[For Tbe Sunny South.]
BY J. W. liOBB, JR.
How sweet to remember,
When years have gone by,
And life’s dull December
Hath dimm'd the bright eye.
The scenes of our childhood.
When careless we strayed
Thro' the meadow or wild wood,
Or sang thro’ the glade,—
When bright as the flight
Of the fair sunny hour
Came visions of manhood,
Of glory and pow’r.
They may tell of the pleasures
Engendered by Hope,
But vain with the treasures
Of Memory they cope.
Hope is the swift lightning
That flashes afar.
But Memory the bright’ning
Of Youth's sinking star;
'Tis a ray from the day
Of dreams and romance,
Like the opaline glory
Of sunset’s last glance.
OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY.
BY J. K. J.
The third Napoleon, whether much or little
admired, was at least a person of interest Am
bition was his crowning heritage. It led him to
establish the Napoleonic dynasty. The game
was a prodigious one, and he played earnestly.
The game for a crown called forth all his ener
gies and developed powers of grander propor
tions than were promised by his youth. We
have, in his singularly checkered career, an
illustration of what may be achieved by one who
has “an eye single” to any purpose. He who
has power to concentrate all his efforts to one
end, does by such massing of forces as did the
first Napoleon by massing armies—he conquers
Whatever of personal magnetism, whatever of
military genius, whatever of heroism, whatever
of persistency pertained to the man, was made
subservient to the one aim of his life. All that
he was and all that he accomplished is to be ac
credited to that ambition which empowered and
impelled him to be and to do—which made him
a Napoleon. It was this that sustained him in
exile and in prison,—that inspired his pen in
the production of every paper,—that made him
yearn for the shores of France during all the
years of Louis Philippe, and that led him back
at the close of that reign.
From the birth of the Republic, royalist though
he was, he seized Repub’icamsm as the ladder by
which to ascend the throne. This was the bril
liant period of his career—a period in which he
displayed the greatness of his power—in which 1
Napoleon conquered Napoleon, and banished
from the eyes of France and of the nations his
kingly spirit while, disguised in a hated garb,
he played the role of a Republican and won the
hearts of the people. From a chair in the Assem
bly to the Presidency of the Republic, to the
Dictatorship, to the Empire,—these were the
steady advances of a man made great by a tow
ering ambition—made ambitious by the blood
of the Napoleons.
Heaccomplished his life-work when he restored
the fallen dynasty. Then his work should have
ended, for when he passed that point in his
career, he entered upon a road unblazed by the
eyes of his ambition, and conducting—he had
not thought whither. If from his youth he had
aimed at more than was already done, he would
have accomplished the more. He had the power,
but it was not concentrated upon the extension
of the Empire. His last game was played to
entertain his idle armies, and was lost.
ration of Sir Joshua Remolds, and the tender.
The pillars of Gilmore's Garden were deco
rated with the rainbow flags of every nation,
and from each graceful arch hung a basket of
rare flowers and trailing vines. The sibilant
cascade tumbled and tossed its foamy waters,
the fountains whispered to the broad-leaved
tamyahs and fragrant lilies of the Nile, and gay
converse and rippling laughter blended with
the soft harmony of German music. Thousands
went home humming the lovely airs from Schu- the simple, great ones gone.”
Mr. ami Mrs. Florence are announced for “The Notre Dame, the twin-towered cathedral, stands
enthusiastic love of old John Joseph (Angelica's Mighty (originally the Almighty) Dollar,” a new ; near the Place d’Armes, full of hints of the old
father , are touched noon, glorified by the mag- ‘ ' '
icai pen of Thackeray’s daughter. She lacks her
father's humor and brilliant satire, but is so
pure and poetical, so graceful and vivid, that
we cannot hut bless her lor the pure delight she
gives us, and pronounce her a worthy daughter
of that great master of English fiction —“ one of j
American comedy, at the Park Theatre. j world in its vastness (holding ten thousand per-
* The Lyceum gives a season of French opera spns without undue crowding) and richness. A
bouffe. opening with a new work of Offenbach's, disappointment awaits us within this year.
“ Madame L'Archiduc.” They are polvchroming the walls with bright
The Olympic has a variety show, composed of j colors and gold leaf—done with much pains-
tight-rope dancers, gymnasts, and other perform- j taking and, we doubt not, with piety. But the
S miner met her
ances “of that ilk.
Booth's continues with Barry Sullivan, who
bert and treasuring in their hearts the fame of while in England, and gives in his memoirs this has not created the furore that was expected,
the immortal Goethe. pretty sketch of her: “ The face of the girl was He is unfortunate in taking the most famous
[For The Sunny South.]
LETTER FROM NEW YORK.
THE GOETHE ANNIVERSARY.
The one hundred and twenty-sixth anniver
sary of the birth of Goethe was celebrated by j men)
the Goethe Club of this city, at Gilmore’s Gar
den, on the evening of August 28th. That spa
cious garden was densely crowded—every seat
occupied, and crowds standing in the broad,
graveled walks, long before the exercises com
menced. The evening opened with the over
ture from “Jnbal” (Gilmore’s band), a spirited,
gay performance, which was followed by cornet
At'Schaus’ art rooms on Broadway, between
Eighth and Ninth streets, there is much to de
light the eye and chain the attention—on every
side, beauty of design and coloring. Among
the most noteworthy objects may be mentioned
the wonderful wood carvings of A. Pope, Jr.
These are in bold relief on slabs of maple or
other ornamental woods, and represent wild
ducks, blue-birds, does, wild pigeons, etc., in
the most marvelous fidelity to nature, not only
in form and outline, but in coloring. These
birds are first carved, every feature delicately
perfect, and then colored in all the rich, exquis
ite plumage-tints of the real birds. These can
be hung as pictures, and make an elegant-deco
ration for the walls of dining-rooms and gentle-
so fresh and fair, and such a sweet, sunny,
laughing expression beamed over it, that I could
not help addressing her without a word of pre- | classic Booth in his characters of Hamlet and
sentation, and of conversing in a gossipy way Rickard the Third, and it seems almost insane
for full five minutes. On reaching the door, I I for any one else to attempt them on metropoli-
met Thackeray, with whom I talked a moment; i tan boards, where he has been seen so often,
and on his informing me that his daughters j In musical entertainment, there will be sev-
were present, I immediately proposed making ! eral new sensations. Wachtel, the great German
their acquaintance. Some one standing near * .... -
r ,aid, ‘ Why, you have been talking with one of
them for the last five minutes.’ Of course, I
was charmed to learn that this sunny creature j jens (as it is sometimes spelled). Yon Bulow,
WHS TTl xr f pi on H ’c rl a n rrVi for ” tin fVirm a L „ : l .• j. a _ i 1 a •_ n
tenor, appears in opera at the Academy of Music.
Titiens is to be here—the world-famous prima
Inniui absoluta —who is one and the same as Tiet-
was my friend’s daughter.” He then goes on to
tell of his regular introduction to her by Thack
the eminent pianiste, is expected later in the
j season, and the musical season promises to be
eray, and adds: “We had a charming little j unusually rich and varied.
chat.” She has recently published a delightful
collection of short stones called “Blue-Beard's
sanctums. Paintings on wood, also of j Keys,” and it is only necessary to read its few
birds (robins, sparrows, bobolink, etc.,) from tbe
brush of Frerot, are very life-like and beautiful.
H. A. Olcutt exhibits a series of charming
flower-pieces on panels of dark-colored woods:
here, a spray of snow-drops clustered with royal
pansies—there, a branch of vivid, burning, scar
let carnations, so natural and blooming that you
feel as if von could raise them in your fingers
fresh, breezy pages, to agree with me that she is
one of the very few who know how to tell fairy
tales to grown folks.
In hats, we find the season more advanced
than in any other article of dress. These are
mostly in soft felt hats, in gray, dove and cream
solos from Levy and Arlmckle the former being and gather their sweet perfume. The most gor- “'nut-brown and"navy blut^^he^slllTpes’are
encored in the most noisy and enthusiastic style g eo us flower-piece is a great mass of amethyst- the “Derbv ” “ RonsW ” ,-T
ine lilacs which bears the name of
It will be early enough to speak of the novel
ties in dress goods and coverings in my next.
jMel. R. Colquitt.
(notwithstanding the express announcement in
the morning and evening papers that no such
indulgence would be permitted); and even those
who deplored what Sims Reeves calls “the greed
iness of the public ” in that respect, could not
complain when the dulcet harmony of “Robert
le Diable ” followed the exquisitely silver mel
ody of “Schubert's Serenade.”
William Cnllen Bryant, “the Nestor of Amer
ican poets,” was the orator chosen for the occa
sion, and he was most gracefully presented to the attributed to Ribera. Such a grin of animal
assembly by Dr. Ruppaner, the President of the
Goethe Club. Mr. Bryant is small and delicate
of stature, feeble and venerable. His hair, which
falls low on his shoulders, is perfectly white;
brow massive, eyes dark and penetrating. His
voice is soft, low, almost feeble, and his manner
singularly devoid of animation and gesticula
tion. He delivered a chaste, eloquent address—
occupying about eighteen or twenty minutes—
and in conclusion, paid a most beautiful and
generous tribute to his co-worker, Bayard Tay
lor, who was to follow him.
Bayard Taylor, who may be any age from fifty
to fifty-eight, has a fine, portly figure, with a
majestic head and full, rather heavy face. His
hair is thin and dark, and he has a short, dark
beard. There is nothing of the quick, keen, ner
vous expression which was so noticeable in the
pictures taken of him ten or fifteen years ago.
He is a poet, and a poet of a high order, but
there is nothing poetical or iesthetic in his face.
He impresses one as a bon-l'ivant—a jolly, clever
club man, on whom fortune has lavished her
best gifts and a goodly share of creature com
forts; and yet we know he is one of the hardest
students and one of the most learned men this
country has ever produced. It was because of
his thorough knowledge of German, and his
masterly translations from that language, that
he was invited to grace this meeting. And do
we not all remember that he went to Germany a
poor printer, and traveled all over Europe on
foot? Mr. Taylor’s manner is quick, emphatic,
and full of strong, expressive gesticulation.
The “Cantata” (in German), composed for
the occasion by Prof. Wildner (words by Mr. E.
Leonard), was a very gratifying success — the
solos being most beautifully rendered by Bis-
choff (tenor), Sohst (baritone), and Madame Sal-
vrotti (soprano). Madame Salvrotti has a lovely
voice, sweet and powerful, which filled that im
Derby,” “Rousby,” “Tietjens” .a bonnet
with straight brim and low crown’, “Airnee” (a
hat usually of brown straw), falling low over
the brow and rounding up in the back, which
allows for very tasteful trimmings in the back,
under the brim, of loops of soft silk and a
bright wing or birds’ heads.
The handsomest hat I have geen was at Wal-
. „ .. .. ton’s. It was a pearl-grav felt in the “Cottage”
in a broad “grin over t ie large oil-paint- shape—round crown and narrow, close brim,
of the “Macaroni Eater (“Spagnolito, ) ! turned down all aroun l. The brim was bor
dered with an inch-wide band of dove-colored
felt (woven in), and the trimming was two long,
narrow scarfs, very tastefully interwoven, of gray
and dove color. The ornaments were narrow
gold or gilt clasps and two large, loose blush-
roses. This was a pattern hat, and the price
was thirty-five dollars.
Girardin,” and as one looks at them, faint, sweet,
childhood odors come floating back through the
“corridors of time,” and yon feel like pressing
their fresh Tyrian-purple loveliness against your
face in a caress.
Turning from the branch of lilac, half sad
dened by old-time thoughts, you will tin l your
self in a broad
delight and utter satisfaction spreads over his
coarse, heavy face, as he contemplates his full
dish of ropy macaroni,—such a glitter of happi
ness gleams from his dark eyes,—that you say
almost aloud, “Poor fellow! I'm glad he has
enough for onceand turn and leave him in the
full enjoyment of his kingly feast.
Ah! what a lovely woman!—Circe, sitting on
the floor of a low stone piazza, with tier class
ical head bent down and her beautiful arms
clasping her knees, contemplating a raging,
hurrying herd of swine that crowd up to her
very feet and look up at her with wild, half
human eyes. It is difficult to see in this rough
herd the courtly Ulysses and his followers. But
so they are, transformed and brutalized by the
wicked sorcery of a beautiful demon. Is the
story all a fable ? Have we not seen it re-enacted
again and again? This picture is from the paint
ing of Briton Reviere. and is very suggestive and
full of interest. Another from the same artist
“Around the World." at the Academy of Music,
is running its third week, and is still drawing cial says:
[For The Sunny South.]
LETTER FROM CANADA.
We are at Rouse’s Point. Gone the phantas
magoria of Northern cars and boats—of masses
of over-dressed and under-bred people, with
here and there a stratum, refreshing and, alas !
too thin, of refined and intelligent folk. Gone
the boy who waked you at midnight stamping
down the passage-way and shrieking, “ JFarnut
meat!” and “ ripe, mellow peaches!” Gone, too,
the boy who drove you into fits of laughter by
day with his cry of “ Nice, double-jointed, Cali
fornia, hump-backed peanuts !” Gone stately
palisade and sumner pleasance, waving field
and placid lake.
“Does your trunk contain anything but wear
ing apparel?” asks the polite custom-house offi
“Nothing,” we answer, with the phlegm begot
“ And yours, madame?” addressing a buxom,
“Not a thing but my clothes, upon my word
and honor, and they are all made up, and that
my Maker knows to be true!” she pours forth
with excited volubility.
We all looked a little shocked; even the offi-
orowded houses. It has been pronounced
scenic marvel,” and I think it deserves the title-
some of the scenes being marvelously perfect,
and others marvelously imperfect. The most
beauuliii scenes are tae “necropolis” (grand
funeral pageant, where Aouda, the East Indian
princess, is to meet her death), the “Giant’s
Stairway in tbe Rocky Mountains,” and the
“Lights of Liverpool.” As an offset to these
(which are really very tine), we have the “Union
Pacific Depot in San Francisco” (which is sim-
(also an engraving) is Daniel in the lions’ den. ’ ut,1 T ^ or ' a ' 8 ro Sg er 5’)>
L - * - - - * * - s prophet, with rhe Great Union Hotel in Calcutta ’’ and sev-
The mute, helpless attitude of the prophet
his hands tied behind him. facing the liowlin
raging company of lions and tigers, is very tine,
and the heads of the lions are very powerful and
majestic. A horror creeps over the beholder in
eral others that are too outrageously bad to bear
‘ That is not necessary.”
We bowl away to Montreal. We confide our
selves and our luggage to the transfer company.
“I do not want to deceive you,” says the
agent. “If you make connection, I shall be of
no use to you. Your baggage will at once be
changed to the Quebec train.”
An agent without self-seeking ! The airs of a
foreign land steal over us. Is this Lord Bacon’s
We reach the depot; we are late, and the train
has gone. We drive to the Canada Hotel, where
we find quiet, neatness, good fare, reasonable
living, and no tongue but French. There is a
description. The ballet corps is very large, over buzz and hum of it ateach meal; vollies of Ion
roles of Edwin Booth, and I know of no living
actor who can at all bear comparison with the
little groups of pillars which form part of the
main shaft are having a new dress too,—a fine
coat each of make-believe, variegated marble!
Out upon the sham ! If the worshippers desire
to make their temple all beautiful within, are
they not wealthy or loving enough to gather
from their widely-separated beds the costly
stones, and set them here in testimony of their
But climb to the tower by the steep, ladder
like stair-wav, and Nature, beautiful this year as
last year, lies beneath your gaze. Nature hand
in hand with Art. Lines of fair houses, quaint,
narrow streets, waving tree-rows, enameled
garden-plots, the abrupt, wooded Mt. Royal,
rising steadfast and dark iike a warder in armor
close behind a fair princess, the wonderful Vic
toria bridge, islands verdurous and sombre, or
peopled and white with houses, and around all,
the great, sunny St. Lawrence. Scan it in de
tail or sweep your eye over the whole as you
will, each mood will be satisfied.
Next go to the Jesuits’ Church, whose walls
and ceiling are lined with frescoes, some beauti
ful, chiefly from the life of our Lord, occasion
ally varied by a martyrdom or an apotheosis of
the virgin mother, under whose protection the
Ville-Marie stands. The stone-gray and pale-
blue tints which prevail exclusively in walls and
windows, give a sense of repose, of height and
spaciousness, albeit somewhat cold and passion
less. Here the tinsel and paper flowers of the
tasteless devotee find no place.
The English Cathedral is a beautiful specimen
of mediocral Gothic, built partly of Montreal,
partly of Caen stone. The entrance is especially
noteworthy. Travelers say there is not another
such on the continent for unity and proportion.
Mention must also be made of St. Andrew’s
(Scotch) Church, an exact miniature of Salisbury
Cathedral, and a beautiful building.
Come, now, for a walk through Sherbrooke
street. You pass one stately stone mansion after
another. Through the long glass walls of the
conservatories, the splendid faces of tropic cap
tives, “where the warm light loves to dwell,”
look out at us “with weary looks, yet tender,”
and question, “ Have you seen our sisters ?” We
have seen your sisters, O exiles. We left them
in the flush of youth and joy, and their only
roof was the kindly sky.
Each house is set back to allow for the turf in
front—the fresh, living, green grass, whence
gem-like plots of blossom gleam. One emerald
mound is crowned with geranium in perfect
flower; the diadem fairly darts scarlet fire.
Now, call one of those smart, gay little cabs
peculiar to this city, and with a chosen compan
ion, who has flashes of silence as well as flashes
of wit, experience that nine-mile delight, the
drive around the mountain; and when it is over,
confess we did well to desist from poor, weak
words, and to leave the beauty to be realized.
It is seven o’clock p. m. Our omnibus has
scrambled down the steep little St. Gabriel
street to the pier. We sit on the deck of the im
mense, handsome Quebec, of the Richelieu Com
pany. On one side is Bonsecour market, a Doric
pile with its great dome visible all over the city;
on the other the Victoria bridge, now a narrow
ing line in the twilight.
In the rainy, gray morning, we near Quebee.
Once more we greet the grand, picturesque
heights,—once more we gaze up the narrow, as
cending streets where lies the dust of centuries—
the streets which are redolent of yesterday, which
are haunt id by the past, which seem to tend
away, averted and absorbed in retrospect, from
the ambitious young republic over the border,
exulting to keep its centennial.
Hail and farewell, grande dame ! Another day
we shall return to sit at your feet, to look in
your noble, heroic face, calm after fire and bat
tle, to hear your legends of the past. The Union,
of the St. Lawrence and the Sagueway line,
comes alongside, and we are safely transferred.
This boat is little in comparison with our late
big floating caravansera — cosier, more home
like. But it is not much we have to do within,
we sight-seers. To the aft we go, as it is still
misting and mizzling. There we find a young
couple with a whole April of apple-bloom dis
tributed over their cheeks. Judging from their
youth, they might be making their wedding-
trip; but we think not—they are a little too tran
quil. They are pleasant and affable. A young
Cuban-Englishman, with a suspicion of the West
Indian curiously pervading the ineradicable
traits of the Briton, is likewise conversible. We
all sit under partial cover and gaze contentedly
at either bank of the St. Lawrence.
There is not very much to put down, but it is
all new to us. We glide by islands; by little
villages protected and lorded over by their red-
roofed, white-steepled church, always set on a
hill or on some far-extending point; by high,
forlorn banks, painted and bronzed by the water
and the sun. Ever and anon, a little, foaming
cascade hastens down the steep to the river. It
is the snow-limbed Undine springing to meet
her native element.
Yes, it is all new; but a bell rings, and we are
but mortal, after alL We rise and leave it, to
eat that delicious, pink-hued viand, the speckled
trout; to eat beef-steak and potatoes and drink
tea a la Anglais; to eat blueberries, children of
the hill-sides of the St. Lawrence.
Two o’clock. The whistle blows. Travelers
collect wraps. There is a murmur that we are
nearing Murray Bay. Our journey has an end
with more than one sequel; this is the end. We
too rise and turn to the high green bluffs and
stony hill-sides, cottages on the crest, a little
bevy of carriages, carts, caleches, visitors and
hab'dans on the pier.
Malbraie (let us be French!) we salute thee !
a hundred girls appearing on the stage at one
time, and the dancing of the Kiralfys and Mile.
close-packed sentences (so they sound to us)
shot swiftly from the light tongue, and inter-
ENIGMAS AND CONUNDRUMS.
The following persons have answered all the
enigmas in the last paper correctly: J. P. Per
due, Atlanta; Clara Thompson, Greenesboro;
Mrs. R. C. Harris, Butler, Ga.; W. E. Johnson,
Atlanta; H. Blagge, Galveston, Texas; Mrs. J.
A. Smith, Rome; Lucy Bruce, Bainbridge, Ga.;
Lucy E. Rucker, Flint River Factory; Alston &
Portis, Mobile, Ala.; W. P. McD.. Atlanta; Mrs.
Fannie C. Estes, Gainesville; Mamie M. Stell,
McDonough; Birdie Walker, Wartburg, Tenn.
(The word “pressure.” in connection with our
water-works, is simply a play upon the powerful
pressure of the engine, which throws water over
our highest building.) R. B. Stegall, Dalton,
on the floor the scattered remains of for- Pe ‘ 1 ® t ! er * s . ve ( r / g°°£ f hUeas ve T wel1 fpersed with gestures, flitting expressions and answers Nos. 5 and 6; Mollie Christian, Toccoa
o O i u, I lax* \l r I In nn \l orlATin /J /t.j /»/, n 1 on a Ion or h t ui* ■ hodo nwi ii/inrAc va /-v f n nls n nod K f L a ft, a- •-* . ... ... \TTT /* 1 ry _ /I ft l> . 1 ■ n .. s! .1 1
mer high carnivals—ghastly bones and other
horrible suggestions. The
and beautiful at the same time.
Here will be found those irresistible etchings,
“The Girl I left Behind Me" and “The Early
Bird Catches the Worm,’
doubtless seen copies.
Miss Anne Thackeray, author of “The Story
of Elizabeth,” etc., has just given us a new de
light in “Miss Angel”—the life-story, somewhat
altered and idealized, of sweet Angelica Kauff-
acted by Mr. Onen Marlone. O'Palce is a’ sue- laughter; sauces piquantes not much used by the
Dicture^is^riehtful ces . s ’ u t * ie hands of Mr. Fitzgerald; and Harry other nation, which has so large a representation
j (j ' * r : Rainforth makes a very sprightly, amusing Passe- in Canada. We address no one appertaining to
partont, though he is no longer a French valet, ' the house in our mother-tongue without receiv-
but is transformed into an English serving-man. ingin reply, “Me no spik English.” A good
of which you have ^* ie wome . n are D °t satisfactory, with the excep- night’s rest and a good breakfast. Fish and
• tion of Aemea — Miss Dora Goldthwait—who mutton are of the best in Canada, consequently
makes a very pleasing impression by her pleas- it is de rigueur to eat them.
ant voice and graceful carriage. The great nov- TTT ‘ 1 — *— ’
elty of the entertainment is Matt. Morgan's huge
fan scene, which is rolled out and unfolded after
each act —an immense painted fan, fully twelve
feet high, which takes the place of a drop-cur-
We revive our memories of Montreal. Sir
Henry Holland, whose intelligent and extensive
travel qualifies him to speak, calls her “one of
the fairest of cities. ” To this testimony we un
hesitatingly subscribe Nowhere else on this
continent are seen so many beautiful stone
buildings, and one feels it almost an embarras de
richesses when, in a silent, dingy by-street, he
looks up and encounters, here and there, granite
“Rose Michel” is in preparation at Daly’s The- walls and rich carvings. It is especially adorned
(afterwards to be crowned by the love of Angel- atre (Fifth Avenue), and will be performed the with its banks; one after another stays you by
ica) of Antonio Zuzzi, the loyal, courtly admi- coming week. ; its sculptured front or imposing proportions.
mense garden as easily as a parlor, and went man. the painter; and she tells most beautifully tain, and is a very pretty and original device,
circling through the domes and arches like a the history of that bright, accomplished little The other version of “Around the World”
joyous skylark. She has been, during the sum- woman, giving all the sunshine and glow pos- ran only a little over a week at the Grand Opera
mer. one of the choir of the Church of the Incar- sible in a life so shadowed and overcast by an House,
nation (Arthur Brooks, rector), and has added unfortunate love. The unwavering friendship
h to the charm and spiritual influence of
quiet and beautiful sanctuary.
City, answers N03. 5, fi and 7; C. P. Badingfteld,
| Montezuma, solves No. 5; Dr. Low solves Nos.
j 5 and 6, and adds—“Subscribe for The Sunny
South, and get all your neighbors to do the
same;” Annie L. Smith, Montezuma, solves Nos.
5 and 6; Win. E. Sewell solves No. 6; Mrs. M.
H. S., Fairburn, solves N03. 5, 6 and 7; Belle
Talmadge, Athens, solves No. 8; “Serimp” solves
Nos. a and 6.
No. 5.—Bee, Teeth, Sun, Hen, Toys, Tub, Sin,
Ten, House, Cent, Roe. Subscribe for The Sunny
No. 6.-Eel, Edge, Middle, Live, Die. Mill-
edgeville. (Twelve is not in the Enigma.)
No. 7,—Samson, Ananias, Hell, Honor, Tyt-
ler, Fibs, Ben Butler, Palm, Oh no. Alphonse
Hurtel, Mayor of Mobile.
No. 8.—Mark Twain, O. W. Holmes, Antony,
System, The Fire-Worshippers, Rule. Holly’
triumphant system of water-works.