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KASTMAN TIMES.
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HAZEL BLOSSOMS.
Tbe suiiiiuer wariotli lias left (lie i ky,
Tlie summer Mings liavedicd away;
And, wiltiered, in tlie footpaths liu
Tin' fallen leaves, but yesterday—
With ruby and with topaz. t;ay.
The prnss is browning on the tiiils
No pale, belated ilours recall
The astral fringes of the rills,
And drearily the dead vines fall,
Frost-blackened from the roadside wall.
Yet, through the pray and somber wood,
Against the dusk of fir and pine,
Last of their floral sisterhood,
The hazel’s yellow blossoms shine,
The tawny gold of Afric’a mine.
Small beauty hath tny unsung llowcr
l’or spring to own or summer bail;
ltut. in the season’s saddest hour,
To skies that weep and winds that wail
Its glad surprisals never fail.
O days grown cold ! O life grown old!
No ruse of Juno may bloom again;
Did, like the hazel’s twisted gold,
Through early frost and latter rain
lihall hints of sumruer-time remain.
Aid as within tho hazel’s bough
A gjft of mystic virtue dwells,
That points to golden ores below,
And in dry desert places tells,
Where now unseen the cool, sweet wells—
Ho, In tho wise diviner’s hand,
lie mine the hazel’s grateful part
To feel, beneath a thirsty land,
The living waters thrill and start,
The beating of the rivulet’s heart!
HulHcetli me the gift to light
With latest bloom tho dark, cold days ;
To call some hidden spring to sight ’
That, In these dry and dusty ways,
Shall sing its pleasantest song of praise.
O Love! the hazel-wand rnay fail,
Hul thou caust lend the surer spell,
That, passing over Baca’s vale,
Repeats the old-time miracle.
And makes the desert land a well.
JACQUES.
f 'u tho southern bunk of the Saguenay
whore the precipitous cliffs give' place
to rolling, rocky hills, lio3 the little
lumbering village of Chicoutimi. Here
liosv Jacques—happy, frowsy little Jac
qnes. He does not know but that it is
the nicest thing in tho world to live so
near the north pole that on tho short
summer nights tlie beautiful aurora
e.ui spread her cold curtain of shifting
silver over him; so near that in winter
old North Pole himself can drop in in a
neighborly way and bury the house in
snow-drifts. Could anything be more
charming, except living baud in hand
with Jack Frost in his ice cave at the
top ol tlm world V Jacques aud I have
a tender pity for auy ono who does not
live in Chicoutimi, though Jacques be
piiis to have misgivings that perhaps
Quebec, where the wonderful steamers
come Irom, may possess some points of
superiority.
Jacques lives in a small square house,
perched on tho rocky river bank. Why
tin- high winds that churn the Saguenay
to a mass of white froth do not blow it
away nobody knows. Hut, like a huge
bird’s nest, there it cliugs to the top of
the rock. It is built of rough two-inch
planks piled one on top of another, and
capped by a steep board roof. Altogether
it looks as if a giant had played at mak
ing a cob-house, and then clapped a
wooden tent on it. Though it only
boasts of one story and one room, this
fully satisfies Jacques, for he is a social
little fellow, and enjoys sleeping all in
one bed in tho corner of tlie kitchen.
Then, too, the room is magnificent in
his eyes, for its unblinded, wide-awake
windows are shaded with paper curtains,
gay with blue castles and red cavaliers.
Put his mother is ambitious, and
dreams of lifting tbe bouse up bodily
aud lower story under it, as
is tho universal custom in Chicoutimi
when one grows well-to-do in the world.
This gives all tho houses a jaunty, en
lerprisimg air, as if they had just got
upon their legs and were about to start
off around the town for a dish of friend
ly gossip.
Jacques’ father earns five dollars a
month by hooking in the logs that float
away from the great saw-mill, a quarter
of a mile above. It is a mere pittance.
Auy one but a Frenchman would starve
upon it, even in Chicoutimi. Hut there
the French livo “on nothing a week,
and that uncertain very.” Fish and
onions form the chief of their diet, with
now and then, by way of luxury, a soup
made of a bit of gristle and a potato or
two. Tho children grow round and
rosy, but the grown people have a lean
on! Imngjy look. Of courso, they have
bread for a standby ; aud every other
morning I see little Jacques go jumping,
rollicking, singing by, with an immense
loaf carefully poised on his towsly pate,
or tightly squeezed against his dirty
blouse. '
v as I did :
Von love that bread, don’t you ?” ho
would reply, ;his brown eyes till aglow :
‘Mais, que ce pain est bon! Vous
n’avez jamais vu rien comme ca aux
Ftats Unis ! On ne l’a nullo part ex
eopte a Chicoutimi. N’est ce pas que les
petits gareons chez vous meurent de
laim sans ce pain ?” which is his way of
Having : “Isn’t this bread good, though!
Aou won’t fine such anywhere in the
world except in Chicoutimi. Don’t the
-lttle boys in the United States starve
without this bread?” If he were a
Aankee boy, we should say this came a
little too near bragging. But the inno
cent ignorance and anxiety of his last
question quite take away your breath.
Jud when lie brings you a thick chunk
of this remarkable brea in his little,
grimy fingers, you wonder if it is really
made of musty sawdust, that it lias such
:l queer, oaken color and such a dry, un
palatable taste.
One afternoon Jacques’ father went
away to stay all night. His last words
to Jacques were: “Be sure not to go
Dear the mill.” For the mill was a very
dangerous though very attractive place
0 little folks. For awhile Jacques
amused himself playing on the logs that
) v °re floating in tho water beside the
bouse. Lying in tho river, loading with
amber, were three ships—ono from
Norway, one from Prove nee, and one
jioni South America. Jacques played
Ins log was eayh ahip by turns, and
visited each country with his cargo of
' ln ps. But playing alone grew monoto-
Dous. As dusk crept on, the saw-mill
° n opposite side of the cove lit up
! 8 loug rows of windows, throwing
’road lines of tremulous light across
m black water. To Jacques it looked
't ® i iu enchanted palace, and it attract
ed ms idle, disobedient feet with irre
-B]stible force.
Perhaps he did not mean to go in.
bb explained afterward, he only
j ,<j ug!) he would see if Guillaume were
J ere, because he had something very
particular to tell him. Guillaume’s
Two Dollars Per Annum,
volume 11.
father was one of the night-workers in
the mill ; so Guillaume was often there
in the evening. He had repeatedly said
to Jacques: “ Main que e'est rnagnifi
</ue / 1 tens dona afin que jc tc la fas.se
voir. ’ Which is French for “ How
splendid it is ! Do come and let me
show you round.” This invitation was
a continual spur to Jacques’ curiosity.
Once lie had been in the mill witli his
father in the day-time ; but to go in
every evening, like Guillaume, was tho
dream of his life.
Now, as he drew near the forbidden
spot, the delicious smell of the fresh
pine, the unceasing motion of the noisy
machinery, the bits of woed of all
shapes, calling for jack-knives to cut
them, tolled nim on, and ho entered,
remembering no longer his father’s com
mands. For awhile he watched the
sharp saws as they cut shingles aud
laths aud clapboards. He sat on the
curling, sweet-scented shavings, and
built forts of the bits of wood thrown
aside as useless. Notwithstanding his
disobedience, he had never been so
happy in his life.
Then Guillaume found him, and in
sisted on taking him to tlie other mill
to see the Uuge round logs sawed into
planks. The dim light, the roar of the
machinery, and the novelty of every
thing made one place as fascinating as
another to Jacques. So he willingly
followed Guillaume. They entered a
long, low building, full of saws banded
in groups of four or five. These groups
were placed all along at regular inter
vals, and were all sawing logs into
planks with fearful, steady swiftness.
Guillaume was so used to it that lie had
no thought of fear, and Jacques was too
ignorant to have a tremor.
They stood and watched the men roll
new logs on to the tramways, with long
crowbars, and push tho planks already
made into deep black holes in the floor,
where a raceway of the stream took
them and carried them to the lower mill,
to be sawed into shingles and clapboards.
It required great care to walk about;
for tho floor was full of these pitfalls.
All of a sudden Jacques disappeared.
In the dim light, thinking a mass of
planks jammed into ono of these holes
was the real floor, he stepped on it.
His weight started it. Above the thud
of the machinery, Guillaume heard a
faint scream, and turned just m time to
see Jacques’ head disappearing in tho
pitoliy blackness.
Guillaume knew all about the mill,
and quick as thought lie sprang down a
flight of stairs at the side, just in sea
son to catch back a Frenchman’s hand
as he was going to turn a torrent of
water on the raceway. It took but an
instant to explain. Tho uoal oucuuu me
Frenchman had waded into tlie dark
water in search cf Jacques. At last lie
found him crushed among the heavy
planks, and brought him out in his
arms. Tlie rough workmen wrapped
the dripping, insensible boy tenderly in
their coats aud bore him carefully home.
The doctor came aud examined him.
Ho said there were no bones broken
aud that in a few days he would be as
supple and active as ever. But days
passed on, aud he woke from liis insen
sibility only enough to have a fearful
dread of water, to jabber a senseless
gibberish, and to fail to recognize his
dearest friends. Little by little liis
mother and father were forced to admit
that their only child was a hopeless
idiot.
Two years dragged slowly by, when
oue day Jacques looked up all of a sud
den aud said, in his old natural voice,
though very slowly, as if ho could
hardly remember tlie word : ‘ ‘ Thinkest
thou—that my father —will boat me ?”
Tears came into tho mother’s eyes to
hear seaside words from her boy’s lips
once more. “ Beat thee ! Why she
asked, in a tone as calm and quiet as
she could make it in her sudden joy,
for she did not dare show her surprise,
for fear of frightening away Jacques’
returning wits.
With great difficulty Jacques got out
the one word. “ mill,” and a violent
shudder shook him. His mother assured
him by word and tone and caress that
lie had nothing to fear.
The whole two years were a total
blank to him. He took up the thread
of his life just where lie dropped it
when he fell. But as liis mind grew
strong aud as his power of speech came
back lie gradually learned what, had
happened, and now you will not find a
more obedient boy in all Chicoutimi.
Victor Hugo’s First Success.
A writer in a sketch of Victor Hugo
says: “When Victor Hugo married
Adole Foucher, the joint income of the
yoking couple scarcely amounted to :S3OO
a year. He had not. even . enough to
pay for the printing of the first volume
of his poems, “Les Odes,” on the re
sults of the publication of which he
anticipated great things. He felt cer
tain that the merits of these magnifi
cent productions would soon render
him famous ; but this opinion was not
shared by the publishers, who, one and
all, refused to bring out the volume at
their own risk. Utterly discouraged
Victor Hugo threw the manuscript into
his waste-paper drawer, where it was
discovered by his brother Abel, who
took it to a small publisher named De
launay, and paid for its printing with his
own savings, and without saying a word
about his generosity. Once printed,it was
not easy to pesuadetho book-sellers to let
the cheaply got-up volumes even rest
upon their stands, and with difficulty
Abel succeeded in inducing the uncle of
ono of one of his schoolmates to offer
the book for sale. The* first copy was
purchased by M. Mennecket, reader to
Souis XVIII., and thus it was that the
‘ Odes’ were read to the king, who, de
lighted with their surpassing beauty,
immediately rewarded tho author with
a pension of 1,000 francs per annum.
Imagine the delight of the surprised
poet when ho discovered that, through
the affectionate solicitude of his
brother, his book was pnuted. Its suc
cess was so great that within six mouths
a second edition was demanded, for
which the poet received a handsome re
muneration. ne immediately repaid
the generous Abel, and removed with
his young wife from a poor and small
apartment in the Rue du Dragon, which
they had hired on their wedding day,
to a larger and more commodious one
in the Rue Vaugirard.”
because it came into the garden so.
EASTMAN, DODGE CO., GEORGIA. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER I!), 1874.
SLANG.
A Few Specimen Url Us of flic American
Article.
We allow ourselves to say of a rich
man that lie lias got “stamps of the
drunken man that he is “ tight,” or
“ boozy of anything that pleases us
or is satisfactory that it is “stunniug;”
“ awful” is considered a better word
than very, and we are awful cold, or
hot, or sick, or joliy, as the case may
be ; it is fiuer to say “ you bet” than to
answer a question by a simple yes;
everything that annoys us is “ infernal,’’
or “ beastly bank-bills are “green
backs.” I heard a lady in good society
say, recently, tli it her dressmaker
had disappointed her, aud that in con
sequence she was “ regularly up a tree;”
we threaten, not to humiliate or to mor
tify a man, but “to take the starch out
of him we rack our brain to invent
slang words for various drinks,
and bring out such names as “ forty
rod,” “tangle-foot,” “rot-gut,” “blue
ruin” and “Jersey lightning,” words
that wonld more than puzzle a foreigner;
a man is not cheated, but “ done brown,”
or “ bamboozled ;” railroad conductors
do not steal (in fact we are getting a
little sensitive about using tho word),
but “knock down;” bank cashiers do
not swindle and steal, but commit
“ irregularities we hear of a house be
ing “ burgled,” and that two foot-pads
“ went through” a belated traveler ; a
fair dealer is spoken of as a “ square
man,” a most wonderful lusus natures ;
a substantial dinner is spoken of as a
“square meal;” we hear invitations
given, not to take a drink, but to “hoist
in some poison anything antiquated
or exhausted is “ played out;” an in
significant excuse is said to be “too
thin,” or we are told that it “ will not
wash;” we buy stocks on a “margin,”
or sell them “short,” or “ bull” the
market; or “ take a flyer,” or “scoop
in a long lino of stocks ;” we do not
stake a sum of money, but “bet our
pileafter a convivial party we next
morning find ourselves “ precious
seedy;” our railroad trains “ teles
cope,” or a “ Pullman” breaks a wheel ;
a party of rowdies “clean out” a drink
ing saloon ; a big man threatens to
“ wipe out” a little one ; we do not out
wit or circumvent another, but
“ euchre” him ; wo “ take the shine out
of” a rival, and “ fix his Hint” for him ;
a carpenter “ runs up” a cheap house’in
a week ; an investigating committee in
congress “ whitewashes” the character
of some defaulter, aud so on aud so
forth iu all tho departments of business
and trade and social intercourse we per
mit ourselves to use words aud phrases
Truivru often vnloov
and always needless.
It may be objected to tho purist that
the spoken languago is of uo couso
queuce so long as we write correctly and
with elegance. But alas ! that evil com
munications corrupt good manners is no
more true than that slangy conversation
leads to slip-shod, slangy writing ; and
it often happens that some detestable
word of no authority, and having no
right in the language, slips from con
versation into print and usurps a place
for itself. Here, again, the modern
newspaper has much to auswer for in
tho deterioration of language. Slang
usurps tho placo of wit, and a cant phrase
is often made the poor substitute for tho
witty repartee. It is untrue to say that
slang is only used by tho low and illit
erate. On the other baud, its use per
vades all the strata of society, from the
clergyman to the street-beggar, each, of
course, using a slang of different order,
but both too often indulging in the use
of words which no dictionary explains.
And just here is something to bo said.
We hear every day, in all social circles,
a multitude of words and phrases that
have, so to speak, no real existence, and
which must sorely puzzle a foreigner, as
he turns in vain from one dictionary to
another. He has no authority but usage
—and usage is perpetually changing—
ns to what is lawful English and what is
not; what he can use in polite circles,
and what lie must shun, and to this lack
of authority half his troubles iu learning
to speak English are due. And the Eng
lishman himself, it has been well said,
has never done learning his own lan
guage. He is overwhelmed by the mul
titude of new words, and he has no un
disputed authority to guide him iu the
use of old ones. “They manage these
things better in France.” The diction
ary of the French academy—supplanted
now, perhaps, by Littre’s—has been held
to be a model of elegance and propriety
in speaking and writing the French lan
guage. Every pretender to literary em
inence models his language upon tlie
academy’s dictionary, and the language,
too. has become the language of dto'q
macy over all Europe and in Russia. A
Russian gentleman’s children learn to
speak French as an indispensable part
of their education, and the acquisition
of snch a knowledge as will enable them
to carry on an ordinary conversation is
regarded as a matter of course. A trav
eler, if he can speak French, will be
tolerably at home at St. Petersburg,
Constantinople or Berlin in the upper
ranks of society. The French tongue
has gained that high position, not so
much by its own inherent merit as by
reason of its having a standard and a
court of I"st appeal. Asa language it is
not so full or so'diguified as German or
English, but it is good coin—so to speak
—it is fixed in its value and passes
everywhere. Accent excepted, a for
eigner may speak as good French as a
native, for the simple reason that he
and the Frenchmen have a common and
undisputed authority to which they can
refer.
My Water-Proof Boots.
A correspondent of the Indiana Farm
ers ays: “I have stood in mud and wa
ter two or three inches deep, for ten
hours a day for a week, without feeliug
any dampness or having any difficulty
in getting my boots on or off. If you
would be equally successful, before
wearing the boots give the bottoms a
good coating of tallow and coal tar and
pry it in; then oil the “uppers” with
castor oil, about one tablespoonful to
each boot; then oil them twice with
castor oil, when one teaspoonful will be
sufficient. If the weather should be
rainy, or yon are compelled to work in
water during the day, wash your boots
clean at night, hold them by the fire
until quite warm, and oil them while
wet, aud yon will have no trouble about
your boots getting hard and shrinking
Iti God }y'c 2‘rust.
up so that you can not get them on. If
the leather should become red, give a
coat of ordinary shoe-blacking before
oiling. Tho effect of castor oil is to
soften the leather, while it fills the
pores aud prevents the water from en
ter i rig.
Origin of Moss-Agates.
A correspondent of the Chicago Inter-
Ocean, writiug from the plains, says
that Professer Mudgo, of Kansas, has
found where “moss-agates” come from,
and knows just how to get at them. As
they are usually discovered iu the loose
plains gravel, they have been supposed
to owe their present deposit to “ drift,”
their original home having been in the
north. Professor Madge has found,
however surprising as it seems, that
they originated iu the plioceuo deposits
of Kansas. In some localities this pli
ocene consists of a sedimentary silici
ous deposit formed of material varying
from coarse Hint quartz to chalcedony.
Oxide of maganese, more or less crys
talized in minute moss-like sprigs, ex
tends through the whole strata, which is
often eight feet thick. Tho “agates”
are mainly found in the upper six
inches, and some of them are remarka
bly beautiful. The whole mass is very
interesting to the mineralogist, a*s
showing the so-called “moss-agate”
through the whole process of its
formation. The lower portion indi
cates an imperfect solution of the
silica and oxide of manganese, but
the upper few inches, where the best
specimens are found, evince the deposit
in a high state of chemical develop
ment. The “ moss-agate ” deposit
forms the cap-rock of all the hills in
the vicinity of Sheridan, on the Kansas
Pacific railway, and also about Fort
Wallace. In one instance Professor
Mudge found bones and portions of the
tusk of a mastodon, which in progress
of fossilization had changed to nearly
pure silica, aud in the change had be
come infused with fine, sprig-like crys
tals of black oxide of manganese, thus
presenting the strange phenomenon of
ivory actually converted into “moss
agate.” Some of tlie specimens cannot
be detected in appearance from the
real gem. Professor Mudge thinks
that the agencies which produce this
singular freak of nature must have
been similar to the action of the “hot
springs” of Iceland and Yellowstone
Park, the only known natural agency
that will make silica out of organic
substances. The fact is a curious one at
auy rate; and while it may overstock
tho “moss-agate”market, it furnishes
the scientist a revelation of rare inter
est and valuo. Professor Marsh, of
inaVioiq
nished to other prominent gentlemen
in his lino of business.
Dutch Beauties.
A writer in the Jewish Messenger,
speaking of Letiuwarden, a town in
Holland, says : “ Tlie women of Loeu
warden deserve a paragraph to them
selves. There is a primitive air about
them Avhicli is refreshing after tho
starched-up and made-up-to-order beau
ties that are elsewhere visible. They
are generally tall, with high forehead,
aquiline nose, lips closely set, and well
developed chin. The skiu is white, the
cheeks delicately tinted (with colors
from nature’s atelier ), tho eyes are
large and piercing. ' The young girls
have lost much of the Frisian bearing,
for their heads are crazed, doubtless, by
the furbelows and fixings of the foreign
dressmaker and milliner. As among
the Quakers, the younger generation
are losing their reverence for the dis
tinctive dress which should be every
fair Frisian’s pride to wear. The mat
rons, however, adhere to the fashions
of their ancestors. They have almost
a masculine face, but the sternness is
relieved by the beauty of tho eyes and
the fair skin. In southern Holland a
distinctive costume is worn by many,
but it is not so quaint as in northern
Holland, in which Friesland is situated.
Take a woman’s head-dress, for instance.
A broad band of gold, of horse-shoe
shape, spans the forehead, aiding to
keep the hair back. The sides of the
baud arc adorned with large oval gold
rosettes. Above the band is reared a
lace cap, or veil, often of the best lace,
with edges or complete wings drooping
to tlie neck. The ears glitter with
rings of gold and gems; These orna
ments, which are either of gold or silver
even among the poorer classes, are re
garded with great reverence, and trea
sured as sacred heirlooms, pass from
mother to daughter for many genera
tions. The bands give a soldierly
aspect to the women, wh are generally
lun-iaced, not sunKen-clieeked, and
walk with a firm tread. Their stout,
large shoes are in pleasing contrast to
the baby shoes which are considered
the style among our belles of the lan
guid and languishing type.”
How Charlotte Cushman Plays Meg
Merrilies Now.
It would be idle to write the worn
words of description or the faded
phrases of compliment. Miss Cushman
acted Meg Merrilies, upon this occasion,
in such a way as to make us forget that
we had seen it before, and feel only that
we were now seeing it for the first time.
In the glory of her she was
never more powerful than when, upon
this memorable night, she burst in the
gloomy woodland and stood transfigured
before us—a living monument of fren
zied suspense and legal misery. Her
figure towered ; her very soul seemed
to dilate ; years of suffering were writ
ten on her countenance; a word of
love and of prophetic hope blazed from
her eyes ; every muscle of her body
seemed hardened into marble by the
tremendous tension of excitement under
which she leapt into the character ; her
presence was literally inspired, and
when she spoke the nameless quality of
anguish and pathos in her voice thrilled
every chord of every heart in the vast
assemblage that saw this wonder and
heard this music. Genius iu the art of
acting can do no more than was done
by Charlotte Cushman in that supreme
moment. At the end of the scene the
stormy applause of a multihide, excited
beyond all limits of discretion, almost
shook the building—till the actress
came back upon the stage, to look one
moment upon her triumph and calm
with her smile this racing sea of admi
ration. —New York Tribuna. •
RECREATION FOR THE MOTHERS.
*
Amusements nml Holidays for tlie Mid
dle-Aged.
Now that the fires are beginning to
burn on library and parlor hearths in
the evenings, and the eurtains to be
drawn close, and the most devout lover
of nature gives up the stroll iu shady
laues, or the row on tlie moon-lit
river, and comes in-doors for the winter,
it is worth while to consider what is
to be dono in-doors. The work is
readv for everybody who chooses to do
it; but the relaxation, the rest, the
stuiulant, which is to fit us for the
work—what is that to be ? For fashion
able classes this matter of amusement
is ruled iu almost as inflexible grooves
as drudgery for tho poor ; for men or
young people, too, it adjusts itself
naturally. The father of a family has
his clubs, his share in the political
or church meeting, o’- at least,
his quiet newspaper, cigar and
slippers, at home—precisely the drowsy
reaction he needs after the friction of
the busy day. The boys and girls have
their concerts, their lectures, the thou
sand devices of “sociables,” the “ acci
dentals,” etc., by which they contrive
to flock together, to chirp like young
birds in May, and, perhaps, to mate
like them. But the wives and the
mothers, the great aggregate of women,
no longer young—what is to be their
tonic? They certainly need a tonic.
The American mother cf a family is the
real maid of all work in it, and the
more faithful and intelligent she is the
more she usually tries to deserve the
same. She may work with her hands
or not (in the large majority of cases
she does work with her hands), but it
is she who in any case oversees and
gives life to a dozen different interests.
Her’husband’s business, the boys’ edu
cation, the girls’ standing in society,
the baby’s teething, the sewing and
housework for them all, are all pro
cesses which she urges on and which
rasp and fret daily and hourly on her
brain—a very dull unskilled brain, too
often, but almost always quite willing
to wear itself out for those she loves.
Whether it would be nobler or more
polite in her to shirk this work—hus
band, babes aud home—and develop
her latent talents as physician, artist or
saleswoman, is not tho question witli us
just now. A few women have done
this. In the cities, too, money can re
move much of tho responsibility from
tho mistress of a household; but the
aggregate of wives aud mothers in this
country are domestic women who ask
nothing better of fate than that what
ever strength they have of body aud
shall^ drainod for their hus
martyrdom is a very good thing—when
it is necessary. For our part, wo can
see no necessity for it here. We are
told that the women’s wards in tho in
sane asylums in New England are filled
with middle-aged wives, mothers driven
there by overwork and anxiety ; through
the rest’of the country the particular
type of the woman of forty is neither
fat nor fair, but a sallow, auxions-eyed
creature, with teeth and hair furnished
by the shops, and a liver and nerves
which long ago took her work, temper,
and, we had almost said, religion out of
her control. This rapid decay of our
women may be owing partly to climatic
influences, but it is much more due to
the wear and tear of their motherhood,
and axiety to push their children for
ward, added to the incessant petty
rasping of inefficient domestic service.
A man’s work man be heavier, but it
is single, it wears on him on one side
only ; he has his hours sacred to busi
ness, to give to his brief, his sermon,
his shop ; there is no drain on the rest
of his faculties or time. His wife has
no hour sacred to this or to that; he
brings his trouble to her and it is her
duty to comprehend and aid him, while
her brain is devising how to keep her
boy Tom away from the companions
who brought him home drunk last night;
how to give Jennie another year of
music lessons ; how to contrive a cloak
for the baby out of her old merino ; the
burning moat in the kitchen all the
while “setting her nerves in a quiver.”
She has not a power of mind, a skill of
body which her-daily life does not draw
upon. Her husband comes and goes o
his office ; the out-door air, the stir, the
change of ideas, the passing word for
this man or that, unconsciously refresh
and lift him from the cankering care of
the work. She has the parlor, the din
ing-room, the kitchen, to shut her into
it, day after day, year after year. Wo
men, without a single actual grief in
the world, grow morbid and ill-tem
pered, simply from living in-doors, and
resort to prayer to conquer their cross
ness, when they only need a walk of a
couple of miles, or some wholesome
amusement. It is a natural craving
for this necessity—amusement—which
drive? them to the tea-parties and sew
ing-circles which men ridicule as absurd
and tedious.
There is no reason why our women,
who are notably rational and shrewd in
the conduct of the working part of life,
should cut themselves off thus irration
ally from the necessary relaxation, or
make it either costly or tedious. Let
every mother of a family resolve not to
put off her holidays until old age, but
to take them all along the way, and to
bring a good share of them into this
winter. Let her give no ball, no musi
cal evenings, no hot, perspiring tea-par
ties, but manage to have her table al
ways prettily served and comfortably
provided, and her welcome ready for
any friend who may come to it; let her
set apart an evening, if possible, when
her rooms shall be open to any pleasant
friend who will visit her ; the refresh
ment to be of the simplest kind ; and,
above all. if the table chance not to be
well served, or the friends are not
agreeable, 1< t her take the mishap as a
jest, and meet all difficulties with an
easy good humor. It is not necessary
to take every bull of trouble by the
horns ; if we welcome and nod to them
as cheerful acquaintances they will usu
ally trot on by tbe other side of the
road.
Let her tako our prescription for the
winter, and our word for it the spring
will find fresher roses in her cheeks and
fewer wrinkles in her husband’s fore
head.—Scribner's.
—A correspondent wants to know how
to break a cow that is afraid of a wo
man. We haven’t thought sufficiently
Payable in Advance,
NUMBER 1-2.
oa tho snbject to give an answer, but in
New Jersey, when a cow is afraid of a
woman, she quiets the auiinal by simply
hiding her back lnur under the milk
pail.
A Perspicuous Witness.
The scene reported below occured be
fore the circuit court of Pittsylvania
county, Virginia, in the case of Com
monwealth vs. Cassady, on a charge of
malicious stabbing. The venue being
impaneled and the jury solemnly charg
ed by the clerk, the Commonwealth’s
attorney called, in support of the in
dictment, the witness, Puck Briant,
who, being solemnly sworn the truth to
tell, testified as follows:
Question by the Commonwealth’s at
torney—Tell all you know about the
cutting of the prosecutor by Cassady,
the prisoner at the bar.
Answer—Well, gentlemau, it was
election day ; ’twas a dark, cloudy, wot
sort of a drizzly day, and says I to mv old
woman, I believe I will go down to
Ringgold and ’posit my vote. And,
says my old woman to me, well, Buck,
as it is a sort of dark, cloudy, wet sort
of a drizzly day, says she. hadn’t you
better take the umbrill ? Says Ito the
old woman, I ’spect I had better take
the umbrill. Scr I took the umbrill and
advanced on down towards Ringgold ;
and when I got down tliar Mr. Cole
corned, and, says he, Uncle Buck, have
you seed anything of neighbor Harris ?
Says Ito Mr. Cole, for why ? Says he,
he’s got my umbrill.
The witness was here interrupted by
the court and told to confine himself to
the actual fray between the prisoner and
Cole, the prosecutor.
In answer to this tho witness remark
ed, in a tone of indignant remonstrance:
“ Well now, Mr. Judge, you hold on,
for I am sworn to tell tne truth, and
I’m gwine to tell it my own way— 3o
’taint worth while for you to say noth
in’ about it.”
Whereupon the Commonwealth’s at
torney, being anxious to get rid of the
witness upon any terms, told him to go
on and tell the story his own way.
“ Well, I was goin’ on to say. ’twas on
election day; Buchanan and Filmo was
running for the legislature, and says I
to my'old woman, I believo I’ll go down
to Ringgold and ’posit my vote. Says
my old woman to me, says she, Buck,
as it is a sort of a dark, rainy drizzly
sort of a day, hadn’t you better take
your umbrill ? says she. Says Ito my
old woman, I ’spect 1 had better take
my umbrill; so I took the umbrill and
advanced towards Ringgold until I arriv
tfiar. Well, the first think I did when
and, says I to myself, says I, Old Hess
you feel better now, don’t you ? And
while I was advancing around, Mr.
Cole, he came tome, and says ho, Undo
Buck, have you seen anything of old
neighbor Harris? Says I, for why?
Says he, the old man has got my um
brill. After a while I ’posited my vote,
and then Mr. Cole and me advanced
back toward home, and Mr. Cole was
tighter than I ever eoed him. Auvi
we advanced till we got wbar the road
and path forked, and we tuck the path,
as any other gentlemen would, and arter
advancing a while we arriv to old neigh
bor Harris sitting on a log with the um
brill on his arm, and about that time
Elijah Cassady (tho prisoner) corned up,
and we advanced on till we arriv at
Elijah’s house. Elijah is my neffew and
likewise my son-in law. He married my
darter Jane, which is next to Sally.
Arter we had advanced to Elijnk’s
house, we stood in the yard a while a
jawin’ and presently two somebodys rid
up on a horse, which was Johnson and
Whitfield, Cassady behind; Whitfield
and Kiali Cassady being the same. Kiah
wa* drunk, and iie and Mr. Cole got to
cussiu’ one another about politix and I
advanced into the house whar was Eli
jah’s wife, which is my darter Jane.
Well, arter jawin’ awhile with ’em, my
little neffew, says he, Uncle Buck, let’s
go home. Says TANARUS, good, pop, so we
pegged out together. And that’s all I
know about tho stabbing, for I warn’t
there!”
The Survival of the Fittest.
A Paris correspcndent of the New
York Graphic writes the following : I
was lately conversing with M. Louis
Laugue, one of the French admirers of
M. Darwin, and during the interview
M. Langue developed a very remarka
ble consequence of the doctrine of the
survival of the fittest. He urged that
inasmuch as species and individuals
survive in the struggle for life only by
reason of superior ability to master
their environment, whereby it comes to
psss the strong propagate the strong
and perfection is reached, it is unscien
tific and unjustifiable to interfere with
nature in her work in any way whereby
those who are unfit to survive shall ba
aided in their struggle. Man is not ex
empt from the action of the general
law of the survival of the fittest, and
therefore any means wherefore the weake
are kept in existence, and it is rendered
possible for them to propogate their
species, is indefensible. When the
Spartans killed their deformedfcffspring
they were aiding nature in the accom
plishment of its designs ; but much
more shall we aid in this direction if we
shall entirely do away with doctors,
medicines, hospitals and all the ad
juncts of the healing art. The world is
overpopulated ; there was a time when
it was possible for plagues and epidem
ics to kill off the weaker, the surplus
ape of humanity, and leave on earth
only those, who by reason of their high
physical condition, were able to sur
vive. But the inventions by which we
have learned to cuddle the weak, to
doctor and bolster them against nature,
so that now consumptives are legion,
and there is hardly a man without some
latent disease, have brought about a
condition of affairs which it is abso
lutely necessary to change if the race is
to be improved Let the weak ones go
down, as nature intended they should,
and in a few generations the descend
ants of the strong alone will survive.
M. Langue is so steady a devotee to
this idea that when his own child was
ill, a few months ago, he refused to
call a physician, and the child died.
Whether his practice will be generally
accepted is very questionable, even
though one sees little fault to find with
his theory,
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FACTS AND FANCIES.
—The Duke of Edinburgh is said “to
make a poor fist of it ” dandling his
baby. He ought to get liis brother Al
bert to show him how. Al.’s an expert.
—“Just keeping it lighted for an
other boy,” is the latest juvenile inven
tion when a mother suddenly comes up
on her little boy with a cigar in his
mouth.
—ltis suggested that while sojourning
at the Falls the Irish team might have
won the gratitude of the nation by
picking off a few kackmen at 1,000
yards, or even less.
—A Milwaukee man says he’d like to
be wrecked as Euocli Arden was and
come home and find his wife re-married.
Ho’d go out of tho gate Avith a hop and
a skip, instead of breaking his heart.
—A kind-hearted boy in Philadelphia
stole S7OO and presented it to an orphan
asylum, while thousands of other boys
around the country go off a fishing and
never even think of an orphan asylum.
—ln Brussels they have taken one
practical step in regard to cremation,
which seems to iudieato an opinion that
it is likely to be adopted instead of
burial. They propose to have an official
medico-legal examination of every eorpso
before it is burned.
Tiie twin or double hull steamship
Castalea, built to overcome the effects
of the rough sea of the English chan
nel, and intended to ply between Dover
aud Calais, has made a trial trip from
Ramsgate to Paris. She fproved to be
a most comfortable boat, neither roll
ing nor pitching.
—A new territory, composed of Col
orado, south of the Divide, and part of
northern Now Mexico, is talked of as
not improbable. Northern Colorado
will then absorb Wyoming, and become
a
of southern Colorado would generally
favor such a movement.
—All the Christian sects together
comprise a membership of about 330,-
000,000, while heathen worshipers count
over 1,000,000,000. The Buddhists aloue
have 310,000,000. The Roman Catholic
church embraces 105,000,000 followers,
whilo all tlio Protestant denominations
combined number only 08,130,000,
—lt’s of no use to try to got the cap
ital awav from Washington if Washing
ton is the kind of a town “ Olivia” says
it is. Hear her : “It is the great
throbbing heart of a republic whose
right hand grasps the beard of the
stormy Atlantic, while the loft is hold
out for the Pacific to kiss.”
—A wedding that was to have oecur
icvl ih'O -rroels lv lioaii iiulofmitol V
poned because tlio motner-iu-luw eleet
heard that her daughter’s future hus
band had au uncle somewhere a cashier
in a bank. She said there were sure to
be “ irregularities” sooner or later, and
she didn’t want the family to be impli
cated in any scandal.
—A man in Parkersburg, Va., has
started a paper which he calls the Jim
plecute, in imitation of a simil’* ‘
of folly in Texas. But he can not Jes
cape. tiu, same i aw which impels a
man to start a paper canea the Jimple
cute will, sooner or later, drive him to
blowing into the muzzle of his gun to
see if it is loaded.
—“Mother,” said little Ned, one
morning, after having fallen out of bed,
“ I think I know why I fell out of bed
last night; it was because I slejit too
near where I got in.” Musing a little
while, as if in doubt whether he had
given the right explanation, ho added,
“ No, that wasn’t the reason ; it was be
cause I slept too near where I fell out.”
—The Buflalo Express despairingly
asks : “ Shall we have female hotel
clerks to rule over us ?” Why not ? A
woman who is bom to command would
be infinitely less dangerous to the hap
piness of man, jerking ink behind a
hotel counter, than in the role of the
“ angel of the hearthstone,” with a grid
iron in one hand and a rolling-pin in
the other.
—Twenty-three brigands, who in the
summer had committed a robbery at a
watering place on the French frontier,
were recently brought to the scene of
their exploits to be shot there by Span
ish troops. The troops were at fifteen
vards distance. Ten men fell at the
first fire. Eight fell at the second fire
and the other five ran away, the bullets
having cut the cords that bound them.
One was last seen pursued bv four sol
diers, who continued firing. Dow many
lives has a cat ?
—A Brooklyn bride’s back hair fell
down and fell off during the ceremony
in church the other evening. There
was an instant’s pause, but nobody was
brave enough to stoop down and pick
up the mass of blonde stuff and hair
pins. The bride left the church lean
ing heavily on her husband’s arm. Her
face was very red, a sprout of hair (pos
sibly eleven hairs in all) stuck out at
the back of her head, tied with a bit of
shoe-string. And now her pa is mean
enough to refuse to pay the poor hair
dresser’s bill.
—The Bessemer steamer system has
been applied, by a Mr. Henry Giffard,
to a hanging railroad-car, which has
been tested with success on the lino of
the Northern railway, in France. Seated
in this car, which hangs on elastic
springs, the traveler experiences the
sensation of reposing in a hammock,
free from the vibrations and bumpings
of the ordinary car. At times tha car
undulates as does a boat on a calm sea.
The movement is described as a very
gentle one, and the traveler is enabled
to read without fatigue and write with
ease. The principle of this car, applied
to ambulances, doubtless would be a
great boon to the wounded who may be
conveyed in them.
—An American writes from London:
“I never, in the whole course of my
life, met such a collection of idiots and
numbskulls as I did at the so-called
fashionable clubs. I asked Lord at
dinner, one night, if he had ever been
to America. ‘Yeth, ah, yeth,’said he.
‘And did you like the country and the
people?’ I inquired. ‘Yeth, ah, yeth.’
‘The two countries,’ said I, ‘have much
in common—we speak the same lan
guage, and many of our habits and cus
toms are identical.’ ‘Yeth, ah, yeth,’
lisped ’mi lord’ to the end of the con
versation. And now I hear the words
‘yeth, ah, yeth,’ continually, in imagi
nation, and I am almost crafcy, ”