I am worn
with trouble and anxiety,” adding pres
ently, in more even toms, “I will tell
you about it, monsieur. My school is,
as you doubtless know from report, the
best., and, consequently, the most flour
ishing in the city. I take much money,
°nd nfteu keep large sums by me. This
18 m y private business room, and in yuu
der cabinet I store my surplus funds.”
A rather unsafe place,*' T commen
ted.
“ Not at all, monsieur,” she answered,
decidedly. “It is furnished with a se
cret receptacle. Discover it, if you can.”
And rising, she led the way to the
cabinet, and threw open the desk.
But I exhausted my wits to no pur
pose. Aladame looked on in silence till
l drew back and folded my arms. She
then quietiy asked :
“ You would not suspect the fact I
have stated ?”
“If the secret conqiartment is here,
most certainly not.”
‘ It is here,” she replied, briefly and
emphatically, as she closed the desk.
“ How many times have you been
robbed ?”
Nightly, for the past week,” she an
swered, excitedly, “A large amount
was taken the first night, but since then
only a few counterfeits which I depos
ited in hope of detecting the thief with
out assistance. ”
“Has any one under your roof a
knowledge of the secret of the cabinet ?”
I inquired, niter a little interval of si
lence.
Hut one!” she cried, bursting into
tears, and wringing her hands in an
°l “ But one ! but one,
alas!” ’
i again deliberated a moment, and
then said firmly :
Madame, I hare not a doubt that I
wui, in time, clear up this matter with
u assistance, but it is no less certain
greatly aid me. ”
,'‘ WB e ° me minutes before she could
Wl) !° °i sufficient to auswer
tones • B^G Was * Q keart - broken
tell \n U monsieur. I must
wlm i 11 U V 1 ' V sns Pm* ons point to one
Wn m .Y ail : namely,
Mademnif 6 VC Antoi net,te Da Gray.
protear ?° 0 .-^ e Hray has been my
whicl":: ol Per P ar cntß,
faut j Cl j rr ed: while she was yet an in
the most le^. have hitherto reposed
arn iwlr °° now T
ble to silence. ’’ Vlt 1 d ° UbtS is im P oßai *
y OU T haVO not Rent for
anv intenfi ' his web of mystery with
guilt \h l’? ° f , Rlv,npr Publicity to her
fJn tfchT”, 1 OUIV diire <°
would not n-rJ ? r - ier mvn sake. I
thought • the a u I " nocent even in
ingly labor! v * w °uld unceas-
T 1 • to restore.”
1 B ”^ en burst of grief she
voting B o°win at °, iuette ! She is s<>
“ Does M, i n^! , and so beautiful!”
;; f J°r suspicion Grftv k ™w
( teep sob choked h' • h ln l a,rC(3 as a
"She does a 7 uttfranoe
sent for y on j t \ , few hours before I
entreated her to eJr i er °* my lo ss, and
forgivou Pgß j.i l) fess and receive my
41 th wkat; result?”
f " r a moment *4° Btartled e J es
“jost scornful !!? theu 111 P'oud, al
cove oil others R h eDt i ß ’i r , eplied tl,a t I,
Bhe Was capablT nf h |4u know Aether
And islhi f Bu . ch a deed.”
ot .% r *i'h ‘he fact
Oh, vgo ared her services’”
Would lighten W SI T‘ 1 ho P*l it
B1 on.” 8 reu kei mto a full confes-
Yonr fi ftrv . mta ? „
whatever. For
these startlS™ 7 B u, Bake 1 have
f °U(id secret.” iUr5 r °hberies a pro
ati °n 7 slid'- miUUl '* B 3 °rious consider
Two Dollars Per Annum,
VOLUME 11.
“ Madame, I will watch here nightly
until the mystery is solve V
Madame shook her head despond
ingly.
“It is quite useless, monsieur. lam
no coward, and have already tried that
plan, and, strange to say, my cabinet
remained intact both times.”
“ Perhaps Mamemoiselle de Gr iy sus
peeted your intentions,” I replied.
“ This time we must guard against the
possibility. And now, if you please, I
will take a few more details. About
what time do these robberies take
place ?”
“ Always between midnight and day
break. I seldom retire till twelve
o’clock, and on the night of the first
theft it was considerably later. I re
member distinctly : for bv a singular
coincidence Mademoiselle De Gray and
I sat here discussing the possibility of
the very event which occurred. ; The
recent Madworth robbery had impressed
us both deeply, and as we left the room
I bade mademoiselle lock the door.”
“ Did you lock the other ?” Tasked,
indicating one I had noticed awhile be
fore.
“ That is only a store closet.”
“It might secrete a burglar, how
ever. ”
“ Yes, monsieur ; but it did not. I
was in there a very few minutes before
we retired.”
“And the key of the door hero—did
mademoiselle know where you put it ?”
“Certainly, monsieur.”
“ And since that night ?”
“Alas ! monsieur, I have hidden my
keys in vain.”
After some further conversation I
took my leave, promising to return
ab*ut midnight.
I did so. Mademoiselle and the ser
vants had retired, and, as previously
arranged, madame answered my light
tap herself. She ushered me into the
private room, and soon bade me good
night.
After a short absence she returned
with a steaming cup of coffee and a
plate of Dutch cake.
“I always take a cup before retir
ing,’ she explaimed, “and thought you
might find one acceptable.”
And with a final good night she left
me. Peeling both chilled and thirsty,
I emptied the cup almost at a draught.
Then wheeling a chair behind the cur
tains draping a bav window, I extin
guished the light and sat down to await
the appearance of the unknown thief.
But I saw' nothing. Just at daybreak
madame softly entered the room and
spoke to me. I rose unsteadily to my
feet and stepped from behind the cur
tains. She gazed at me in surprise for
a moment, and then smiled a little iron
ically :
“ Monsieur slept well, I perceive.”
“ Y r es, madame, if well means sound
ly,” I replied. “ The coffee Avas drug
ged. ”
“Drugged!'* bLo eolood, staggering
back a pace or two.
“ Yes, madame. Permit me to ask
who made it?”
She covered her face with her hands
for an instant, and tin n dropping them
reeled over to the cabinet. In a minute
she was beside me again.
“ Who made it?” she repeated in
deep hollow tones. “ Mademoiselle
De Gray ! And—and, monsieur, the
money is gone!"
“ But,” I answered, in some vexation,
“ madamoiselle, of all others, should
not have known of my presence here.”
“ Ah, monsieur, I was most careful,”
returned madame, sorrowfully. “ ’Tis
a mystery how she gained her knowl
edge. ”
“Well, madame,” I answered, after a
few minutes’ deliberation, “we will
meet mademoiselle on her own ground.
Permit her, if you please, to prepare
another cup of coflee to night. She will
no doubt count upon its effects.”
And that night I received another
steaming cup. But it was received only.
Consequently I was not found napping.
I had watched patiently for two hours
or more, when the door softly opened
and a pale, slender little old woman
wrapped in a crimson dressing gown,
and about whose bare head floated a
few scanty gray locks, stole noiselessly
into the room.
She carried a bunch of keys and a
lighted taper in a small bronze candle
stick. Closing the door carefully be
hind her, she proceeded at once to the
cabinet.
“ Gan this weird-looking old woman
be Mademoiselle De Gray ?” I thought,
gazing after the singular apparition.
“ No, it cannot be. Certainly madem
oiselle is young. This must be some
old relative or friend of madame.”
Quickly as noiselessly she approached
the cabinet, and in a moment it was un
locked, and the secret compartment
open.
After carefully withdrawing the notes
deposited there by madame a few hours
previous, she snapped the spring and
reclosed the desk. Then turning quick
ly away, she went over to the store
closet.
I now left my hiding-place and cau
tiously followed. When I reached the
door she was in the act of removing the
false bottom from a large japanned box
in one corner. Dropping it on the floor
be ide her, she took from tUe box a roll
of notes, and after adding ‘he one just
stolen, returned the bundle to its place
again. Then hastily restoring the Cox
to its former order, she rose and turned
away.
I stepped back a pace or two with the
design of seizing her outside the closet.
In a moment she appeared and con
fronted me, and for the first time I ob
tained a fair view of her features. But
instead of the horror and dismay which
l had been anticipating, I was the one
to fall hack aghast.
My outstretched arms dropped power
less as, with swift tread and strong gaze,
she swept past me and out of the room.
“And this is the solution!” I mnt
tered, drawing a deep breath of relief
as the door closed upon her. “ What
will madame say ? Will she readily
credit the report I must give ?”
Without deciding the question I drop
ped on the sofa and made myself com
fortable for the remainder of the night.
As on the previous day, madame
sought me early. She looked at me
scrutinizingly.
“Ah ! monsieur has had another good
sight, without the aid of drugs,” she
remarked, somewhat tartly.
“Yes, mauame, a very good one,” I
EASTMAN, DODGE CO., GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JULY Hi, 1874.
replied ; “ but I first earned the right.”
“Ah!” ejaculated madame again;
but this time very tremulously. “ Then
you have—you— ’’
“Yes, madame,” answered, finding
she c uld not finish the sentence.
“ And now will you kindly allow me to
see Mademoiselle De Gray ? ”
“ No, monsieur ! no!” she replied,
with hasty emphasis. “My poor An
toinette has sinned, no doubt; but she
shall be protected. You shall not see
my poor child, monsieur,” she con
cluded passionately. “Heaven and I
will make a good woman of her yet! ”
“My dear madame, you quite mis
take me,” I answered feelingly. “ Ma
demoiselle is innocent.”
I was hardly prepared for the little
Frenchwoman’s outburst of joy.
“My Antoinette ! My pure darling !
My white dove ! My wronged angel !
Sweet heaven, I thank thee ! ” she
cried, tearfully.
And before i could say more, she had
darted from the room. In a few min
utes she returned, leading a tall, ele
gant, golden-haired girl, whose proud
eyes gli tered with tears. This fair vis
ion of youthful beauty left mademe’s
side and came to me.
“ I thank you, monsieur,” she said,
with simple, earnest dignity. “ I thank
you most truly.”
“ I have done little or nothing to en
title me to your thanks, mademoiselle,”
I smiled in response. “ But have you
no desire to learn the nam) of the
guilty party ? ”
“ Ah, true !” exclaimed madame. “I
forgot all but my infinite joy. “ Tell
us, monsieur.”
“First, madame,” I answered, “per
mit me to restore your stolen money.
You have your keys, I see ; will you be
kind enough to open the treasure box ?”
And hastening to the closet I brought
out the japanned box.
Madame knelt down and wonderingly
turned the key. I then lifted the lid
and removed the false bottom.
An astonished exclamation parted
Mademoiselle De Gray’s lips, but
madame leaned over the box like one in
a dream, and could not be convinced
until the notes were in her hand and
counted, that it was no dream at all, but
a most pleasant reality.
“ Yes, Antoinette,” she at last said,
rising and casting the notes on the table,
“ every sou of it is here. And to think
of its being in the old box, Antoinette !”
“Yes,” smiled mademoiselle, with a
puzzled expression, “but—”
“But,’’interrupted madame,even more
vivaciously, “ but who put it into the
box? Yes, tha is the point, monsieur;
who put it into the box ?”
And she fixed her eyes in eager ex
pectancy on mine.
“The—the apparition,” I faltered,
“ entered the room between two and
three o’clock, and went straight to the
cabinet. In a few moments the notes
were purloined and deposited whero you
just now found them.”
“But the secret compartment, mon
sieur,” interrupted madame, excitedly.
“ Was it opened without difficulty ?”
“ Yes, madame.”
“Strange! most strange !” she ejacu
lated, in perplexing tones, adding the
next instant, “Go on, monsieur.”
“ That is all, madame.”
“All! But what did you do, mon
sieur ?” she asked, sharply.
“ Nothing, madame, but stagger aside
and gaze like an imbecile after the
retreating form I had extended my hand
to seize.”
“Oh !” exclaimed madame, in a low,
awed voice. “Was it—you called it an
apparition I recollect, monsieur. What
—what did it resemble?”
“It was a woman. A small, pallid
woman clad in a trailing crimson
robe— ”
“ A crimson robe 1” echoed madame
and mademoiselle, both evidently aghast.
“Yes, and with silvery white hair—”
“White hair!” both,
looking at each other with faces of con
sternation.
Mademoiselle De Gray recovered her
self first.
“What else, monsieur?” she queried
impatiently.
“ Nothing else, mademoiselle,” I re
plied, except that this singular appa
rition carried a bronze candlestick and
yonder bunch of keys.”
Mademoiselle gazed at me a moment
in silence, and then turning, suddenly
flung her arms about the madame’s
neck, and kissing her on both cheeks
exclaimed between tears and laughter :
“Oh ! you naughty, naughty thief?”
Madame stared from mademoiselle to
me, the picture of bewildered dismay ;
then dropping her eyes to the floor she
resolved, apparently, some perplexing
question. Presently she looked up.
“Tell me, Antoinette,” she mur
mured doubtfully, “ why did you drug
monsieur’s coffee ?”
“I ?” exclaimed mademoiselle, flush
ing with astonishment. “ I did it no
more than I stole the money. I knew
not that monsieur was here, much less
that he took the coflee. But, perhaps,
she roguishly added the next moment,
as she again showered kisses on mad
ame’s roseate cheeks, “ but perhaps
you can plead guilty.”
Again bewildered dismay widened
madame’s eyes, and, after a little, she
faltered :
“ Oh, Antoinette, I—l—yes, I cer
tainly did ! Monsieur slept well and I
slept poorly. Yes, monsieur got my
powders! I never tnought of it till
this minute.”
“What powders?” laughed Made
oiselle de Gray.
“ The morphine!” exclaimed madame,
more composedly. “ I felt sleepless and
excited, and put it into a cup, intend
ing to pour my coffee over it; but I
must have given monsieur the wrong
cup.”
Then, suddenly snatching the keys
from the table, she thrust them into
Mademoiselle de Gray’s hand, and ex
claiming, tearfully :
“There! keep them, my poor,
wronged darling. I have played ‘La
Somnambula’ loDg enough.”
And I, looking at madame a brown
curls, roseate skin, and faultless figure,
thought amusedly :
‘ W hat a miracle of F renoh art!
Adam Gladwin, of Louisiana,won id
have died happy but for one thing. He
never could satisfy himself whether cats
really sucked any one’s breath or
whether it was all &n old wive s iable.
In God }Y'e Trust.
LEPROSY.
Characteristics of the Disease in Aneient
Times.
This disease has always beeu peculiar
to warm climates, and in such, espe
cially in Egypt, and other regions of the
east, it is still found agreeing in all its
general symptoms with the descriptions
of its ancient character as left in the
Bible by Moses.
The disease seems to commence deep
in the sy: tern of the body, and gener
ally acquires a thorough settlement in
the person of its victim before it dis
covers itself on the outward skin. It
may lie thus concealed even for a num
ber of years, especially when it is seated
in the constitution by birth, as it often
is, when it does not commonly unfold
its outward symptoms uutil the child is
grown up to years of maturity. After
its appearance, too, it does not proceed
with any rapid ruin. Not until a num
ber of years does it reach its full per
fection of disorder, and not until a num
ber more have passed away does this
disorder terminate in death." A leprous
person may live twenty or thirty, or if
he receives the disease with his birth,
forty or even fifty years, but years of
such drradful misery must they be, that
early death might seem to be better.
The horribly malady advances with
slow but certain steps, from one stage of
evil to another, diffusing its poison
through the whole frame while the prin
ciple of life is still suffered to linger in
the midst of the desolation, and one
after another the pillars of strength are
secretly undermined and carried away
till the spirit finds, ere yet she can es
cape from its imprisonment, the house
of her earthly tabernacle literally
crumbling on every side into dissolu
tion and dust. The bones and the mar
row are pervaded with the disease so
that the joints ©f the hands’ and feet
gradually lose their powers, and the
limbs of the body fall together in such
a manner as to give a most deformed
and dreadful appearance to the whole
person. There is a form of the disor
der known in some places in which the
joints beginning with the furthest of
the fingers and toes one after another
separate and fall off, and the miserable
swfferer slowly falls in pieces to the
grave. Outwardly the leprosy discov
ers itself in a number of small spots
which generally appear first on the face
about the nose and eyes, but after some
time on other parts of the body till it is
all covered over. At first these spots
have the appearance of small reddish
pimples, but th**y gradually spread in
size till after some years they become
as large as a pea or bean on th3 surface
which they cover. When scratched, as
their itchy character constantly solic
its, a thin moisture oozes out of them
which soon dries and hardens into a
scaly crust, so that when the disease
reaches its perfect state the whole body
becomes covered with a foul whitish
scurf.
Particular directions were given in
the law of Moses to distinguish the
spot of the real leprosy, from others
that might resemble it in appearance.
These are contained in the thirteenth
chapter of Leviticus. There are vari
ous kinds of leprosy, some more malig
nant and loathsome than others. Ac
cording to the appearance of its spots it
is called by different name. There is a
white, a black, and a red leprosy. This
shocking disease is contagious, so that
it is dangerous to have much intercourse
with leprous persons. On this account
it was wisely ordered among the Jews
that such should dwell alone “ all the
days wherein the plague should be in
them,” and should be held unclean so
that no one might touch them without
defilement. Hence too, it was so strictly
enjoined that the earliest appearance of
anything like the spot of leprosy should
be immediately and thoroughly ex
amined.
The leper in whom the plague was
ascertained really to exist was required
also to distinguish himself by having
his clothes rent, hi3 head bare, and his
lip covered (all of which were common
signs of deep sorrow), and to warn oth
ers coming near him by crying out,
Unclean, unclean! Lev. xiii. 45, 46.
The leprosy is still more fearful as it
may be handed down irom one genera
tion to another by birth. The leprosy
of a father descends to Lis son, and
even to his grandchildren of the third
and fourth generations, assuming in
deed a milder form as it passes down,
but still showing some of its disagreea
ble effects in each successive case. The
leprosy was regarded among the Jews
as a disease sent in a peculiar manner
from the hand of God, and designed to
mark his displeasure against some great
sin found in the person who suffered its
affliction. Nor was this idea without
some support in the dispensations of
judgment which their history recorded,
and in the especial solemnity with
which that disease is noticed* in the
Levitical law.
Victims of Opium.
A reclaimed victim of opium sends to
the Cincinnati Commercial his prescrip
tion for the cure of the dreadful habit.
Arguing that the average victim uses of
the drug what is equivalent to twenty
grains of morphine a day, he counsel’s
the preparation, by a competent physi
cian or careful druggist, of 270 grains
of morphine, 22 grains of belladonna,
and 45 grains of quinine. Divide this
into ninety pills, each of which will con
tain three grains of morphine, and be
gin by taking three pills a day. The
nine grains of morphine thus taken,
with their admixture, go as far with the
patient as did his previous twenty grains
a day, owing to the peculiar effect of
the belladonna in the combination.
Lower the quantity of morphine in each
successive batch of the pills until two
grains per diem are reached, and then
lessen the proportion of belladonna and,
perhaps, add a small dose of nux vom
ica. The cure is said to be aim' st cer
tain, but too much care can not be ex
ercise 1 as to the quality of the bella
donna. which is a deadly poison in any
thing over cautiously small doses.
Photographing on Silk. —Silk thor
oughly impregnated with bichromate of
potash presents a very sensitive photo
graphic surface. Thus prepared, any
shapes cut out of tin ano laid upon ic,
may be beautifully imprinted by the
sun, and in tints, according to the color
of the silk. A white or a very light
silk shows a delicate pale-red impres
sion ; a reddish tint takes a still deeper
shade of red in the pattern, etc. Fern
leaves, arranged to suit the taste, and
kept flat by a sheet of glass, can be
imprinted in the same way.
The Pharisees.
At the coming of our Lord the Phari
sees were the most prominent and in
fluential sect or party of the Jewish peo
ple. Respecting their origin we have
no certain knowledge. They are re
ferred to by Josepuus in connection
with the priesthood of Jonathan about
150 years before Christ, and it is not
improbable that they may Jiave taken
their rise soon after the Babylonish
captivity.
The word Phaiisees signifies separa
tists, and seems to have been either
chosen by themselves or applied to
them by others as a designation of their
austere and ascetic manner of life. They
affected great purity and sanctity of
morals, and held themselves quite aloof
from the mass of the people. Their
real character, however, was vain and
hypocritical in the last degree. While
they made an ostentatious display of
their piety, at heart they were grossly
corrupt. They were ambitious of ex
erting a controlling influence both in
church and state, and they appear to
have been regarded by the mass of their
countrymen with great deference. The
carefulness with which they observed
the forms of their religion gave them a
reputation for piety.
So far as related to the teachings of
the Old Testament Scriptures their doc
trinal views were in the main correct.
They have been represented as holding
that all things were controlled by fate,
but they recognized the freedom of the
will, and it is probable that what has
been understood as fate was simply the
Scripture doctrine of the divive
sovereignty. It appears from the
New Testament that their views
of the resurrection and the future
life was essentially othordox. Their
views of the plan of salvation, or on the
question, How shall man be just with
God? were altogether erroneous and
grossly pernicious. It was on account
of their false notions on this subject,
not less than the corruption of their
moral character, that they were led to
reject Christ.
But in addition to the law of Moses
they held to a multitude of precepts,
which they maintained had come from
him by tradition. They regarded them
as no less sacred than the written] law.
This was one great cause of their erro
neous views and of the corruption of
their character.
The Scribes were the official or pro
fessional leaders of the sect' of the
Pharisees, not a distinct body. They
were doctors or teachers of the law.
They transcribed and expounded the
Scriptures, and taught the doctrines of
the Jewish religion. In addition to
these duties they conducted the schools
for the instruction of youth. Their
profession of course gave them great
influence with the people—an influence
which they exerted to the utmost, es
pecially during the latter part of his
ministry, against Christ and” his gospel.
The Virtue of Silence.
Keep thou the door of thy lips. — Bible.
Silence never yet betrayed any one.—
Rivarol.
Speech is of time. Silence is of eter
nity.—Carlyle.
We speak little, if not egged on by
vanity.— Rochefoucauld.
None preaches better than the ant,
and she says nothing. — lran/din.
If thou desire to be held wise, be so
wise as to hold thy tongue.— Quarles.
Not every one who has the gift of
speech understands the value of silence.
— Lavater.
Lt arn to hold thy tongue. Five words
cost Zacharias forty weeks’ silence.—
Fuller.
Talking and eloquence are not the
same thing; to speak and to speak well
are two things.— Ben Jonson.
Those who have few affairs to attend
to are great speakers. The less men
think the more they talk. — Montesquieu.
A person that would secure to himself
great deference will, perhaps, gain his
point by silence as effectually as by
anything he can speak.— Shenstone.
Talkers and futile persons are com
monly vain and credulous withal; for
he that talketh what he knoweth will
also talk what he knoweth not.— Bacon.
Brisk talkers are usually slow think
ers. There is, indeed, no wild beast
more to be dreaded than a communica
tive man having nothing to communi
cate. — Swift
There are many who talk on from ig
norance rather than from knowledge,
and who find the former an inexhausti
ble fund of conversation.— Hazlitt,
The talkative listen to no one, for
they are ever speaking. And the first
evil that attends those who know not
how to keep silent is that they hear
nothing. — Plutarch.
The man who talks everlastfngly and
promiscuously, who seems to have an
exhaustless magazine of sound, crowds,
so many words into his thoughts that
he always abteures and frequently con
ceals them.— Washington Irving.
—ln Philadelphia every lady is a
centurion. Everything in that city is
centuplicated ; wherever you go, what
ever you do, the centennial stares you
in the face ; you have to wear it on your
paper collar and wash your hands with
centennial towels and soap. The whole
name is a farce, as it would lead you to
suppose it was to happen but once in a
hundred years; but in the city of Broth
erly Love it seems they are to keep it
up forever. The girls have powdered
their hair to make them look a hun
dered years older ; the old women have
powdered theirs to make them look
like the young girls. On a careful es
timate there are about two hundred
and twenty thousand Marcha Washing
ton costumes in that city now, which
costume consists of about three yards
of old fashioned curtain calico, a mob
cap, a black patch under the left eye, ;
and a seventy-five cent pair of high- j
heeled slippers.
“The love that a woman’s heart
needs ia the love that is spoken in ;
deeds,” says a modern poet. “ Espe- :
cially,” says Maiy Jane, deeds to a
hand tome ” three ; story marble front i
mansion and a few choice corner lots.” I
Payable in Advance.
NUMBER *24.
ROME.
The Eternal City as Viewed by au
American.
Charles Warren Stoddard gives vent
to some reflections on Rome as a whole.
He says : I think of it as a city of tan
gled, dirty, and very ugly streets; of the
people as a mass of cheerful, quarrel
some, superficial souls, who work hard
for a living—it is hard work loafing in
this climate—and who have no home
life according to our creed. The Ro
man houses are great barns, as ugly and
as inconvenient as possible. The pal
aces—any large house that has once
been occupied by a dignitary is a palace
forevermore—the palaces are a little
larger, a little less ugly, and a little
more convenient than the rest of the
buildings, and this is the only differ
ence. You occupy a room or a suite
of rooms on a flat, and it is by no means
necessary to be on speaking terms wi';h
the rest of the house. You have your
servants who provide for your table in
the house, or you go cut to a cafe, as
you please. The rooms are usually
furnished with cheap and gaudy trim
mings, a quantity of very bad paintings,
and a tolerable proportion of useless,
ugly, and antiquated furniture. You
receive your guests, who are directed to
your door through a dark or badly lit
hall by a porter or porteress sitting at
the hall door, which is nearly always
suggestive of a stable. You go out of
an evening (or by day), w alk in the mid
dle of the street, or ride if you prefer
it; haunt the fchrea or four villas that
are thrown open to us. overrun by
the very mixed public. There is no se
clusion, no rest for the spirit, no com
fort for the body. It is almost fatal to
bathe in Rome; you may moisten your
self occasionally, but there is an ever
lasting fear of fever, and the fever is
almost as serious as death itself. The
hotels are like all hotels, a kind of con
ventual life without any of the gracious
benefits of a convent. There are innu
merable petty cliques in this poor old
city—modern innovations. The young
Protestants, who here spring up like
mushrooms and flourish liko them; the
Catholic party, having a grand con
tempt for the outsiders; the Court
party, chiefly represented by young
officers, resplendent in gold lace and
with the slim legs so common in Italy—
most of them disappear mysteriously
at night, but reappear in the morning
as gorgeous and slender as ever. I
know someone who has trapped several
of these dashing young men and found
them in exceedingly close quarters—
but, rest their souls, they have no salary
to speak of, and most of it goes to their
ta lor. The artists are by themselves—
a house of many mansions, of course,
but one that excludes the inartistic.
Then come the resident foreigners, who
have almost forgotten where they orig
inated—a very common form of insanity
in Europe—but each one will give his
or her reception, drumming up some
floating celebrity for an attraction, and
so they manage to rival one another,
making and losing friends with aston
ishing facility. Yet let me not forget
certain dear friends I have made and
must leave here. Poor old Rome ! I
wonder if the Romans of old were any
smaller than these moderns ! It seems
almost impossible that any one could
have been; yet how they blew hot and
cold in the cause of Rienzi, and all these
modern champions are later Rienzis,
who pretend to be doing wonders for
the old city that is past redemption. It
is common for a certain class of Ameri
cans, after having been abroad for a
limited period, to ignore their race.
This is, perhaps, nowhere more no
ticeable than in Rome. They affect
foreign manners and foreign friends—
even find it hard to express themselve
in good English (if they ever possessed
that raie accomplishment)—and take
pains to avoid their countrymen, some
times speaking scornfully of the land of
their birth. Well, it is all right, I
warrant you. Whenever you find an
American who ignores his kind you may
be pretty sure he has good private
reasons for being ashamed of his im
mediate ancestors. Blood will tell, es
pecially if it is a little tainted. As for
poor Italy, she sleeps in the streets
these warm days; she mends shoes at
every street door; she sleeps in the sun,
begs of the foristeri, sells matches at an
extravagant figure, poses on the Span
ish steps, torments you -with infinitely
small bouquets for your button-hole,
and will never take no for an answer.
She is a rather pretty, a very healthy,
and a somewhat dishonest bore. All
that is honestly social in Rome can bo
shut up in one room. You and your
friend aie the best specimens; without
is envy, jealousy, malice, defamation,
lies, sorrow (skin deep;, suffering (so
well advertised that it becomes a posi
tive luxury to be born a cripple); and,
on the whole, Rome is a gieat, splendid,
memorable disappointment, and when I
get away from it—which I hope to at
once—l will fall to worshiping its
memory and dreaming of it as a kind of a
shadow of a city, grand, eternal, holy—
the cradle of art, poetry, religion, and all
that sort of thing.
—A New York reporter who went to
see anew fountain begin to play, and
who bad determin; and to write four or
five columns about it, giving a history
also of all previous fountains in the
world, returned to the office a disap
pointed man, and humbly wrote : “The
water was turned on in the beautiful
new fountain in City Hall Park yester
day. A few muddy drops were seen to
come out of the Poles under the brass
anomaly, roll down the sides of the in
verted saucer, and drop meekly into the
soup disb. By and by the water got to
be more and muddier, and filled the
soup dish, lunning eft' the saucer like
that shed from an umbrella on a wet
day. There were no graceful curves.
An attempt will be made to day to fur
nish a sufficient head of water to make
some graceful curves.”
—“ How do you d#, Mr. Jones ?”
said a stranger, blandly smiling as he
entered the store of a dealer. “ Well,
thank you,” stiffly rejoined Mr. Jones.
“ You don’t seem to know m© ; I am
Brown—used to live here,” said the
visitor. “ I beg ten thousand pardons,
Mr. Brown,” said Jones, relaxing and
shaking hands cordially; “excuse me,
I thought you were a drummer.” “So
1 am,” said Brown. Tableau vivant.
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FACTS AND FANCIES.
—Man without desire and wifchou;
want would be without invention and
without reason.
—A single burst of mirth is worth a
whole season full of cries with melan
choly. —Bruy ere.
—A barber-at Portland, Maine, col
lects his pay from customers when he
gets them half shaved.
lf every man works at that for
which nature fitted him, the cows will
be well tended— La Fontaine.
—A Nebraska man and his wife hap
pened to elope on the same night, and
each left a note for the other.
—“The child is father to the man.”
“ Hie,” says Gumfoozleum on a bust.,
“the shildmush been marrid ver’young.”
—A Maine husband wanted to bet his
wife that she conld not whip a panther ;
but she saw the joke and refused to try.
—“ Change cars !” is what a city boot
black said to a countryman, the other
day, when he had finished blacking one
of his brogans.
—Unbounded patience is necessary to
bear not only with ourselves, but with
others, whose various tempers and dis
positions are not congenial to our own.
—A number of New England furnaces
have recently suspended operations, the
companies not having orders enough to
clear out their manufactured supply of
pig-iron.
—A young lady will sail in the next
steamer from Boston for Europe who
doesn’t expect to marry a nobleman;
another one who isn’t going; to Italy to
study music.
—The foreman of a volunteer fire
company in Philadelphia is supposed to
have a perfect right to knock folks
down, ride free on the cars and spit to
bacco juice on the meeting-house steps.
—A temperance orator speaks of “a
tile of topers, seventy-five miles in
length, marching steadily to drunkards’
graves at the rate of three a minute, or
one every twenty seconds, all the year
round.”
Gen. Garibaldi is so unwell as not to
be able to hold the pen or move his arm.
He cannot by himself bring food to his
mouth—indeed, he cannot move at all.
He now receives no one except his most
intimate friends.
—A new game called “ Granger
Seven-up ” is announced. Three per
sons play for a can of oysters. The
first man out gets the oysteis, the last
the can, and the “middle-man” don’t
get anything. That is “ High-Low ”
without either “ Jack ” or “ Game.”
—“ O gracious ! no,” exclaimed Mrs.
Marrowfat to Mrs. Quoggs, raising her
hands and speaking in a very excited
tone. “ She was so ill when her new
bonnet came home, that she couldn’t
get up ; but, dear sakes ! ,1 ane, 1 hat
didn’t matter nothing, for she just put
the hat on and lay with her head out
the front window the whole afternoon.”
—A Frenchman roasts coffee, grinds
it to flour, moistens it slightly, mixes it
in twice its weight of powdered white
sugar, and then presses it into tablets.
One of these tablets can be dissolved at
any time in hot or cold water, making
at once the very perfection of coffee ;
and it is claimed that a pound of the
berry will go much further by this than
by any other preparation of the beverage.
—The Rochester Chronicle says
Lucy Stone doesn’t believe that ladies
ought to change their names merely be
cause they marry. Lucy married a
chap named Blackwell, and out of com
pliment to their parents the children
will be called Stone-Blackwell, and if
one of ’em should marry Brown-Se
quard and their children should marry—
Stop a moment, my son. Take breath.
—The B’nai B’rith Journal has dis
covered that the present fashion in la
dies’ costume is almost exactly what it
was in the days of Solomon. If so,
with the extensive domestic arrange
ments of that potentate his dry goods
bills must have been a curiosity, with
1,500 ladies to provide for and seventy
yards to the dress pattern, and trim
mings worth more than the material.
Now we begin to understand why the
old man groaned out in the bitterness
of his soul : “Vanity of vanities -all
is vanity !”
—A new* cotton factory has just been
completed in Greenville, S. C., with a
capital of SIOO,OOO. The proprietors
intend to run 500 cards and 3,000 spin
dles, and to manufacture cotton yarns.
The Piedmont cotton factory, just be
low Greenville, on the Saluda, is par
tially in operation, and promises grati
fying results, and to close these latest
evidences that there is life in the oil
land yet, the “English Manufacturing
Company of South Carolina,” with a
capital of $300,000, will soon have a
large factory at work in Spartanburg
county.
The Burial “ Service” in Paris.
The burial of the dead in Paris is
performed by a chartered company, that
includes all interments under nine
classes, everything supplied ; the first
costing over 7,000 francs, and the ninth
about 19 francs. The city pays the
company five francs per body interred,
and out of the receipts the company al
locates fifty-six per cent, of its profits
to support the various religions recog
nized by law, or one and three-fourths
millions of francs per annum. The
company is also bound to bury gratui
tously the indigent, which in 1873
amounted to 25,000 ca es, against 19,-
000 nearly who paid. The rich thus
bury the poor, and the dead defray tPo
religious rites of the living. The com
pany has in its employment 585 agents,
570 hearses and mourning coaches, and
270 horses, and supplies a master of the
ceremonies. It is the government fur
nishes the officer with the three cor
nered-hat ; he takes charge of the body
at its domicile, heads the procession
through the streets, and retires only
when the last spadeful has been thrown
mto the grave. The mutes do not like
to be called eroquemorts, and they
classify corpses as “ salmons, herrings,
and whitings,” representing respectively
the rich, the poor, and children. They
are not sad employes, though silent;
many are very gay, do duty in the pan
tomimes and chorus scenes of theatres,
and some lead the dances in the pnblic
balls.