Newspaper Page Text
THROUGH THE RAIN.
• ■■ ■
BT ZOE ZENITH.
The Friday evening session of the “Upton-
vijle Female Academy ” had cloaed. A slight,
girlish figure, enveloped in waterproof, and
carrying a well-filled strap of books, quitted the
noisy group of girls and started off on a solitary
walk. Masses of don clouds had been gather
ing ever since the sun passed the meridian, and
now a few large drops fell slowly from their
ragged edges. Katie Garter drew the heod of
her cloak over her brown curls, and hastened
her steps for a long walk through unfrequented
streets. But an immense umbrella suddenly
overshadowed her, and a gentleman s voice
said.
“ Why, cousin Katie! are you going home in
this shower?”
The topes were unfamiliar, and letting him
take the books from her tired band, she said,
merrily: .
“ How in the world did you know me?
“ Know you !” in an aggrieved tone, “ did^ you
think it possible that I could mistake you?”
“I wonder who he takes me for!” thought
Miss Katie, now convinced that her companion
was a stranger.
She peeped through a rent in her blue veil.
He was unmistakably a gentleman—she decided
at once—and a 'e y handsome one. Tall, slend
er and erect, with large, earnest, dark eyes,
with Grecian nose and masses of curly, dark-
brown hair, falling with careless grace over the
straight, intellectual brow.
‘•I don't care who he is,” said the fun-loving
school-girl to herself. “ He certainly does not
know me.” And aided by the gloom of the
gathering clouds and the shadow of the large
umbrella, there was a probability of her preserv
ing her incognito quite as long as she desired.
Aloud she said, with studied carelessness:
“Did you ever know it to rain so hard?”
“I shouldn't care if it rained cannon balls,
provided I could protect you,” he said, with
marked emphasis.
“I wouldn’t trust your ability 1’Bome imp of
mischief prompted her to exclaim.
He made no reply.
After walking on in silence for some minutes
he said, lowering the umbrella:
“Katie, please take off your veil.”
“What for?”
“Because I want to see your face. I want to
tell you something.”
“I do believe he’s in love with me—or some
body,” she thought, “but this will never do.”
So she said:
“I think I can hear you just as well, and I
don’t see why I should let it rain in my face.”
The umbrella drooped still lower, and he bent
his handsome head.
“Asyou please, then; but what is the matter
to-day ?”
“ Matter with whom ?"
“With you, of course. What makes you so
unkind to me, Katie?”
“I don’t know how in the world you can find
fault with me!”
“O, Katie! you are so unlike yourself.”
“ Very possibly, ” she said, smothering a laugh.
“ A person can't be always the same."
She could see that he was mystified. He went
on a little farther and then said, earnestly:
“Katie, will yon be serious for five minutes ?”
“Certainly. Do you think it is going to stop
raining? ’
“ Let it rain,” he said, defiantly. “ Will you
listen to me?”
“ I am doing so now.”
“Thanks for your attention. But I wish you
would talk to me as you did in our childish
days. Do you know what I am longing to hear
you say again ?”
“No, indeed!”
“ The endearing words which you murmured
so freely and truthfully. And especially one
little sentence which 1 could never tire of hear
ing.”
“And what was that?” asked Katie, still im
pelled by the spirit of mischief, though almost
frightened by her own audacity.
* Only a few words," he said, speaking more
softly and tenderly than ever, “But if you will
only say them again my heart and hand shall
be most truly and entirely yours. Say, ‘Leon
ard, I love you.’ ”
Katie fairly jumped. He looked so handsome
and earnest that she had been interested, and
now she did know what to do. But the denoue-
mewt must be reached, Seeing that her unde's
house was not far off, she said hastily:
“Are you sure you want me tc say that?”
“Sure ! Why Katie, I don’t undertand you.
Ton must have seen that I love you. If I know
my own heart I only wish you to repeat those
few words.”
They were at Mr. Coleman’s gate and the rain
was over. Katie sprang from under the umbrel
la, snatched off her vail and threw baok her
hood.
“Are you sure you wanted me to say that ? ”
she repeated, demurely, while her brown eyes
danced.
For one moment he was stupefied with aston
ishment, then an angry flush crossed the white
forehead.
“ How could you deceive me so ? ” he demand
ed.
Lenard Amberson had never, in all his life
been so enraged with a lady.
“Oh, there’s no harm done,” she returned,
pleasantly
“Unhappily I'm Katie Carter, instead of our
mutual cousin, Katie Coleman.
He bowed and opened the gate for her with a
forced politeness,
“ Excuse me, but I wish you would tell me
how you came to be carrying my cousin’B
hooks?”
“ With pleasure. She is quite sick this even
ing, and as it is Friday I offered to go and bring
her books home. I'm wearing her waterproof,
and as for the rest—”
“ You say she is not well?” he interrupted.
“ Then I will deny myself the pleasure of going
in.”
“ I’ll take her any message you like ! ” she
eried, suppressing her mirth. “ Shall I tell her
that you never can mistake her, or that she is
entirely unlike herself, or—”
“Goodevening, Miss Carter. ’* He said, stiffly,
raising bis hat. And he walked off.
“I wonder wbat makes me so bad!" mur
mured Katie penitently, to herself, as she
watched hiB retreating figure. Not arriving at
any satisfactory conclusion, she went slowly
into the house and up to her cousin’s bou
doir. Katie Coleman and her cousin were very
mnch alike in face and figure, but there was a
very palpable difference in expression. One
was all life and animation, while the other’s
similarly brown eyes were “ full of sleep, ” and
her month expressive of languid irresolution.
Still, neither need be offended at being mistak
en for the other. Miss Carter alluded but slight
ly to her evening's adventure, merely mention
ing that Mr. Amberson had met her and walked
home with her. She was fated to listen to a long
aecoufit of his good qualities, winding up with
the exhibition of several little notes, executed
some two years before in the boldest style of
student’s calligraphy and copies of very sen
timental replies in her cousin's handwrit-
ing.
Mr. Amberson called several times in the
eonrse of the week and managed to extort from
Katie a promise that she would never mention
to bis cousin the particulars of his first conver
sation with her. But her woman's nature could
not forego teasing him in every way compatible
with her promise. By intelligent looks, oare-
less hints, artfully arranged tele-adeles between
himself and her cousin, and allusions where
meaning was known only to him, she fairly ir
ritated him to desperation. Still, he continued
to come, and by her cousin’s confidences she
knew that he had never repeated to her the in
tercepted declaration.
Katie was to leave her uncle’s house in the
middle of August. Just before that time the
whole family attended a Granger's pic-nic about
five miles from home. They spent a rather tire
some day, listening to the usual amount of sing
ing, agricultural speeches, etc., and towards
the dose of the sultry evening started for home.
Leonard Amberson had cleverly contrived that
Katie Coleman had been unable to accompany
him. Installing Katie comfortably behind his
magnificent blacks, he took a rather longer
road in order to escape the dust of the other
conveyances and raised the huge umbrella to
shield his companion from the drops of rain
which fell at intervals from a great black cloud
which had gradually crept overhead. That um
brella was familiar to Katie and she said im
mediately.
“ Isn't that a useful umbrella, cousin Leo
nard ? ”
“Yes, indeed, but why am I so fortunate as
to be admitted to the rank of cousin?"
“ Oh, I thought that perhaps the association
of circumstances might betray you into repeat
ing a former mistake! ”
“Will you listen to it?” he said, in alow
voice.
“ Yes, if you will let me repeat it to the young
lady I represent. ”
“ Whom you represent?”
“Why cousin Katie, of course. I’m answer
ing for her. ”
“Very well. Say Leonard, I love you. ”
“ Oh, hush ! You’re not proceeding according
to the rule. ”
“Yes, I am, and you promised to answer. ”
Katie tried to reply but her usually ready
wit failed her completely and she kept silence.
“ Are you going to say it? ” he asked.
“Of course not. I only promised to tell
Katie. ”
Mr. Amberson became suddenly grave.
“No,’' he said, “ I don't want you to tell her.
I don’t ask cousin Katie to say that, I ask you.”
“ Come,” said Katie, recovering her high spir
its. “This won’t do. Two months ago, you were
saying the same thing to another lady.”
“You cannot say that I ever said it to any one
else.” He said quietly.
“You intended to, which was just the same,”
she retorted.
“ I do not think so. Why, do you suppose,
have I not repeated to her all that I said to you ?”
“ How do I know that. ? ”
He colored at the implied disbelief, but gazed
steadily into the mischievous eyes.
“ I give you my word of honor that I have
never addressed one word on the subject to her,
or any one else, except yourself. Do you be
lieve me ?”
Her eyes drooped. A pink flush arose to her
temples, but she said, without hesitation.
“I do.”
“ Thank you Katie. Now listen. I discover
ed that in spite ot your teasing replies I preferred
my present companion to her cousin. To my
surprise I found that my fancy for my cousin
had passed away completely, that I had never
realy loved her. Now I offer you the first and
undivided affection of my heart. Katie do you
love me?"
“Silence gives consent” We cannot affirm
that Katie said anything, but it is just the same.
About an hour afterwards they drove up to
Mr. Coleman's in the pouring rain, He detain
ed her under the umbrella to say.
“Katie, I’ve asked you to say that ever so
many ti nes. Won’t yon say it now ? ”
Its none of our business—but we think she
said it.
AFTER ELEVEN YEARS.
BY BEDFORD.
“After eleven years we meet again,” were the
words of greeting that came to-night from the lips
of one from whom I separated once under circum
stances of peculiar interest.
By nature, 1 am not in the least romintic, yet
in my life-woof there have been inwoven some
bright threads of romance. One of these memory
unrave'13 for me to-night, bright with the hues of
hope and love. Those words, “After eleven years,”
bring up a panorama of the past, that I shall brief
ly attempt to outline while in its freshness.
To be separated from the friend of one’s youth,
and then to meet again after eleven years, would
naturally call up many reminiscences of the past;
but when that one was the sweetheart of child
hood, the beloved of boyhood, and the worshipped
ideal of maturer years, the emotions must be too
intense to be expressed in words. This woman,
whom I have met to-night after so long a separa
tion, is one that first influenced my life—one that
1 came to Georgia from another State to claim for
my bride eleven years ago. Seeing her to-night
recalls our first meeting.
We were children, and had gathered at a public
hall in my native town. It was my first “ party,”
so far as I ean now remember. The older ones
had assembled the children in one part of the hall,
and, to amuse the “little folks,” inaugurated a
play. The name I have forgotten, but there was
kissing in it. Jennie, whose bright eyes had first met
mine that night, was called out on the floor and a
circle formed around her of the children present,
from among whom she was to choose one for a kiss.
The choice fell upon me, and I well remember the
sport my bashfulness occasioned the older ones
standing around us. Not without a struggle did 1
yield “to being kissed by a pretty girl.” But I
got used to it before the play ended, and I confess
that I imbibed then and there a fondness for that
kind of sport(?), which time has not cured me of.
From this night dates the beginning of my love
for the owner of those bright eyes. It always
seemed nearer to and from school by her house,
though in reality it was nearly half a mile far
ther ; yet the flutter of a handkerchief, or Bright
Eyes at the window, or, better still, a kiss blush,
ingly thrown and fondly returned, repaid for my
longer walk. I often grew jealons at the atten
tion Jennie occasionally gave to others, though
proving now and then a rover myself, for it was
one of my weaknesses to be pleased with every
pretty face I met; yet Jennie was the one upon
whom was centered my affection, and my love for
her seemed intensified by these little wanderings—
mere ripples on the current, as they were. This
child.love was a very sweet and pure feeling, and
its memory now sheds a halo over those early
years.
Years passed, and the war came on, bringing
about a separation between us. It was hard, and
my heart cried out against it, but the calls of
honor and duty stifled the pleadings of love; I
volunteered, bade my Jennie a sad good bye, and
went away to the hardships and dangers of the
soldier’s life. During three years of change and
strife and disaster, that now seem a fever dream,
I met Jennie only once. It was at her new borne,
to which she had removed from the town in whioh
we first met. She had grown prettier and more
attractive sinee our last meeting, and though I
knew that I was in the enemy’s territory and far
from my command, I could net resist the plea she
urged for me to remain with them till moruing. I
felt flattered, as I detected anxiety in her looks
and words when I spoke of riding that night, and
gladly did I yield to her command: “I positively
forbid it.” What cared I then for enemies ? Was
I not with her I loved ? Why, I felt as though I
could have vanquished a score of Yankees that
night, had my quarters been surrounded and my
capture attempted.
That was in December, 1862, and I did not meet
her again until after the war ended. She had re
turned to her former home, and of course I has
tened to make her a call. I found myself specu
lating on the changes likely to have occurred, but
I was not prepared for the surprise that was in
store for me. From girlhood she had bloomed
into womanhood. Tall and graceful, with full and
perfect figure, she appeared regal in her beauty
as she came into the parlor to great me. It was
the 25th of May, 1865. She was dressed in a flow
ing white robe, a single flower—a large white rose
—in her hair, and a beautiful pink bud upon her
bosom. With both hands extended and eyes that
spoke more than the lips, she said:
“I am so delighted to see you again 1”
All the toils and dangers of war were forgotten
in that happy moment. Oh 1 only those who have
known such reunions can understand their sweet
ness.
For a brief season there was nothing but p'cnics,
parties, fetes and entertainments, given in honor of
the returned soldie^ at all of which 1 met Jennie,
and frequently was her escort. This season was
in its height when my trials began. Her father
forbid our meetings, for some reason, never fully
explained. It was the old story : “Love laughs,”
etc. We met ridI plighted our troth. Another
separation then car^-us her father moved to Geor
gia. I accompanied her to Chattanooga, and in
parting we exchanged vows of fidelity.
In the months that followed, we corresponded
constantly. Oh, those dear letters, what a source
of happiness they were 1 Honestly, I think there
is more pleasure in receiving a genuine love letter
when one is young and truly loves, than in any
thing else in the world. But alas, Jennie’s letters
changed, and soon ceased coming altogether. I
endured her silence a while, and then determined
to relieve my suspense by seeing her again. I did
so. I found barriers that I had not anticipated.
She was the promised wife of another.
I had cared but little for parental objections so
long as I felt seoure in her affection, but after all the
sweet hopes of the past, to give her up to another
was more than I could bear. No ! no 1 l felt that
her heart was still miue, so I sought and obtained
an interview. Explanations followed, and the
alien engagement ring disappeared from her fi:t-
gcr. Yet I was in suspense. I had assurances of
her love, but no promise of marriage, and for
this I wa-- urgent. . I spent a week without having
accomplished my tytorP 096 ’ and, in despair, was
prepariug to return home. The family, except the
father, were all my friends and warm, generous
abettors. The father, however, remained sternly
obdurate. His will had always been law to Jennie.
She found it hard to break through her habit of
implicit obedience. She hesitated; she pleaded
with him, but with no result.
The morning appointed for me to leave arrived.
I went to learn my fate. 1 was told that she could
not see me. Id vain I begged for only a brief in
terview. “ It cannot be,” was the answer. Pride
and resentment struggled in my breast, with love
and bitter disappointment I turned from the house
as from the grave of my hopes. As I was leaving
the door a lady frjffuil, Mrs. C , came down
stairs and handed me a small slip of paper, say
ing that it was a message from Jennie, but I must
not read it until on the cars, and that a letter
would come explaining it. When I opened the
note these words were before me: “ I am yours for
life.” Jennie, the treasure was to be mine ! The
transition from dispair to hope was such that I
recall it now as one of the brightest moments of
i^j life, .The hopu.cj soon claspiD^Fpr -j^nm I
had loved so lotig ATM Iood 1 y to my bosom “ for
life,” made me indeed a happy being. But, to
night is the first time I have seen her since the
reception of that message.
“ Aftar eiaven years,” we met again to night.
It seemed but yesterday since I had waited in the
parlor to meet her as I did to-night, and the time
seemed equally as short since 1 had heard that
well-known footfall coming, and that voice, so
strangely familiar, in greeting—and here she is;
“ after eleven years we have met again 1” The
same voice, the same soul-full eyes, but yet how
changed 1 Tae cheeks are less softly rounded,
the color far less vivid. There is an indescriba
ble something that tells the lapse of these eleven
years, and yet I am by her side once more! Yes,
it is the one I kissed when a little girl, it is the
be'mg I lov.'d in boyhood, anl my promised wife
in manhood, and yet eleven years have passed
since last we met,
“ Then,” says some romantic girl, to whom love
is life’s alpha and omega, “ then you may marry
still.”
Not so fast, my dear ; there is still an obstacle
to our marriage. 1
“ What! that old ogre of a papa still ? ”
Well—no ; the obstacle is no ogre, but a dear,
sweet little woman, .“ That Wife of Mine,” who (I
will bet high upon it) is thinking of me, and long
ing to see me. Side by side, she has walked life’s
journey with me for years—a true, brave, loving
little wife. She knows that no other can rival
her in my love. Moreover, my old sweetheart has
one whom, for nearly as many years, she has called
“ That Husband of Mine,” and our meeting to
night, though it stirred old memories strangely
with thought of what “ might have been,” wakes
no thoaght of disloyalty to those who love and
trust us, and to whom fate has joined us while life
shall last.
Atlanta, Ga., October 20, 1877.
do yon smoke in the coarse of a day, on an
average?”
They declared they were very temperate and
did not exceed two a day. Well, I coaxed them,
teased them, scolded them, called them ‘old
darlings’ and ‘great bears,’ till they promised-
suspect to get rid of me—to content themselves
with one a day and give me the ten cents extra,
or sixty cents a week. Only think! a dollar and
twenty cents every Saturday night 1 I put
away the amount every week into a work box,
and such a miser as I made myself all that
blessed year. I levied taxes on papa occasional
ly, bought fewer neckties, got only eighteen
yards of cloth for my new suit when I ought to
have had twenty-one, and economized generally,
aided and abetted by Lizzie and mamere. At
the end of the year there was a counting of the
hoarded treasure, and yon may believe I felt as
■wealthy as—well, he said his name was ‘Capt.
Kidd as he sailed,’ so I do not know what it was
on terra firma —Lizzie danced until every curl
on her head was horizontal instead of perpen
dicular. The little work box had just eighty
dollars, and my experiment was a triamph.
Such a list of literary goodies as I made out
would Lave made your mouth water; all the first
class magazines and papers, and then quite a
nice little sum was left, so we bought a Web
ster’s unabridged dictionary, and some beauti
ful volumes of poems. Mama was delighted
With the success of my little plan, papa beamed
with satisfaction, and the boys declared in their
awful slang that I was‘a perfect brick.’ Now I
have given you my experience and you must be
my scribe and send it to our dear publisher,
Mr. Seals.”
Here it is, with the “scribe’s ’ best bow to all
the boys and girls, and the prayer of “Tiny
Tim.”
Nellie’s Plan for Getting the
Papers.
BT£AN81B PERT.
“ Riches Have Wings. ”
[New York Cor. Hartford Times.] •
Ten years ago Mrs. HoDiday, the wife of Ben.
Holliday, the millionaire, and her two daugh
ters, both bright and charming girls just verg
ing upon womanhood, were prominent among
society leaders in New York. Ben. Holliday had
made his millions in the overland carrying
trade before the days of Pacific Railroads, and
his family had all the money it could possibly
need to enjoy all the pleasures of fashionable
life. He purchased a magnificent country seat
in Westchester county, and his wife, who is re
puted to be a devout Roman Catholic, built a
beautiful chapel upon it, at an expense of $10,-
000. Mrs. Holliday and her daughters traveled
in Europe, and admirers of the two handsome
American heiresses were not lacking among
aristocratic bachelors. At length—and without
much delay, either—they found husbands among
the nobility, so called, one marrying a Count
and the other becoming the wife of a Baron,
Frenchmen both. But neither marriage proved
fruitful of happiness; indeed, it soon became
known among their friends that the Countess
Pourtales and the Baroness de Buissiere were
sadly mismated. Soon the tide which had lifted
the family to distinction began to turn. Un
lucky speculations swept away almost the whole
of Mr. Holliday’s fortune. Next, death took
away one of his daughters, the Countess. Then
his wife was taken in the same way. Soon after
a legal contest began between him and his re
maining daughter over a will whioh his wife had
executed. A curious feature of the will was a
proviso that if the surviving d ughter should
become a widow she should not again marry a
Frenchman, under penalty of forfeiting all right
to any part of her mother’s property. About
ten days ago this daughter arrived here from
France for the purpose of resisting her father in
the will contest. Inimediately'after her arrival
she became dangerously ill, and on Sunday
moning last she died among strangers in the
New York Hotel. Her father is in California,
and there is not one member of the family in
New York. The body of the Baroness, who was
only twenty-four years old, was then taken to
the little chapel in Westchester, and there laid
to rest. Only two gentlemen and an old and
faithful Irish nurse, who had been in the family
for twenty years, accompanied it to the grave.
When he takes a notion to leap, there is no
nse of bridges.
He spreads consternation among other ani
mals when he spreads himself, and then the
spread becomes mutual.
He can keep seven small boys and one wash
erwoman, with all her equipments, flying in the
air at one and the same time, and then find
time to look for other game. His resonroes, like
his leapings, are boundless.
He obeys no halter but the lasso, and not
even that while the breath of life is in him.
The word “subdue” is not in his dictionary.
The Texas steer doth bis own steering in a
gale, and the more you lash his helm the more
rapidly he steers ; but with all his steering, he
never aims to steer clear of difficulties.
His tail straightens as his speed increaseth,
and when his wrinkles and curls are horizontal
to the bone, bis speed is wonderful to behold.
He can outrun a dozen presidential candidates
and then have run enough left to last a short
tour of three days. Ran ! why run is no name
for his speed. Ligtning can’t zigzag and keep
up with him. There is so much run in him
that when his skin is tanned and worked into
shoes they invariably run down at the heel. He
can run down faster than any spendthrift can
run them up. But
Let ns steer char of tho Texas steer
When he is inclined to run,
Unless we are balis oat of a gun
And be is far in the rear.
The Old Maid’s Progress.
“Nellie,” said I, with the freedom of an old
acquaintance, “how is it yon have so many
periodicals this y^ai; while last yon had none?”
She gave a satisfied little laugh, as she re
plied, “Ab! non ami, thereby hangs a tale; you
shall have it, however, and then yon may pat it
in readable shape for some of my sisters in
tribulation. Yon mast know in the first place,
papa—good sonl last year began to think, talk,
and dream hard times; yes, he had that dreadful
epidemic very hard, and the most aggravating
way in which it showed itself was in the stop
page of the influx of reading matter into our
home. Our evenings had always been delight
ful; the boys stayed at home perfectly lamb
like, and in the long winter evenings the cur
tains were drawn, a nice cosey fire blazing on
the hearth, (papa would have a fire-place in oar
new house,) then we would make a circle
around the centre-table, papa in his large chair,
busily at work, but as bright and interested as
any of ns, and then Fred, Frank, Lizzie, and
your humble servant. We children read aloud
for the general edification, in turns. Oh! it
wasjnst solid comfort! We had a number of
papers, magazines, and occasionally a
new book. You may well suppose I was
aghast at the thought of giving up our beloved
‘readings,’ as we called them; bat papa was
perfectly sure that he would be utterly rained
if we did not retrench, so for the year of eighteen
hundred and seventy-six—peace be to its
ashes—we managed to survive with but little
reading, but I decided that the next year should
behold-onr readings revived again; bat how I
bad to manage 1 First, 1 called a council of war,
and said to my brothers :
. “You degenerated urchins, how many cigars
A Merry Heart.
I’d rather be poor and merry than inherit the
wealth of the Indies with a discontented spirit.
A merry heart, a cheerful spirit, from which
laughter wells up as naturally as babble the
springs of Saratoga, are worth all the money
bags, stocks and mortgages of the city. The
man who laughs is doctor. wDh a diploma en
dorsed by th^ school of Nature; his face does
more good in a sick room than a pound of pow
ders or a gallon of bitter draughts. If things
go right he laughs, because he is pleased, if
they go wrong, he laughs because it is cheaper
and better than crying. People are always glad
to see him, their hands instinctively go half way
to meet his grasp, while they turn involuntari
ly from the clammy touch of the dyspeptic, who
speaks on the groaning key. He laughs you out
of your faults, while you never dream of being
offended with him ; it seems as if sunshine
came into the room with him, and you never
know wbat a pleasant world yon are living in
until be points out the snnny streaks on its
pathway. Who can help loving the wholesonled,
genial laughter ? Not the buffoon, nor the man
who classes noise with mirth—but the cheery,
contented man of sense and mind 1 A good-
humored laugh is the key to all breasts. The truth
is that people like to be laughed at in a genial
sort of way. If you are making yourself ridic
ulous, yon want to be told of it in a pleasant
manner, not sneered at. And it is astonishing
how frankly the laughing population can talk
without treading on the sensitive toes of their
neighbors. Why will the people pnt on long
faces, when it is so much easier and more com
fortable to laugh ? Tears come to ns unsought
and unbidden. The wisest art in life is to cul
tivate smiles, and to find the flowers where
others shrink away for fear of thorns.
The Texas Steer.
The Texas steer is armed with horns at one
end and heels at the other end, and when he
swings himself in a circle heels and horns,
horns and heels, are promisouonsly distributed.
When unmolested be is docile, but attempt to
corner him, and you will be reminded of the
natnre of the beast.
When on a rampage, he seeks no favors, and
grants none. Small boys and patriarchs then
stand an equal show, if they stand at all in his
neighborhood.
When the Texas steer gets on a bender, those
in the direction in which he wants to go will be
reminded of their latter end and his former end
if they do not give him a wide berth. A sky
rocket of five hundred horse power, shot hori
zontally, would have to “hump” itself to keep
out of the steer’s way on such an occasion. Such
things as walls and fences are not noticed at a
time like this, and even a bull in a china shop
would be thrashed in a twinkling should he at
tract the attention of our steer while the bender
is under him- The Texas steer is called a steer
because he steers straight when mad regardless
of obstructions. He wonld not be a Texas steer
if he didn’t. Yon put a Texas steer in the cen
tre of Rhode Island (or, rather, let him place
himself there, if you have any regard for safe
ty), and at one leap he ean clear the boundary
in any given direction. He could almost do the
same thing in New Jersey, for he is unaccus
tomed to States of that size.
At 15. Anxious for coming out, and the atten
tions of the other sex.
16. Begins to have some idea of the tender
passion.
17. Talks of love in a cottage, and disinterest
ed affections.
18. Fancies herself in love with some hand
some man who has flattered her.
19. Is little more diffident on acconnt of be
ing noticed.
20. Commences being fashionable.
21. Still more confident in her own attrac
tions, and expects a brilliant establishment.
22. Refuses a good offer because he is not a
man of fashion.
23. Flirts with every young man she meets.
24. Wonders she is not married.
25. Rather more circumspect in her conduct.
26. Begins to think a large fortune not quite
so indispensable.
27- Prefers the company of rational men to
flirting.
28. Wishes to be married in a quiet way, with
a comfortable income.
29. Almost despairs of entering the married
state.
30. Rather fearful of being called an “ Old
Maid 1”
31. An additional love of dress.
32. Professes to dislike ba 1 , find sit difficult
to get good partners.
33. Wonders how men can leave the society
of sensible woman—to flirt with chits.
31. Affects good humor in her eonversatien
with,men.
35. Jealous of the praises of women.
36. Quarrels with her friend who is lately
married.
37. Thinks herself slighted in society.
38. Likes to talk of her acquaintances who are
married unfortunately.
39. Ill nature increases.
40. Very meddling and officious.
41. If rich, as a dernier resort, makes love to a
young man without fortune.
42. Not sueeeding, rails against mankind.
43. Partiality for cards and scandal commences.
44 Severe against the manners of the age.
45. Strong predilection for a clergyman.
46. Enraged at his desertion.
47. Becomes desponding and takes to tea.
48. Turns all sensibility to cats and dogs.
49. Adopts a dependent relation to attend her
canine and feline nursery.
50. Becomes disgusted with the world and
vents all her ill humor on her unfortunate rela
tions.
We clip the above from the Nashville Amer
ican. Where the American got it we know not,
but it is not adapted to this latitude where sea
sons are earlier and maidens Jmore precocious.
Place every stage three years earlier to suit the
Atlanta calendar.
A Speaker’s Tremor*
Grear orators often suffer from nervous anx
iety before their successful speeches. Their
knowledge that their resources are great, and
that their power over audiences has not dimin
ished, fail to relieve their nervous fears. Each
new effort subjects them to a similar strain.
The fine, nervous organization, as easily dis
turbed, is no doubt a chief cause of their mag
netic power.
Robert Hall, in the fullness of his strength
could never enter the pulpit without trembling;
and the same is said to have been true of the
bold and jovial Lather.
George Canning, though he swayed Parlia
ment by his eloquence, and seemed always to
have absolute mastery over himself and his re
sources, could hardly sit still from nervous tre
mor when about to speak. One evening in the
Honse of Commons, he said to Sir James Mack
intosh, “Feel my pulse; It is going like a steam
engine. I am sure to succeed.” He was correct,
for he made one of his most brilliant and power
ful speeches. Great power of any kind is sur-
to draw heavily on brain and nerves. Nature
has sten laws of compensation.
Salt for mo Throat.
An exchange says: In these days when dis
eases of tbe throat prevail, and particularly a
dry, backing cough, whioh is not only distress
ing to ourselves but to those with whom we are
brought into business contact, those thus afflict
ed may be benefited by trying the following
remedy: Last fall we were induced to try wbat
virtue there was in common salt in about half a
tumbler of cold water, and with this we gargled
the throat most effectually just before meal time.
The result has been that daring the winter we
were not only free from tbe asaal coughs and
colds, to which, as far as onr memory extends,
we hav always been subject, but the dry, backing
cough has entirely disappeared. We attribute
it entirely to the salt gargle, and do most cor
dially recommend it to those of our readers who
are subjeot to diseases of the throat.
A Monkey’s Frolic,
The other day, after the visitors had retired
from the New York Aquarium, a sportive mon
key known by the name of “Sullivan” was allow
ed the freedom of the bnilding, when, after
duly inspecting the fishes in the various tanks,
he sought a higher field of operations. He ran
np one of the pillars and amused himself by
hanging head downward, This did not seem
to satisfy his desire for fun, as, with a sudden
spring he bounded upon a statue of Venus which
stood upon a shelf above the seul tank, when
his weight toppled it over, and “Sullivan” and
Venus arrived in the seal tank together. Venus-
unfortunately, fell upon Ned, one of the train,
ed seals, fractnring his skull and sealing his
fate for all time. “Sullivan” ■*—-»
returned to his cage unhurt.
was captured and