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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