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VOLUME VI.
autumn flowers.
Fannie ihabelle bhebrick.
0 crimson-tinted flowers
Tlmt live when others die,
What thoughtless hand unloving
Could ever [mss you ?
You are the last bright blossoms,
The summer’s after-glow,
When all her early children
Uavo faded long ago.
Sweet golden-rod aud zeuia
And crimson marigold,
What dreuns of autumn splendor
Your velvet leaves unfold.
Long, long ago the violets
Ilavo closed their sweet blue oyes,
And lain with pale dead faces
beneath the summer skies.
And on their graves you blossom
With leaves of gold and red,
Aud yet—how soon forever
Your beauty will be dead.
The frost will come to kill yoit,
The snows will wrap you round;
Aud you will sleep forgotten
Upon the frozen ground.
Your tints are like the beauty
The sun-light leaves behind,
And deep and full of sadness.
The thoughts you bring to mind.
Dear memories of tho summer!
Sweet tokens ot the past!
You are the fairest flowers
Because you are the last.
—St. Louis Republican.
MISCELLAJVY.
A WIFE’S CONFESSION.
I did not man y for love. Very few
people do, so in this respect I am
neither better nor worse titan my
neighbors. No, I certainly did not
many for love; I believe I married
Mr. Cartwright simply because he
asked me.
This was how it happened. lie was
the rector of Duveton, and we lived at
the Manor house, which was about
ten minutes' walk from the church and
rectory. A\ r e had daily service at
Doveton, and 1 nearly always attend
it, and it came pass that Mr. Cartwright
invariably walked home with me. It
was a matter of custom, and I thought
nothing of it ; it pleased him, and on
the whole it was rather pleasant to me
also.
1 must confess, however, I was rath
er surprised when, one morning, as wo
got to the avenue which led to the Ma
nor house, Mr. Cartwright asked me to
be his wife.
1 have never been able to find out
why I said yes, but I did ; perhaps I
thought it a pity to th.ow away so
much love ; perhaps it was because lie
was so terribly in earnest that I dared
not refuse him ; perhaps I feared this
P'do face, and his low, pleading voice
would haunt me if I rejected his love ;
°b perhaps it was because he only
ft skcd me to many him —he did not
ask me if I loved him, for I think he
guessed I did not; perhaps it was all
these reasons put together, but any
bow I said yes and in due time we
were married.
I ought to have been very happy,
for ho was a most devoted husband,
but I was not, and though 1 did not
notice it then, I know now that for the
first six months after our marriage he
was not happy either.
It was all my fault—l either would
not or could not love him ; I accepted
his devotion to mo as a matter of course
but I made no effort to return it, and
I am sure ho had found out that he
had made a mistake in marrying a wo
man who did u't love him.
One morning, about six months af
ter our marriage, he told me at break
lust that he intended leaving me alone
lor a few weeks, to stay with his
mother, who was not very well. lie
watched the effect of this announce
ment on me, but though I was really
displeased, I concealed my annoyance,
4nd asked carelessly when ho would
Stait.
lie replied, the next day, if I had
no objection, and so it was all set
tled .
lie was more affectionate than usual
that day, and 1 was colder than ever ;
1 oply once alluded to his journey and
that was to ask if I might have my
sister Maud to stay with me while he
was gone,
The next nv Tiling I was anxious to
avoid a formal parting, so I drove to
the station with him. As the train
moved oil I remem ered thi- was our
"t Wimt§
first parting since our marriage, and
I wished I had not been quite so
cold.
V hen 1 got home the house looked
dreary and empty, and there was no
one to meet me. Presently one of the
servants came for the shawls, and with
her Nero, Mr. Cartwright's retriever,
which, when he saw I was alone, set
np a howl for his master. I patted him
and tried to comfort him, feeling re
buked by his grief, as he followed me
whining into the house. Every room
seemed empty, and each spoke of the
absent master
At last I wandered into his study,
where he spent his mornings, and liked
me to sit and work, and now I remem
bered how often I had excused myself
saying 1 preferred the drawing room,
and this reflection did not add to my
happiness.
There was a photograph of me on
his writing-table, and another on the
chimney-piece; on the walls hung two
or three of my drawings, which ho had
begged ol me when we were engaged;
indeed the room was full of little re
membrances of me; I opened a book I
had given him, and in it was his name
in my handwriting, and underneath it,
in his own, “From my darling wife.’'
I laid it down with a sigh as I thought
how carefully he treasured everything
I had ever given him, and how little
care 1 took of all his gifts to me.
Everything I attempted, everything
I looked at, reminded me of his good
ness to me and of my coldness and in
gratitude to him. At last I went to
bed, where, after working myself into
a fever of anxiety lest he should not
have reached tho end of his journey in
safety, 1 at length cried myself to
sleep.
The next morning I went down to
breakfast with a heavy heart for I
knew I could not hear from him till the
ueit day ; it seemed so strange to
breakfast alone, and Nero seemed to
think so too, for he was most unhappy,
sniffling around his master’s chair in
the most melancholy manner.
My plate, for the first time since my
marriage, was empty, as I sat down to
breakfast; my husband, who was an
early riser, always had a little boquet
to greet me with every morning. Fre
quency* I forgot all about it, and left
it to be put into water by the servant;
this morning I would have treasured
it most carefully if he had gathered
it.
Al ter breakfast I determined to rouse
myself, and go and visit some of the
poor people in the village, so 1 filled
my basket with some little delicacies
for the sick and set out.
Wherever I went it was the same
story ; all held forth on my husband’s
goodness and kindness, for all had been
helped by him in some way or othei,
and all loved and respected him. As
I listened with burning cheeks I felt
as if I was the only person on earth
who had treated him with cruel ingrat*
itude, and 1 was the very person whom
he most loved and cherished.
At last I went home, tired and sick
at heart ; but there was no one to no
tice I was pale and worn out, no one
to get me wine or soflp to revive me,
and no one to make me lay down and
rest, as he would have done had lie
been there. Oh, how I missed him!
What afoul I had been 1 Was there
ever woman loved or cared for as I
had been ? Was there ever friend so
ungrateful ? Oh, he never would
come back ? Why had he gone
away ?
And conscience answered, “You
drove him ; he gave you all he had to
giv and in return you gave him noth
ing but cold looks and unkind words ;
and so be left you to seek love and
sympathy from his mother.'
This thought almost maddened me.
In fancy I saw her sitting in my place
by his side, loving and caresshig him
us I had the best right to love and ca
ress him. I pictured her receiving
tenderly the loving acts I had received
so coldly, and now I was seized with a
jealous anger against her. I mentally
accused her of estranging my husband
from me, and of trying to win his love
from me, as though his heart was not
large enough for both of us.
When Maud arrived, in the after
noon, I treated her to a long tirade of
abuse againt mothers in-law in ge acr
al and my owa in particular, and I
vented all the anger that I really felt
against myself on the innocent Mrs-
Cartwright.
“Why, Nellie,* r said Maud, “I thought
you lik' and Mrs. Cartwright so much and
thought her so nice that you even
wanted her to live with you,*only your
husband, very properly, as mauuna,
says, objected, v
“So I did," I answered ; hut I did
not know then she would ever entice
my husband away from me in this way
or of course I should never have liked
her/
‘Really, Nell, you are very hard on
the poor woman ; for, as I understand,
Mr. Cartwright went to her of his own
free will, because she was not
well, and he thought his company
would do her good/ said Maud.
Nousense ; I am sure he wouldn’t
never have left me alone unless she'd
put him up to it,' I replied rather
crossly.
‘The truth is Nellie, you are so in
love with your husband that you are
jealous even of his mother ; and you
are making yourself miserable about
nothing. Why Mr. Cartwright will
be back in a fortnight, aud I dare say
you will get a letter from him every
day; so cheer up and lets go for a drive,
said Maud.
I agreed to this plan, and giving
Maud the reins, I layback and thought
of her words. Was she right after
all? Was I jealous? Was I really,
as Maud said, in love with my hus
band ? Hid I only found it out now
1 was deprived of his company ? Was
this the reason that I could do nothing
but inwaidly reproach myself for my
conduct to him? Aud the longer I
thought the more convinced I became
that Maud was right, that I was jeal
ous and that I was in love, as she call
ed it.
This knowledge did not make me
happier, for I no sooner knew that I
loved him than I longed to tell him so
and make up as far as I could, fur all
my former cruelty, for I could call my
conduct by no milder word. I passed a
sleepless night, and as I lay awake I
composed various letters of confession,
which I resolved to send the following
day ; but when morning came my
pride stepped in, and I began to feel
it would be impossible to write, and.
I settled I must wait till my husband
came home, and then tell him how his
absence had altered me.
I got up early and walked out to
meet the postman, so anxious was 1*
to get a letter from him ; it was the
first I had ever received since our mar
riage, and no girl was ever so anxious
so pleased with her first love-letter
as I was over this.
It was a long letter, full of loving
messages and terms of endearment,
all of which cut ine to the heart, for
they sounded like so many reproaches;
in reality I think there was a tone of
gentle reproach throughout the letter,
lie gave ine an account of his journey
and of his-mother's health, begged me
to write him a few lines every clay,
but he said not a word about return
ing.
1 spent the morning answering it,
much to Maud's amusement, who, of
course, thougt I was pouring out vol
umes of love and complaints of my
temporary widowhood; after tearing
up about a dozen sheets of paper, I at
last sent a short note, cool, and with
no allusion to my misery. The more I
tried, the more impossible I found it
to write ny expression of love or
penitence, though I was hungering to
do so.
For a whole week I went on in this
way, suffering more accutely every
day, and every day receiving long,
loving letters from Mr. Cartwright, and
writing shorr, cold letters.
1 lost my appetite, I could not sleep
at night, and the torture I was endur
ing made me look so ill that Maud be
came frightened and declared she
would write and summon my husband
home, and telling him that I was pin
ing a wav for him. I forbade her doing
this so sternly that' she dared not dis
obey me, for I was determined that
he should never hear from any lips but
mine that at last his heart's desire was
attained, for I loved.
At last, when lie had been away ten
days I could bear it no longer, for I
felt I should have brain fever if I went
on this way, so I determined to go on
to Melton, where Mrs. Cartwright
lived, and see my husband. I came to
this decision one night, and went into
Maud’s room early in the morning to
tell her of any intention, I expected
she would laugh at me, but I think she
guessed something was wrong, for she
seemed glad to hear it, and helped me
pack a few things audsetoffin time
for the morning train.
It was a three hour’s journey. They
seemed three years to me, for the near
er I got to my husband the more im.
patient I was to see him. At last. we
got to Melton, a large town. Of course
as I was not expected there was no
one to meet me, so I took a fly to Mrs.
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 10, IS7S.
Cartwright's house, where I arrived
about three o’clock.
I learned afterwards that Andrew
was with his mother in the drawing
room when I drove up, but thinking
I was only a visitor, he escaped into
the next room, so I found my mother
in law alone.
By her side were some of my hus
band’s socks whiclfrshe was darning,
socks which I had handed over to the
servants to mend, and which 1 now
longed to snatch away from his moth
er. His desk stood open, a letter to me
which he was writing lying on it.
The servant announced me as Mrs.
Andrews, my voice failing me as I
gave my name, so that Mrs. Cart
wright held up her hands in aston
ishment when she saw who it was.
‘My dear Nellie 1 Has anything hap
pened ? Ho tv ill you look 1 What is
it ?' she exclaimed.
‘I want my husband/ Ig.is.ped, sink
ing into a chair, for I thought I should
have fallen. Without another word
Mrs. Cartwright leit the room ; I feel
sure now she guessed ail about it, and
I can never thank her enough for for
bearing to worry me with questions as
to what I had come for.
She came back in a few moments
will', a glass of wine, which she made
me. drink off, saying she would send
him to me at once if I took it. I com
plied, and she went for him ; in anoth
er minute I heard his step outside the
door, and then he came in.
‘Nelly, my love—iny darling, what
is it ?' he cried, as I rushed into his
outstretched arms, and hid my face on
his breast, sobbing bitterly. For some
moments I could not speak; at last 1
recovered enough to sob out :
‘Oh, Andrew, my love 1 my dear
love ! can you ever forgive me ? 1
came to ask you, and to tell you I
can’t live without you.‘
I would have said more but his
kisses stopped my mouth, aud when
at length lie let me go, there were
other tears upon inv cheeks besides my
own.
That was the happiest hour of my
life, in spite of my tears, and before
mother-in-law again joined us, which
she discreetly avoided doing until din
ner-time, I had poured out all I had to
tell into my husband’s ears ; and I
had learned from him that he had left
ine try what effect his absence would
have on me; for lie had f It for some
time that my pride was the great bar
rier he had to overcome to win my
love.
He had judged right. Tie was too
generous to tell how much he had suf
fered from my indiffereuce, but I know
it must have grieved him terribly, He
is a different man noiv, he looks hap
py, and 1 know lie would not change
places with any one on earth. We
went back to the rectory the next day,
bat we could not persuade Mrs. Cart
wright to come with us* she said we
were best alone, and I think she was
right.— Cassell’s Magazine.
Comparing a Sermon to a Shirt.
While on the subject of sermons, I
cannot resist repeating a conversation
between a friend and his farm servant,
which illustrates the remark already
made, that an Irishman is rarely at a
loss for a reply or an excuse.
‘That was a good sermon, was it not,
that we had last Sunday?' said the
gentleman.
‘True for you, ycr honor, an illigant
one. It done me a power of good m
tirely.’
‘l'm glad of that. Cun you tell me
what partic daily struck you? Wuat
was it about?’
‘Oh, well,’ scratching his head, ‘I
don't rightly—not just exactly know.
I—a—l—a—where’s the use in telling
a lie? Sure, I don’t remember one sin
gle individual word of it, good or bad-
Sorra bit of me knows what it was
about at all. 4
‘And yet you said it did you a pow
er of good.* 1
‘So it did, sir; IT! stick to that.'
‘I doirit seee how.‘ - -
‘Welt now, yer honor, look here.
There s my shirt that the wife is after
washing: and clean and white it is, by
reason of all the water and the soap
and the starch that's gone through it.
But not a drop of them all—water, or
soap, or Starch, or blue—has stayed in,
d'ye see. And that's just the same
with me and that sermon. Iris run
through me, yer honor, and it's dried
out of me; but all the same, just like
my Sunday shirt, Pm the better and
cleaner after it.‘
T here was more philosophy than he
was aw *re ot in the quaint reasoning
of the man. An impression lor o-ood
or evil is often left upon the mind and
bears fruit, when what has caused the
influence has passed away from our
memories. —Chambers Journal.
Irish Jollity.
The Irish are a jolly set of people,
and nowhere is this characteristic trait
more observable than on an Irish race
course. The same drunkenness on an
American race course would have re
sulted in fights innumerable, but here
all were in the best of humor and over
flowing with fun and frolic. The deep
er their potations the better they seem
ed to agree. Perhaps tiie whisky they
drink is of better quality than that to
be had iu less favored parts of the
world, and has a different effect on tho
biain and animal spirits than the li
quid fire which is administerd to the
same class of people in America. Their
bets ranged from a shilling to a crown
and even the ragged and barefooted
visitors indulged in small ventures on
the result of the race. Avery ele
gantly dress M lady, accompanied by a
servant, followed the horses in each
race, keeping close at their heels, and
jumping the hurdles with an ease and
grace that was as interesting to the
spectators as the races. The space to
the right of the judges’ stand was re
served for the can iages of the gentry
and managers, and the display of fine
dresses aud elegant equipages was
equal to that at the races of the Mary
land Jockey club. They were accom
panied by an extensive airay of ser
vants in livery, and the rabble was
carefully excluded from this section by
a cordon of police officers, each with a
rifle strapped to his shoulder. Here
the betting was very heavy, even tho
ladies having a venture on every race.
Ihe free admission of pedestrians
brought together all classes of people,
and the most of those who came in
vehicles left them, along the roadside
to avoid the entrance fee. There were
a number of gambling booths, which
were crowded with people during the
intermissions, but the ventures were
mostly with very small coin. The
whole ground was covered with mud,
but no one seemed to mind it. 'The
time made by the horses very slow,
on account of the condition of the
track, and they came to the winning
post pretty well worn down. —Me Ful.
ton in Baltimore American.
i
A Policeman’s Philosophy.
A policeman having been called up
on to shoot a clog in a yard on Brush
street yesterday, took a seat on the
fence, drew up his legs out of danger,
and remarked to himself as he took
aim: The seat of all vitality is the
heart, and here goes/ A cow in the
lot beyond threw up her head and
went galloping around, and the dog
trotted over the yard as if perfectly at
home. Jhe officer got a good ready
and observed:
‘The fear of death is often as strong
ly exhibited in beasts as m man, and
their dying agonies have been known
to bring tears to the eyes of their ex
ecutors/ Bang! A woman who was
working up an old knot in the alley
flung down the axe, put her head over
the fence and warned the policeman
that she didn’t want to be bothered
anymore, though she wouldn’t object
to his shooting up in the air if the po
lice regulations required it.
'Natural history asserts that the
erage life of a cauine is four years/
resumed the officer as lie brought the
revolver down again, ‘and that they
are subject to fourteen different dis"
eases. I will now take that chap
right behind the ear, penetrating skull
and brain aud causing death in about
four minutes/ The smoke had scarce
li:ted when a melon peddler, whose
horse was coming down the street at
a slow pace, rose up in his wagon and
and called out: ‘lt you boys doi/tstop
shootin’beans at me I'll wollop the
hull crowd, rich oucs and all! That
*ere last one just tickled my nose!’
. ‘Natural hist—' began the officer,
when the dog % discovered a hole under
the* fence and slipped into the street
and made off. ‘Natural history/ re
peated the blue-coat as he dropped off
the fence, ‘explicitly states that dogs
must stand still when being shot at
° y
and it I didn’t hit him it’s the fault of
education/ —Detroit Free Press.
It I were tQ choose the people with
whom I would spend my hours of con
versation they should be certainly
such as labored no further than to
make themselves readily and clearly
apprehended, and would have patience
and curiosity to understand me To
have good sense and the ability to ex
press it are the mest essential and nec
essary qualities in companions. When
thoughts rise in us tit to utter among
familiar friends, there needs but very
little care in clothing them.-- -Sleele.
Rich Men’s Sons.
The president of one of our largest
banks said, a day or two since, that a
rich man's eon had just letl his place
and he was the last maa of the kind
he should ever employ. The man was
faithful, honest and tilled intelligently
and well all the duties required of him;
but just as he had become accustomed
to his work he found out it was too
confining and a raw clerk had to be
put in his place. A bad look for rich
young meiq but it is the old story re
peated for the thousandth time. If
rich men's sons will not endure the
drudgery by which nearly all their
fathers secured money and position,
they must take a secondary place in
the next generation; and oltoner they
drop out of sight amid the idle worth
less herd, if, indeed, they escape an
association with loafcs and criminals.
What say the labor reformers to facts
like these, for facts they are without
question? Nearly every man in any
leading position in the community
gan life poor. Let the sons of rich
men take warning and go to work
honestly and faithfully every day, if
they hope to fill the positions held by
their fathers.— Troy Budget.
Intelligence of tire Magpie.
A correspondent of one of the scien
tific journals writes as follows in illus
tration of the intelligence of a magpie:
‘Some years ago, when residing at
Stowmarket, I was much struck with
the intelligence of a magpie belonging
to my next door neighbor. In a very
short timOj and without any effort to
teach it ou the part of any one, it
learned the names of several members
of my family, and never misapplied
them. This proves that birds, in ac
quiring human language, connect the
object and the word, and do not use
the latter at random. The magpie in
question was evil-disposed, and loved
£o annoy girls by pecking their feet;
but oil the approach of a man or a
boy it sculll .1 away, uttering a most
unparliamentary phrase. Its leg hav
ing' been accidentally broken, it repu
diated all surgical aid. It used to sit
on the sound foot and hold up the
maim' and limb, looking at it disconlale
ly, and peeking at the bandages, with
continual ejaculations of I) it! and
died at last worn to a skeleton.'
To Know an American in Paris.
W bile waiting for our breakfast one
morning in a cremerie in Paris much
frequented by foreigners, my friend
Mme. B said, ‘I can point you out
every American breakfasting here/
I looked around at the people seated
at the different tables, and wondered
if she were speaking seriously. In
these days when fashion reduces cos
tume and coiffure to such uniformity,
and when the blood of every civilized
race is mixed to a great extent with
that of every other, distinguishing na
tionality at sight appeared to me im
possible. I asked my friend her se
cret.
‘Oh, it is no secret/she replied, smil
ing; ‘I don’t pretend to tell except
when they are taking breakfast. They
all put salt on their butter /
‘Your acuteness applies only to
breakfast, then/ I said. ‘At dinner it
would not serve you, I suppose/ I
said this in a kind of savage way, hav*
ing the common weakness that makes
all people abroad defend their country
men.
‘No/ she said; ‘we never put butter
on the dinner table’—a fact that I had
at that moment forgotten.—MarieHow
land in Harper’s.
Anew Duluth city ordinance gives
the awful warning that 'any cow, of
either sex, hereafter found spotting a
bell or ringing the same within said
limits, shall, upon conviction thereof,
be subject to fine or imprison
ment, or both, at the discretion of the
court/
‘I know where there is another arm
just as pretty as this one/ said a young
citizen to bis sweetheart, as he pinched
her fair arm yesterday evening. The
storm that quickly gathered upon the
lady’s brow as quickly passed away
when the young man pinched the other
arm aud said, ‘it is this one dear/
A little five-year old boy, residing
with his parents in the Cheney block,
was a-iked by a lady a few days since
for a kiss. He immediately complied,
but the lady, noticing that the little
fellow drew his hands across his lips,
lemarked, Ah, but you are rubbing
it off/ ‘No, I ain’t was the quick re
joinder, ‘l’m rubbing it in/
Man proposes, but—he is not always
accepted.
The favorite flower for wedding bon
nets—Marrygold.
A Boston girl spoke of Lord Bea
consfield's new honor as the ‘order of
the elastic.'
The latest style of hair is lunatio
fringe. It is very popular for moon
light partings.
■ . ■
A Western paper advises lightning*,
rod agents and book canvassers to
try their luck in Memphis,
When may a man’s friends naturally
suppose that- he has gone amissing?
When has gone a-eourting.
Many beautiful ladies when walking
out are angry if they are gazed at,
and indignant if they arc not.
There is a man in Washington tho
most powerful in the country. 110
carries a horse scar on his cheek.
A Louisville reporter of the old
school once wrote of a man who had
been ‘overtaken by the bitter pill of
adversity.'
A man has recently invented an ap
paratus for arresting and extinguish
ing sparks. Are the girls going to
stand that?
The new song,‘Sounds ol Childhood/
recalls tender recollections of a mat*
ronly shoe, a shrill treble voice, and
an utter disinclination to sit.
Child (praying)—Pieaso God make
it a pleasant day to-morrow so we can
go on our picnic. But if it isn't, keep
us to feel that thou knowest best.
The hoy who is having the first
tooth pulled doesn’t care anything for
the present, and the futurity is as
blank as a last year’s watermelon.
In the make-up of the modern small
boy there is altogether too much whis
tle for the amount of boy. It is most
too much like using a two-quart fun
nel in a three-ounce vial.
-
‘Here it is ten o’clock,’ exclaimed
Mrs. Mic, ‘and Ann is not in yet. Sho
promised faithfully to return at eight/
‘Have you forgotten,’ said her husband
‘that an is an indefinite article.*
One half of the world don't know
how the other half live/ exclaimed a
gossiping woman. ‘Oh, well/ said
her neighbor, ‘don’t worry about it,
’tisn’t your fault if they doi/t know.*
A Michigan woman says she hopes not
to go to heaven unless there are post
offices there. She can think of nothing
nicer than to bo handed a fat letter in
a brown envelope by the general de
livery e’erk.
A hat fine dark hair you have got,
Miss Ay—! My wife, who is much
younger than you, has her hair quite
gray/ ‘lndeed/ rejoined Miss YV
‘if I had been your wife my hair no
doubt had been gray, too/
A Boston man advertises, ‘Y\ r ante&
—girls to crochet/ Any girl who sub
mits to that is likely to be worsted.
It’s a crewel thing, but then we've
heard of a chap darnin' his girl because
of the crotchets in her head.
Due owner of a pair of bright eyes
says that the prettiest compliment
she ever received came from a child
of four years. The'little fellow, after
gazing intently at her for a moment,
inquired naively, ‘Are your eyes new
ones?'
A colored preacher In Norwich a
while ago gave out the following an
nouncement: 'Brothers and sisters,
next Sunday, the Lord willing, there
will be baptizing in this place, the
candidates being four adults and three
ad ul tresses/
They were sitting together, and he
was arduously thinking what to say,
when finally he burst out in this mans
ner; ‘ln this land of noble achieve
ments and undying glory, why is it
that women do not come more to the
front, aud climb the ladder of fame?’
'I suppose,' said she, niting her apron
strings, ‘it's on aecount of their pull
backs.’
NO. 41