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KASTMAN TIMES.
A Lir Country Ptp r .
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GOOD NIGHT WISHES.
\ Up i-iti:; on to-night,
\ blcs'ing on their mother;
A blessing on mv kinsfolks light,
i'lit’h loving friend and brother.
\ lilt.sxing on the toiler rest;
The over-worn and weary ;
The desolate and comfortless,
To whom the eortli is dreary.
\ bh ssing <n> the glad, to-night;
A hle-sipg on the hoary;
The mft'nien clad in beauty bright,
Ft)-'- young man in his glory.
\ blessing on my fellow-race,
Of every dime and nation;
M iv they partake flis saving grace,
\Vho died for our salvation.
!i any man have wrought me wrong,
Still blessings be upon him;
Mav l in love to him be strong,
Till charity have won him.
Mie blessings on me, from of old,
My (rod ! 1 cannot number;
I wrap me in their ample fold,
And >-.ihk in trustful slumber.
A BACHELOR’S WHIM.
“ Well girls,” said mv t’ncle Barna
lias, “and now v\ lint do you propose to
do about it?”
\\ e sat around the fire in a disconso
late semi-circle that dreary, drizzling
lav night, when the rain pattered
liivr the window panes and the poor
it tic daffodils n the borders shook and
- 1 1\‘ red as it they would fain hide
l) r ir 'golden heads once more in the
mother-soil. My mother, Eleanor and
!• The first, pale and pretty, and
diver-haired, with the widow’s cap and
her dress of black bombazine and
"ape; the sweetest looking old lady I
aiuk that I ever saw. Eleanor ,sat
' Tklier, locking as she always did,
Tea princess, with large, dark eyes,
Diana-like features, and hair twisted
in a 'Oi ' of coronal around her queenly
:|| h Idle 1, plain, homespun
Husaniut -commonly called, “for
'fi. f'usy— crouched upon a foot-’
"* the corner, my elbows on my
wets and my chin in my hands.
1 l|( *le Barnabas Berkelin sat in the
middle of the circle, erect, stiff and
tlkt grim, lie was stout and short,
' jh a grizzled mustache, a little found,
T-i spot on the crown of his head,
'"'i glittering black eyes that were al
" '.v • seiKlhig their dusky lightnings in
tin direction least expected. Uncle Bar
was rich and wo were very poor.
( i i“ Ibirn.ibas wa# wise in the ways
nf die world, and we 'wove inexperi
enced. Uncle Barnabas was pros
perous in all he did, while if there
was a bad bargain to lie made we were
pretty sure to be the ones to make it.
Consequently, and as a matter of
eotirse, we looked up’to Uncle Barna
-1 as, and reverenced his opinions.
“What do we propose to do about
Eleanor slowly repeated, lifting
her beautiful jetty brows.
“Vos, that’s exactly it,” said my
wither, nervously; “because, Brother
Harnabas, we don’t preten 1 to be busi
no' women, and it’.- certain we cannot
live comfortably' on our present in
come. Something has got to be done.”
My mother loaned back in her chair
with a troubled face.
"'t os,” said l Tide Barnabas, “some
lias got to bo done; but who’s to
do it?”
Another dead silence succeeded.
“1 suppose you girls are educated,”
■aid l nele Barnabas; “ I know I found
"imugh old school-bills when I was
Making over my brother’s papers.”
“t)f course,” said my mother, with
• vidont pride; “their education h* j
Won most, expensive. Music, dr'” ,in S>
use of the globes—”
“Yes, yes, oi cour--’ interrupted
\ ndo Barnabas. ‘ liut 18 lt P ractlca l ?
f n tliov teach" , ... _
EloanOr looked dubious. I was
(piite certain that l could not. Mine.
Lenoir, among all ner list of accom
plishments, had included the art of
practical tuif :J * , _ T ,
“ llum r ” S rant ed 1 ncle Barna
ha.-. ('k-hcen thing, this modern idea
of ,catlon - Well, if you can’t
>i \ou can suiely do something.
i:a do you say, Eleanor, to a situa
‘‘A situation?”
1,, 11 ! 6 ~? lor . fluttered in Eleanor’s
, n 'p' llk ' ; l>ink and white apple Mos
; 1.-l'i'ko plain enough, didn’t I?”
Ineleßaranbas, dryly. “Yes, a
‘illation. •
sort of a situation, Uncle
“miiabas?”
"Ml, I can’t hardly say. Part
t com P an iou to an elderlv
J- ’ the old gentleman.
Ih;; . „< l ncle Barnabas, I couldn’t, do
"do it? Ai why not?”
V tf >n ych—to, much,” whisper
th( C ,lil ,r ’ her regal dignity in
-’"in -' >Ure °* l * ie “ like
h to service.” 6 *
btoiV 1 ' j t^ a s ’ s P rec isely what it is,”
lieatl'T* .A? 1 .^ arna^as nodding his
■ : t<i -.,^. erv \ ce - Why; We’re all
in N I . c , e ; one way or another,
world.”
Lii’ n, 1 ’ M', 8 ’ i know,’’ faltered poor
. n 10 > between her distaste fur
i" ' d plan and her anxiety not
didn’t7 11 • , IK^e Barnabas Berkelin,
:i] " U| te know say; “but I-I’ve
“S () , en edqp; Itobe a lady.” '
!'• KtitV’r "? n 1 , l ' :e the situation,
a L I 1 . Barnabas, staring up
aivint, "ishv-washy water-color
fxkiiL and Psyche, an
hid, P° or Eleanor’s,
“ 1 ciipfi , 7 e the chimney-piece.
* couldn't, indeed, sir.” '
ages twenty-five dollars a
Two Dollars Per Annum,
VOLUME IV.
month ” mechanically repeated Uncle
Barnabas, as if lie were saying off a
lesson. “Drive out every day in ihe
carnage with the missus, cat and
<anai v to take care of, modern house
vith all the improvements. Sunday
afternoons to yourself, and two weeks,
spring and fall to visit your mother.” *
“No, Uncle Barnabas, no!” said
Eleanor, with a little shudder. “I
am a true Berkelin* and I cannot
stoop to menial duties.”
Uncle Barnabas gave such a pro
longed sniff as to suggest the idea of a
very bad cold in his head indeed.
“Sorry,” said he. “Heaven helps
those who help themselves, and you
can t expect to be any more liberal
minded than Heaven. “Sister Ra
chel.” to my mother, “ what do you
say ?”
My mother drew her pretty little
figure up a trifle more erect than usual.
“1 think mv daughter Eleanor is
quite right,” said she, “ The Berkelins
have always been ladies.”
1 sat (piite silent, still with my chin
in my hands, during all this family
discussion ; but now I rose up and came
creeping to Uncle Barnabas’side.
‘A\ ell, little Susie,’ said the old gen
tleman, laying his hand kindly on my
wrist, “what is it?”
“II you please, Uncle Barnabas,”
said I, with rapidly-throbbing heart, “I
would like to take the situation.”
“ Bravo!”cried Uncle Barnabas.
“My dear child!” exclaimed my
mother.
“Susannah !” uttered Eleanor, in ac
cents by no means laudatory.
“Yes,” said I, “ twenty-five dollars a
month is a great Meal of money, and I
was never afraid of work. I think I
will go to the old lady, UncleJßarnabas.
Pm sure I could send home at least
twenty dollars a month to mother, and
Eleanor, and then the two weeks, spring
and fall, would be so nice. Please,
Uncle Barnabas, I’ll go back with you
when you go. What is the old lady’s
name ?”
“Her name?” said Uncle Barnabas.
‘Didn’t I tell you ? It’s Prudence—
Mrs. Prudence!”
“What a nice name,” said I. “ I
know I shall like her.”
“Well, I think you will,” said Uncle
Barnabas, looking kindly at me. “And
I think she will like you. Is it a bar
gain for the nine o’clock train to-mor
row morning?”
“Yes,” I answered stoutly, taking
care not to look in the direction of
mother and Eleanor.
YmTre the most sensible of the
lot,” said t nolo
But after he had gone to bed in the
best chamber, where the ruffled pillow
cases were, and the chintz-cushioned
easy-chair, the full strength of the
family tongue broke on my devoted
head.
“ 1 can’t help it,” quoth I, holding
valiantly to my colors. “We can’t
starve. Some of us must do some
thing. And you can live very nicely,
mother darling, on twenty dollars a
month. ’
“That is true,” sighed my mother
from behind her black-bordered pocket
handkerchief. “But I never thought
to see a daughter of mine going out
to—to service!”
“ And Uncle Barnabas isn’t going to
do anything for us, after all,” cried out
Eleanor, indignantly. “ Stingy old fel
low; I should think he might at least
adopt one of us! He’s as rich as
Croesus, and never a chick nor a child.”
“He may do as lie likes about that,”
1 answered, independently. “I prefer
to earn my own money.”
So the next morning I set out for
the unknown bourne of New York
life.
“Uncle Barnabas,” said I, as the
train reached the city, “how shall 1
find where Mrs. Prudence lives?”
“Oh, I’ll go there with you,” said
he.
“Are you well acquainted with her?”
I ventured to ask.
“ Oh, very well indeed,” answered
Uncle Barnabas, nodding his head
sagely.
We took a hack at the depot and
drove through so many streets that my
head spun round and round like a
teetotum, before we stopped at a
pretty brown-stone mansion—it looked
like a palace to my unaccustomed eyes
—and Uncle Barnabas helped me out.
“Here is where Mrs. Prudence
lives,” said he, with a chuckle.
A neat little maid, with a frilled
white apron, and rose colored ribbons
in her hair, opened the door with a
courtesy, and I was conducted into an
elegant apartment, all gilding, exotics,
and blue-satin damask, when a plump
old lady, dressed in black silk, with
the loveliest Valenciennes lace at her
throat and wrist, came smilingly for
ward, like a sixty-year-old sunbeam.
“So you’ve come back, Barnabas,
have you?” said she, “and brought
one of the dear girls' with you.
Come and kiss me', ray dear.”
“Yes, Susy, kiss your aunt,” said
Uncle Barnabas, flinging his hat one
way and lis gloves another, as he sat
complacently down on the sofa.
“ My aunt,” I echoed.
“Why,.of course,” said the plump
old lady, “ don’t you know? I’m your
Aunt Prudence.”
“But I thought,” gasped I, “that I
was coming to a situation. ’
“ Well, so you are,” retorted Uncle
Barnabas. “The situation of adopted
daughter in my family. Twenty-five
dollars a month pocket-money, the care
of your Aunt Prudence’s cat and ca
nary, and to make yourself generally
useful.”
EASTMAN, DODGE CO., GEORGIA, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1876.
“Ob, uncle?” cried I, “Eleanor
would have beeh so glad to come if she
had known it.”
“Fiddlestrings and little fishes!” il
logically responded my uncle. “I’ve
no patience with a girl that’s too fine
for work. Eleanor had the situation
offered her and she chose to decline.
Tou decided to come* and here vou
stay. King the bell, Prue, and order
tea, for I’m as hungry as a hunter, and
I dare say little Susy here would relish
a cup of good tea.”
And this is .the way I drifted into'
my luxurious home. Eleanor, in the
country cottage, envies me bitterly,
for she has all the tastes which wealth
and a metropolitan home can gratify.
But Uncle Barnabas will not hear of
my exchanging with her.
“No, no!” says he. “The girl I’ve
got is the girl I mean to keep. Miss
Eleanor is too fine a lady to suit me.”
But he lets me send them liberal
nresents everv mnnlL. Jam happy,
Japanese Oddities.
The Japanese turkeys do not (piite
come up to those of their kind in
America. Their flesh does not become
so succulent and tender upon a diet of
rice as upon meal and corn. The Ja
panese have an odd name for this bird,
signifying the “seven-colored face,”
from the changing hues of the gobbler’s
gills. In the same way their name for
the crab, tlie animal that walks “several
ways.” Speaking of the curious names
reminds me of what the coolies say
about chestnuts and sweet potatoes.
These poor fellows who pertorm the
most toilsome and prolonged tasks
for a mere pittance, who “bear the
burden and the heat of the day,” in the
fullest sense of th'e expression, have a
hearty appreciation of good food.
Toiling as they do for daily wages that
would not purchase the food of a child
in our country, cheap food is the ne
cessity of their lives. Hence it is that
they feed largely upon sweet potatoes,
the cheapest of all edibles in Japan.
Chestnuts, which are known as “nine
mile nuts,” while not excessively dear,
are generally beyond the means of the
coolies. But they delight to fancy that
sweet potatoes are almost as good as
chestnuts, as they accordingly dub the
potato “eight mile and a half food,”
which makes it only half a mile short
of the chestnut. A man who lives on
chestnuts cau go nine Japanese miles
[about twenty-two and a half English
miles] in a day, while he who eats
sweet potatoes can go eight miles and
a half (twenty-one and a quarter Eng
-I,cd\ V"' '“v' kence. na,rnp J Not
withstanding what seems to us to be
the weak and insufficient diet of the
Japanese laboring men, their eudu
rence and strength are truly wonder
ful. I have ridden sixty miles be
tween sun and sun in a jynrickisha
drawn by two coolies, and the day after
that I went about forty miles more
with the same two men. At the end
of the first day’s journey they did not
seem to be very fatigued. Immedia
tely after stopping at a tea-house for
the night the}' took a bath in water so
hot that I could not have washed my
hands in it, and after comfortably par
boiling themselves got out, took a heavy
meal of rice and dried fish, and then
sat up almost all night gambling and
drinking saki. On the coldest days,
and even when there is snow on the
gronnd, you can see these fellows on
the street with no clothing save a thin
cotton shirt, a pair of pants of the same
material reaching to the knees, and
straw sandals. Nor do they seem to
be particulary cold, although a foreign
er would consider their costume barely
sufficient for a warm summer.
Corns and Warts.
Warts are very troublesome and dis
figuring. The following is a French
prescription, and is said to work a per
fect cure, without leaving any scar.
Take a small piece of raw' beef, steep
it all night in vinegar, cut as much
from it as will cover the wart, and tie
on it; if the excresenee is on the fore
head, fasten it on with strips of sticking
plaster. It may be removed in the day
and put on every night. In one fort
night the wart will die and peel off.
The same prescription will cure corns.
We have tried a prescription which
seems to us simpler, and is just as effi
cacious. Bind half a lemon on the
wart or corn. If this is done at night
with the inside or fleshy part of the
lemon against the corneous excresenee,
and the skin of the lemon outside so as
to keep the whole concern moist, the
hard structure will be found in the
morning to be so much softened as to
yield to the slight scratch of a finger
nail. One application will not be
enough to eradicate a very old corn.
Do not be discouraged, but keep on
till the unwelcome visitor takes its
departure.
“You will be mine?” urged a faith
ful and substan >v 1 lr ver to a Philadel
phia girl last week. no, I won’t
any such thing,” she answu 3 archly.
“ But why this change ?” pleaded he ;
“you once felt different toward me.”
“*Oh, yes, I know I did ” she replied,
“ but I didn’t think of u centennial
then, and the chances tht. r -’il be to
pick up a foreign duke, or prince, or
something!” And as the disappointed
youth turned sadly away you could see
by his face that there was at least one
Philadelphia soul which had lost its
enthusiasm for the coming big show’.
Another reason why Spain wants
to lick this country is because all the
dried apples sent over there lose their
flavor and are a dead loss.
Jn God 7Ke Trust ,
Nourishing-Powder.
Two novel kinds of flour or nourish
ing-powder have recently been brought
before the public, and, as they may be
destined to hold a prominent place in
the list of concentrated foods, attention
is directed to them. The first of these
is known an “fish flour,” and is now
mainly prepared in Norway. It con
sists simply of dried codfish thoroughly
desiccated and then ground in a mill.
It is furnishod of two qualities, coarse
and fine, and it is said that with it an
excellent dish of preserved fish can be
prepared in a few minutes. The fine
flour is used in the preparation of fish
puddings—a dish greatly in favor in
Norway. The chief demand for this
new product will, it is thought, come
from those inland Roman Catholic
countries where fresh fish is rare. The
second artificially-prepared food pro
duct to which we have alluded is the
soluble extract of blood, as prepared
by a recent formula proposed by Le
Bon. Where blood is evaporated by
ordinary methods, the residue, when
ground, forms a powder as insoluble as
sand, and hence possessed of no nutri
tive properties. Th j process suggested
bv Le Bon, and which affects the
removal of the water in the blood
without impairing the solubility of the
residue, may be described as follows:
The blood is placed in a vessel so thjit.
the pressure maybe reduced-and evap
oration effected at a temperature" not
exceeding that of fresh blood. The
solid residue which remains is then re
duced to a powder which is* perfectly
soluble in .water and may oe easily
digested in pepsine. Mixed with vari
ous kinds of meal, it forms a compound
that is alike compact and llytritive.
Experiments with blood as a food have
recently been made in several of the
European armies Avith the best results,
the chief objection to its use being
found in the difficulties attending its
preservation. In this powdered state
it may be kept secure from decompo
sition for longer periods,, and hence
may be found of great value to both
soldier and invalids.
Irish Bulls.
Miss Edgeworth, in her essay-on Irish
bulls, says it lias never yet lieen decided
what constitutes a bull, but she gives
illustrations. One is: ;\Vhen I- first
saw you, I thought it Avasyou/'and now
I see it is your brother.* Carle ton, in
his address on the Irish peasantry, says
that Miss Edgeworth wrote her essay on
what does not and never did exist; and
reference to the Irish bull arises from
the fact that their language is in a
transition state. A bull is a contra
diction in terms ; an assertion of some
thing which is denied in the very terms
of the assertion, or the denying of
something which is asserted by the very
terms of the denial. Here are some
examples: I met you this morning,
and you did not come; I’ll meet you
to-morrow morning, whether you come
or not. Oh, if I had stayed in that
climate until now r , I would have been
dead two years ago. Why, by the
powers, I can see no reason why women
should not become medical men if tliey
want to. During the Irish rebellion an
Irish paper published this item: A
man named Pat was run over by a pas
senger train and killed on Wednesday.
He was injured in a similar way two
years ago. Then there are blunders
of omission and commission in legisla
tion, that have their cause away back
where men vote heedlessly and care
lessly, when it is not sterling honesty
and purity of conscience that Ls sought
in a candidate, but a subserviency to
party ties.
A Wreck of a Man.
What wreck so shocking to behold
as the wreck of a dissolute man —the
vigor of life exhausted, and yet the
first steps in an honorable career not
taken —in himself a lazar-house of
disease; dead, but by a heathenish cus
tom of .society, not buried! Rogues
have had the initial letters of their
title burnt into the palms of their
hands —even for murder. Cain was
only branded on the forehead; but
over the whole person of the debauchee
or the inebriate, tlie signatures of
infamy are written. How nature
brands him with stigma and opprobri
um? How she hangs labels all over
him, to testify her disgust a: his exist
ence, and to admonish others to beware
of his example! How she loosens all
his joints, sends tremors along the
muscles, and bends forward his frame,
as if to bring him upon all-fours with
kindred brutes, or to degrade him to
the reptile’s crawling! How she dis
figures his countenance, at if intent on
obliterating all traces of her own
image, so that she may swear that she
never made him! Dow' she pours
rheum over his eyes, sends foul spirits
to inhabit his breath, and shrieks, as
with a trumpet, from every pore of his
body, “Behold a beast!”— Reynolds’
Newspaper.
Missionary Work in India.
Mr. John M. Francis sums up the
result of his observations in India as
follows : “I have little faith that the
people ever will be civilized into our
ways. England’s rule in Calcutta for
nearly two hundred years has not ac
complished that, nor has it made hardly
a beginning toward reformation and
the extipation of heathenism. I con
scientiously believe that missionary
effort in their behalf Is in large part
money and labor wasted. I believe
that such agency, with half the expen
diture of treasure and Christian work,
would accomplish in our own country
ten times more of blessed results than
Is possible of accomplishment here.
The missionaries, so far as I know and
believe, are sincere workers, and are
doing their best for this people, under
what seems to be very great discour
agements. But here in Calcutta, in
this city of British possession and gov
ernment, America furnishes at least
two missionaries to one that Is put to
that labor by English missionary or
ganizations. Our missionaries aro la
boring earnestly here with what appears
to me exceedingly small results in a
Christian, and, indeed, civilizing point
of view’. I only wish these zealous
labors were bestowed upon our heathen
and children of ignorance, poverty and
sin at home, as I feel sure they might
be with far more effective results.”
Your Religion.
What good comes of it? I)o you
simply profess it? or do you really
possess it ? Does it make you more
amiable ? or are you just as harsh,
petulant, and irritable as the unregen
erated ? Does it make you more kindly,
forgiving, and generous, with a spirit
•which* wishes well to all mankind ? or
are you selfish, itarrdw-minded, unfor
giving? Does it resign you to the in
evitable? Is it a comfort*in times of
affliction ? a support wdien you meet
with losses, reverses and calamities ?
Can you contemplate death with com
posure and equanimity? Do you be
lieve “in the promises,” that all will
be well with the good ? Are vou re
signed ? Cau you truly say, “ Thy will
be done?” If you are a Christion, you
will “do as you would be done by,”
seek the good of others- rather than
personal gratification—will be just,
hopeful, forgiving, cheerful, trusting,
charitable.
A .Christian will carefully regulate
hi3. propensities, guard against a sordid
love of money, vain pride or egotism,
an acrimonious temper, fault-finding,
unjust suspicion, jealously, deception,
or double-dealing, or doing anything
which the great teacher Christ himself
would not have approved.
A truly vital religion elevates and
improves; spurious religiop, or hypo
crisy, corrupts and leads 'downward.
A tru£ Christian worships God, “in
sincerity and in truth,” and looks more
to the adornment of his mind than his
body.
A contemporary says: “I have seen
n woman proit-HBing to tuve vmrist
more than the w’orld clad in a silk dress
costing 875 ; making up and trimming
the same, 840; bonnet (or apology for
one), 835; velvet mantle, 8150; dia
mond ring, SSOO ; watch, chain, pin
and other trappings, 8300; total, 81,-
100—all hung upon one frail mortal.
I have seen her at a meeting in behalf
of homeless wanderers, in New York,
wipe her eyes upon an embroidered
handkerchief, coring 810, at the story
of their sufferings, and when the con
tribution box came round take from a
well-filled wallet of costly workmanship
twenty-five cents to aid the society
formed to promote their welfare. Ah,
thought I, dollars for ribbons anil
pennies for Christ’s children !”
How is it with men ? What amount
do they spend on their indulgence in
costly dinners, wine, liquor and to
bacco, that should be used for good
purposes ? How much for mere pleas
ure excursions, visiting watering-places,
and in dissipation and flirtations ? How
much for fast horses, stylish equipages
and vain display ? Are the clergy
themselves exempt from all these
things? Are vestrymen, deacons and
other church officers all circumspect
and consistent Christians ?
Are all those who sing praises to Him
in sacred song actuated by an exalted
Christian spirit? or are they ambitious
for worldly honors, eager for wages,
or for the praises of flattering tongues?
How shocking to a devout mind is it
to witness the utter want of reverence
in a person approaching his Maker
with a manner of indifference as
though he ivere an auctioneer about to
harangue a body of tobacco-buyers.
Such scenes may be witnessed not a
thousand miles from New York.
True religion is not a cloak to cover
up sin, though impostors so use it.
Nor Ls the means by which the purse
proud, the arrogant or haughty Phar
isee can secure happiness here or here
after. True religion brings blessings
to its possessor, let his worldly circum
stances be what they may. Reader
be not deceived; see to it that your
religion is founded @n the truth.
With Christ for your guide, teacher,
companion, you connot remain in error
or go wrong. — Phrenological Journal.
Night Doctors in Paros. —The
Prefect of Police at Paris, remarks the
Pall Mall Gazette, has lately issued a
decree, with the object of meeting one
of the great requirements or the day,
of rather of the night, in that city—
namely, “night medical attendance.”
At every police office doctors who are
willing to get up at night will inscribe
their names. The public may see the
list there all night and chose any name
they please. A policeman will forth
with proceed to the doctor’s house,
awaken him from his slumber, and
give him a ten-franc fee. This fee will
be reimbursed to the municipality by
those who are able to afford it, hut
those who cßimot pay will receive med
ical suocor gratis.
Payable in Advance.
NUMBER 1.
A Chinese Home.
One New-Year I was invited to
spend the day with a Chinese tea
merchant and his family; and as I was
anxious to learn exactly how thev
observed the festal season, I begged
them to make no change either in their
festivities or the bill of fare, but to let
me be treated just as one of them
selves. I had known the old merchant
and his sons for some time, but had
never met the ladies of his household.
There were three of them—i. e., the
old gentleman’s wife, an unmarried
daughter and the newly wedded wife
of the eldest son. The last, I had
heard, was beautiful, but I was not pre
pared for such a vision of loveliness as
met my view, when the tiny-footed,
gentle-spoken twelve-year-old bride
was introduced by her mother-in-law.
She was very fair, with eyes bright as
diamonds, and her long, jet-black hair,
in one heavy braid, was twined with a
wreath of natural flowers about the
beautifully formed head, and held in
place by jeweled pins. She wore ear
rings, of course, with necklaces, chains,
bracelets and rings enough to have
constituted quite a respectahle fortune
in themselves. Her dress was a pale
blue silk, very richly embroidered, —
all her own work, she told me. The
skirt hung in full plaits about her'
slender figure, and the tight-fitting
jacket showed to perfection the ex
quisitely rounded form, while the loose
sleeve, open to the ell>ow, displayed an
arm that might have served as a model
for &he sculptor. But all this loveli
ness was only for female eyes, for be
fore entering the sitting-room, where
her husband, father and brother-in-law
were assembled, she put on the long,
loose, outer garment that Chinese
ladies always wear when in “full dress.”
This came below the knee, its sleeves
reaching to the tips of her fingers,
whilst its loose, flowing style effectu
ally veiled the fairy form, hiding all
its symmetry. She had the tiny,
pressed feet that the Chinese consider
not only beautiful, but necessary to
high breeding; and they were encased
in the daintiest of satin slippers, em
broidered in seed pearls. But finery
could not hide the deformity produced
by so unnatural a process, nor the awk
ward limp of the poor little lady as she
leaned on the shoulders of her maidens
in hobbling from room to room. I
asked her if the feet were still painful,
and she replied that for last two or
three vears a sort of numbness bad suc
ceeded the pain, but that formerly, and
from her earliest recollection, her suf
had been so intense that she
would gladly have died ; and that she
had often, in frantic agony, tore off' the
bandages, and when they were replaced,
shrieked and screamed till delirium, for
a time, relieved the consciousness of
suffering. But after the fifth year the
pain gradually became less intolerable,
she said, and now she did not think
very much about it, except when the
bandages were changed. Then the re
turn of the blood to the foot was such
torture as language could not describe.
Yet in reply to my question on the sub
ject, this gentle girl-wife said it would
be cruel in a parent not to press the
feet of his daughter, as he thereby shut
her out from good society, and made a
plebian of her for life.
The bandages are always applied in
early infancy, and before putting them
on, all the toes except the first and sec
ond are doubled in beneath the soles of
the feet. The length of the foot, alter
undergoing this painful operation,
never exceeds five inches, and ordina
rily is scarcely four.
When we entered the large drawing
room shortly before dinner, I could not
keep my eyes from wandering, every
thing seemed so strange; from the
stiff, upright chairs and sofas, to the
huge flower-vases, looking like minia
ture water-casks, and the quaint, cost
ly chandeliers, whose use I never
should have guessed but tor the scores
of wax tapers that glittered in them
even at broad daylight. One of the
chandeliers was shaped like a flying
dragon, and out of mouth, eyes, wings
and tail burst such a volume of light
as fairly to dazzle one who ventured
on too near an approach to the mon
ster. But the strangest object of all,
to my eyes at least, was a very elegant
coffin, placed in the most conspicuous
part of the drawing-room. I wa
shocked at first, and drew back, but
my host said, with an amused smile:
“ Oh, that was a birthday present
from my son several years ago, and mv
daughter embroidered a beautiful silk
sheet to accompany it.”
This, I learned afterwards, was no
uncommon case, —a handsome coffin
and burial-sheet being considered by
the Chinese very appropriate gifts
from dutiful children to honored pa
rents ; and people just as frequently
buy such articles and lay them up for
their own use. — St. Nicholasfor February.
“Was it a nice party?” asked Mrs.
Whifet, when her daughter returned at
3 a. m., from Mrs. Struggles’ “at
home.” “No, awful,” said the Whifet
girl, yawning and lifting up her skirts
to examine the braid on the bottom ;
“ awful, ma ; the chicken salad was
made of veal; there was a lot of queer
sticks there, nobody was dressed decent,
there were no oysters, the champagne
gave out, and some awkward idiot
walked up the back breadth of my
dress as far as the waist, and then only
stopped because he was too stupid to
climb!” And these are the young ladies
for whom “rosebud” and debut parties
are given.
EASTMAN TIMES.
KATH or AUrDTUIM:
■ , . .. .
ntujm. lA. In. *. UTIM.
Oo*qu*r<> *4 00 $ 1 on •10 00 t M M
Two (Kjuw 63* 12 on 18 00 MW
Tout •qurm .... 976 19 001 MOO MW
One-lonrtheoi. 11 50 M SOi MOO MW
One- half col 90 (B n 80- S8 ooj m W
One column J ooj 60 00i_80 00| 1
AdTxUMfBeU t*wi*rt<l *t the rU of fI.M p*t
•qvuro for tb* ftrrt m*rrtion, tnd 18 mbU for —h
•ab**qa*nt on*. Too tin** or I*M eon*tlwß* 8
rVof*a4c>i.*l oardft, flft.On ncr *n*pi; for atl
month*. 916.8(1. to ttlwke*.
PARAGRAPHS OF THE PERIOD.
The Pawnee squaws trade five dol
lars’ worth of bead work for two shil
lings’ worth of perfume, and they like
“heap good smell.”
An Indianapolis lawyer has made a
fortune of £48,000 out of divorces,
while other men have lost all by trying
to smooth over family troubles.
Conductor, when you receive a fair
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!
A blue trip-slip for an eight-cent fare,
A buff trip-slip for a six-cen fare,
A pink trio-slip for a three-cent fare,
Punch in the presence of the paasenjare!
CHORUS.
Punch, brothers! punch with care!
Punch iu the presence of the passenjare!
Mrs. Smitiiers is old-fashioned, and
calls rather “ruther,” and neither
“ nuther,” but you eat a piece of her
mince-pie once, and you’ll never stick
up your nose at her again.
A Milwaukee woman is applying
for a divorce because her husband al
ways spreads his ears over her when
he is asleep, instead of hanging them
over the headboard, as other Milwau
keeans do.
Little Willie was saying his usual
prayer at his mother’s knee, and having
got as far as “If I should die before I
wake,” hesitated. “ Well! what next ?”
asked his mother. “Why, mamma, I
suppose the next thing would be a
funeral.”
Here is a Centennial contrast.
First, as “Poor Richard” had it in
1776 —
“ Farmers at the plow,
Wife milking the cow,
Daughter spinning yirn,
Son thrashing in the barn,
All happy to a charm.”
An now for the modern improve
ment iu 1876 —
“ Farmers go to see the show,
Daughter at the piano,
Madam gayly dressed in satin,
All the boys learning Latin,
With a mortgage on'the farm.”
The London Times has accomplished
a feat in newspaper enterprise the like
of which would be an impossibility in
this country. At an expense of £IOO,-
000 yearly it has secured the exclusive
use of the telegraph w ire from India,
and is thus enabled to anticipate the
other London journals in the matter of
the publication of news fiom India by
three weeks.
The Boat of My Lover .
O boat of my lover, go softly, go safely;
O boat of my lover, that bears him from
me
From the homes of the clachan, from the
burn singing sweetly.
From the loch and the mountain, that he'll
oovow mnva coo
O boat of my lover, go softly, go safely;
Thou beffrest my soul with thee over tho
tide,
1 aoid not a word, but ray heart it was break
ing.
For life is so short, and the ocean so wide.
O boat or my lover, go softly, g safely;
Though the dear voice io silent, the* kind
hand is gone:
But oh, love me, my lover, and I’ll live till I
find thee;
Till out parting is over, and our dark dayß
ate done.
Recently an officer at St. Albans,
Vt., having two insane persons to con
vey to an asylum for the insane at
Brattleboro’, called one of the lunatics
aside, and asked his aid in keeping
watch over his companion during the
journey, and then did the same with
the other. The two lunatics eat side
by side, silently eyeing each other
through the whole route, and they have
continuallv kept guard over each other
in the asylum ever since.
Waste.
Avery curious and interesting table
might be made by a thoughtful physi
ologist and hygienist, showing e,ach
person where his strength goes; and I
am not sure that a young man could do
a better service for himself than to seek
the counsel of some wise physiologist,
tell him frankly all his habits, and have
such a table prepared, not only to guard
him against excess, but to show him his
weak places, and point out where he
would be most likely to fall. (Some of
these tables would, no doubt, read very
much as follows:
Spent in digesting a big dinner,
which the body did not need, sufficient
force to raise thirty tons of matter one
foot.
Spent in hesitation, doubt, and un
certainty, force sufficient to raise five
tons one foot high.
Total, 120 tong one foot.
Left for practical and useful labor
only enough to raise fifty-five tons one
foot high, or to do less than one-third
of a day’s work.
Sometimes there would be a draft on
the original capital of considerable
force, so that there would not be enough
to keep the body warm, or the food
well digested, or the muscles plump
and lull, or the hearing acute, or the
eyes keen and bright, or the brain
thoughtfbl and active.
Very often a single debauch would
use up the entire available power of
the whole system for a w hola week or
month.
’ Spent in getting rid of several
drinks of wine and brandy, force suffi
cient to raise twenty tons one foot high.
Spent in smoking six cigars, force
sufficient to raise ten tons one foot high.
Spent in keeping awake all night, at
a spree, force sufficient to raise twenty
tons one foot high.
Spent in breathing bad air, force
sufficient to raise fifteen tons one foot
fiigfi* .
Spent in cheating a neighbor out of
£3O in a business transaction, force
sufficient to raise fifteen tons one foot
high.
Spent in reading worthless books
and newspaperg, force sufficient to raise
five tons one foot high.