Literary Green Fruit
Its Growth and Ripening.
“The fruit to ripen
Most first be green.”—Old sen4.
Neither does it ripen all at once. Perfection
in not like the magician’s plant, which springs
from the naked soil into leaf, bad, and blossom,
all together, bat it develops slowly, like the
steady century plant, that through all its long
life is being fitted for the day, when its wonder
ful bloom bunts forth—perfect at last It w. s
blow by blow, which wrought the graceful stat
ue the world raves over; and even from the Be
ginning of all things, we find perfection the re
sult of time and work—for, it was after six days
of labor, when the great Creator looked forth
upon His mighty handiwork “and saw that it
was good and perfect”
It is the little by little, that makes the per
fect whole; and it was faith, hope, and charity,
oombined, to despise not the day of little things.
Have yon ever thought of this, when devour
ing a delicious apple—of the slow stages it had
to pass through before it was sufficiently perfect
to tempt your palate ? An apple is a little thing,
but it has a place in history, and the business
of becoming an apple is an extremely small affair
but how perfect in all its parts!
The first heralding of the fruit to come, is the
mysterious warming and quickening of the sap
through the veins of the tree. This is sly moth
er Nature’s own work—we cannot Bee how she
does it, but we see what follows— the breaking
of the many coral buds from the brown bark;
and in a little while, under the blessings of sun
and shower, we see them burst into a glory of
bloom. Beautiful, matchless apple blossoms;
and alas! how often we reft the tree of its trea
sure, unmindful that some where under the
pearly leaves and perfume, is th embryo ap
But let the bloom cany out the design of its
creation, and in the right time it will wither and
drop, leaving behind a tiny green marble, too
insignificant to be termed apple, but for all
that, it is an apple, and perhaps contains the
power, undeveloped, though it is, of reaohing as
great perfection as that ripened fruit on a neigh
boring tree, which chanced to have left the
nursery of green-apple-dom at an earlier age.
Just wait; for it is a fact beyond dispute, that
all fruit, however perfect in form and flavor,
was first bitter and green, and don’t expect to
find it sweet and mellow. Let the little green
marbles grow, and when the god of the harvest
is ready, your green fruit will turn red and gold,
and will hang ready to drop into your garners—
each apple a little feast of itself. Then, we have
the perfect end of a small and slow begining.
Happy bird!—those ‘saddest of words’—the
‘sad-what-might-have-been’—never ring in his
ears, as he views the ‘battle-wreck’ of bruised
seed and gashed cores. No phantom ‘green
fruit’—the sad-eyed young literary aspirants ne
has slaughtered, ever rise before him, suggest
ing the legions of possible Dickenses and De
Si ads; Hark Twains and Bulwers; Shaksperes
and Josh Billingses he has lost the world for
ever! Suppose yon were strolling through a
flower garden, where all the flowers were roses,
and all the roses of one kind; one size, scent and
color, you would, doubtless, soon weary of the
sameness, and it would be a relief to see a
flaunting sun-flower raising its yellow disk in
the midst of the rose-red. So it is with our
orchards—all sweet, or all sour apples fail to
satisfy our fickle taste; so we plant all varieties;
and more than any other do we set store by the
hard winter apples, which ere to ripen >n tiro®
for household use. Ripeness is the crown
ing stage; decay soon follows, and if there was
no green fruit in the midst of the summer ripe
ness, the golden pippens for the winter night’s
feast would be wanting. So even ‘ ‘green fruit"
has its mission; there must be a second crop to
supply the market as the ripe fruit goes out;
and sometimes the ‘second crop’ is the best,
too. Then, take heart. O, ye green ones! the
young literary tree need not always droop and
die—the caterpillers, potato-bugs, and all, not
withstanding. And, remember, that everything
in life—yes, even editors and critics—however
big and ripe, was first little and ‘green,’accord
ing to its nature. Everything must have a be
ginning, and editorial easy chairs, and such
like, don’t reward one’s efforts all at once.
There is magic soothing syrup in all this for
crushed hopes and aching hearts; still it is well
that there are low degrees in every aim and vo
cation in life. Like the red rose garden, living
would be very monotonous if everybody and
every work were perfeot—if there were no flints
to get over—no green fruit to ripen. Heaven
be praised, it is not so! To have our labor re
sult in perfection, is a sweet reward, yet some
of us must be content as only workers, and—
only ‘green fruit’ But we have two trusty
helpers as we struggle through the stages from
green to ripe—they are Time and Culture—and
wonderful genii they are! causing the wilder
ness to bloom as the rose—so to speak—and
bringing ‘from thistles, grapes.’ We are told
that the original peach was deadly poison until
cultivation conjured it into the most delicious
of fruit. And, then, we all know what a fine
thing cultivation did for the monkeys!
In a similer manner does another sort of fruit
spring into life—alike in beginning, if not in the
satisfactory results, the fruit of that great field
of good and evil products—literature. Not more
secret is the inner portion of the apple tree’s
buds, than is the first thrill or to use a better
term, chill—we young bushes experience on the
awakening of the germs ofliterary blossoms in
our hearts and heads.
The world around us knows not, nor dreams
not, of the secret we carry—of our budding
hopes—hopes, oh, so often frost-bittin right off!
— nor of first fruit that follows—provided the
blosoms escaped frost—of the Children-of- th e-
Abbey-blood-and-thnnder species, too wonder
ful for anything! and such fruit aa we are often
accused of having‘filched.’ Where is the quill-
driver who remembers not the season of his
talent putting forth leaf and blossom ? Some
times it is a ‘dry’ season—oh, so dry ! the aspir
ing tree finding little encouragement from the
literary elements. Again it may appropriately
be called a *wet’ spell—a regular down-pour of
salt-water to some of us, threatening to wash up
our little tree, root, and branches—an d drowns
with it, all courage to re plant and try again.
The literary garden is full of such little strug
gling bushes—dwarf pears; ‘ green crabs;’ and
stubborn, luxuriant goose-berry bushes; each,
putting forth fruit of its kind, but such poor
stunted fruit! Occasionally a compassionate
husbandman laboring in this literary wilder
ness, spies one of ub ambitious little bushes
trying to grow, and he takes us in hand; tender
ly prunes and trains our strugglingbranches into
comely shape; and with subtile art and experi
ment tries to instill some of the needful power
and sweetness into our imperfect productions.
But one of the many draw-backs to our growth
is that where—as we have so few of these tender
hearted gardeners to look after us, and see that
we become respectable youngs trees, there are so
many, in this garden who are insanely, desper
ately opposed to our class of vegetation taking
not— human caterpillers and potato-bugs, and
others, who often blight us beyond recovery.
Because we are not old veteran trees whose
roots have struck deeper every year for an
hundred years, these wise insects want to pull
as up—buzzing indignantly at the idea of us
ever being any other than young saplings,
whose fruit will never ripen! The ounning
fanner ream aloft in his fields, for the protec
tion of his fruit and grain, a frightful compound
of old clothes and poles, bearing the suggestive
name of scare-crow, and scare crows it does
when those old marauders come on a thieving
expedition. But alas! we poor green fruit of
literature have no such defense against those
hungry old birds who come to demolish us—
critics of a certain class. Our kind gardeners
can’t scare ’em off—they peck, taste and test
our fruit; and ugh! what gaping wounds the
old bird leaves after taking a bite out of us—
declares us “green" and tosses us away; and
without a pang—for birds are not supposed to
have consciences, and not a qualm—for green
fruit never disagrees with ’em, they prowl
around the literary orchard for more misera
ble green fruit to tear to pieces. Oh! what
an amount of tearing and biting the entire
collection undergoes, before some one of us is
A Trip Up the Savannah River.
Passengers for the Rosa. Among the Rice
Fields. Angnsta. Old Friends.
A rather insignificant craft appeared our little
steamboat, the Rosa, as she lay among the large
ocean steamers that flecked the river at Savan
nah, but very cosy was she within, and quite a
variety of human character soon occupied her
deoks or disappeared into her snug cabin. Here
they come—a dimpled young beauty, who trips,
basket in hand, beside an iron-gray old gentle
man, evidently her father; a pater fumilias, his
gentle-looking wife and four rosy children, from
the land of flowers, as we see by the card on his
* Saratoga,’ lumbering behind them. That white-
haired old gentleman, who walks the plank with
the feebleness of age, is evidently a person of
consequence; hats are touched and hands stretch
ed out to him on every side—a great general or
learned professor perhaps, or more probably a
moneyed man, who has heaped up a pile of gold
en dross, by self-seeking, extortion or swind
ling speculation. No matter. ‘ The world will
love thee when thou dost well by thyself.’ Here
comes a woman, holding a crying child by one
hand, and a big basket with the other; a little
timid nervous creature, seeming out of place in
this laughing, busy crowd. No one lifts a hat to
her, no hand is held out to relieve her of the
crying boy or the heavy basket; her plain garb
indicates poverty, and the old book says ‘the
poor is separated from his neighbor.’ Yes, one
greets her kindly, helps her across the plank,
lifts the boy over on a strong arm, and escorts
our little lady to the cabin, as gallantly as if she
was dressed in silk attire. From this, we take
mem. that our boat has a gentleman, whether he
be Captain or parser.
The plank is shoved in, the rope untied and ! lu ■ , . , . •
* « .1 A_ i;_„ _ j and in order to bring my tram back safely I had
ttAHAOAD CONDUCTORS’ COLUMN.
The Experiences of An “Old
Incidents. Hair-Breadth Escapes, etc-
The winter of 1856, was the most severe of
any in my recollection. The month of January
was extremely cold and disagreeable, through
out. During the previous month of December
the ground was frozen the entire month, and
seemed only to grow firmer and freeze deeper in
January. Icicles hung from all the tanks along
the Western and Atlantic railroad, from six to
eight inches in diameter, and the walls of the
deep cuts on the road, were vast sheets of ice.
At four o’clock on the morning of the 8th of
January, 1856, I left Atlanta for Chatfanooga, as
conductor of a freight train. I had the old “In
diana, ’’ and to her were attached eleven freight
cars—having two train hands and regular crew
on the engine. The morning was intensely
dark, and the coldest of this terrible winter.
When I started out I put one of my train hands
on the engine, to aid the fireman, as we had
green frozen wood, and kept the other in the
rear car with me. I had no cab, such as are us
ed now, nor was there a single break on the
train. As was commonly the case in those days,
I put a car in the rear of the train that bad
“spoke wheels, “ so in case of an accident, we
could chock the wheels with a piece of timber
between the spokett. One of the standing or
ders of the road, was that the conductors should
provide themselves with good, sound, chochs.
From Atlanta to the Chattanooga itiver it is
down grade, 45 feet to the mile, and a car start
ed with a good send-off, would drive on at will,
to the river. On that dreadful morning, when
we had gotten out about three miles from Atlan
ta, my train hand and myself crouched up in
the front end of that cold, empty, tireless car,
stamped our feet upon the floor, and rubbed
our hands together to keep from freezing- We
discerned after awhile that we were moving
along quite leisurely, and on going to the door
and looking forward, found that the engine and
eight of the cars, had become disengaged from
the three rear cars, and were out of sight. We
got our chochs and jumped out, and ran along
with the cars, watching our opportunity, and
finally succeeded in driving a huge stick of
wood between the spokes, and when the wheel
came up against the body of tne car it stopped
it. I left my train hand with a signal at the
front end of the three cars, and ran on two
miles to the five mile station, then in use, and
overtook my engineer taking wood and water.
From that station buck to the point where the
three cars were left, the road is very crooked,
we are gone. Now the city lies a mile behind,
and we see rice fields all around. On we go,
and the beanty is entrancing. The sun shines,
and the sky is blue; yonder a planter’s home,
with live oaks draped in moss, and here a rice
mill, where negroes are working and singing at
One Florida gentlewoman takes her seat at
the sweet-toned cabin piano, and soon a group
is around her; her music is as tender and lovely
as the scenes through which we are gliding.
In a day we are a hundred miles and more
from Savannah, have paused to drop passengers
and freight, and to take in others. At one place
we take in a burly hunter, with his dogs, horse,
gun and—buggy ! The buggy, we learn, is to do
duty in a very especial way. The Carolinian is
smitten with a fair Georgia lady, and hopes to
give her a ride in his dainty turn-out. By the
way, he finds a rival on board, even the man of
wealth and—age. We are but travelers of a day,
however, and cannot pause to learn the issue of
this interesting rencounter.
When Augusta is fully forty miles off by water,
we enter the famed corn lands. Huge piles of
corn, sacked for market, are taken on board.
These rich lands are subject to overflow, how
ever, and the planter is never assured of his crop
until it is harvested. Two years ago, many
thousand bushels of corn were lost by an unex
pected spring flood.
We pause at a picturesque landing. The Cap
tain essays to leave. ‘ Ah ! no, they will surely
come in a minute,’ says the man on the landing.
The Captain seems a little impatient, for much
freight lies between him and Augusta. Directly
a buggy rattles down to the landing. A young
man lifts a fair girl to the ground, then leads
her into the boat. He is so devoted and withal
so timid, as he meets the gaze of the ourious;
she is so conscious of being observed, yet so de
termined to be at ease with her cavalier, that the
ladies glance knowingly at each other, and mark
them down as bride and groom. The gentle-
mannered stewardess, anxious to honor the
young couple, relieves them of basket and shawl,
places the gentleman's heavy shawl in the lady’s
state-room, and returns smilingly, hoping to do
them further favors.
The whistle blows—the young man springs to
his feet, looks for his shawl—then the illusion
vanishes. He is no groom, and she no bride.
‘But they are lovers,’ says an officer, ‘and came
near being left this time, too. We left ’em last
week; they were so slow coming.’
Augusta is certainly more pleasing than Sa
vannah from a river view. Bay street is com
posed of dwelling-houses, fronting the river.
Some of them are very handsome; others are
pretty, attractive houses, embowered in shrub
We passed into Broad street, and remained
some hours in this ever-changing scene. Here,
there, hither, the moments were foil of interest.
Now in the Great Canton Tea Store, trying to
glean from Lookum Yon and Loo Chong an in
sight into their thoughts of us Christian Ameri
cans. ‘ I like um well; ebrybody no trouble me,'
says the younger. ‘And China—Canton ?’ ‘Same
ting—nobody trouble me.’ Ah! John, all you
want is to be let alone. ‘ And our religion ?’
Here John was blank and murmured inaudibly.
Well, we commend their fine teas—the best and
cheapest we ever tried.
Now, we are before a counter diving into the
mystery of lamps of every ilk. “How do you
do, brother ?” The voice is resonant and sweet
we turn to see who the speaker is. Two or
three gather about him, and he talks. We
strangers forget oar lamps and listen, for by
some incomprehensible power we feel that the
speaker belongB to us, as well as those toiling
men who listen so earnestly. A kingly man, a
noble and good, for be is not only talking well,
but see, with an utter absence of cant, he is
f iring good papers to those men around him.
f ho is he ? we ask. The preacher at St. James
-Mr. J. We had come f~om a desert land,
where the voice of song and praise was rarely
heard; then, too, our feet had walked in the
dee P ^ ater8 °f great sorrow. Surely these
words, dropped at random on the street, were
to us as “good news from a far country." Go
on,noble preaoher,gathering thy sheaves for the
Taking the street cars, we left the busy street
for an hoc is rest in the city of the dead. Sweet
is this resting place, where nature and art pro
duce a charming beauty.
A short ride hence and we are with friends—
old friends—known twenty years ago, and after
this lapse of time, met again. What changes !
tnen wealth, position, and earth’s pleasures—
now poverty, humility—and—but can we know
how God is thus refining his gold ?
The day closes—we part-one to the east, the
other to the south. Will we ever meet again,
or must I wait till that bright morning for the
kind, gentle spirit whioh has brightened my
way ? Gaon Hampswd.
to get up on top of the cars at the front, run
ning rearward. It seemed to be the idea of my
engineer to keep his eye on a straight line back,
when indeed, I was frequently to the right or
left fifty feet from a direct line to the rear.
When we came near the cars I gave the signal,
which was unheeded. I repeated it again and
again, but all the signals to stop were not seen,
for reasons stated above. I ran to the engine
and mistook the straight line of a shadow
against the rear of the tender which was occa
sioned by my hand lantern and the end of the
car on which I stood, I made a long leap to
reach the tender, and struck the toes of my
boots against the rear end of the tender, and
fell down astride the pulling bar with my feet
dragging the ground. Knowing that in a mo
ment we would strike the cars, and that if I re
mained there I would be driven through the
end of the front Cjvbvthe crash, I climbed up
and threw myseTz*C®fr~uie tender just as the
crash came, and, nk I had supposed, the force
of the sadden stop drove the end of the tender
into the car. If I had been ten seconds later,
it is useless to state what the result would have
But, on that memorable day I was destined to
escape death by a miracle still greater, if possi
ble, than in the above case. Having cleared
the wreck by 8 o’clock a. m., I proceeded on my
way. In the afternoon the clouds cleared away,
the sun shone out a little warm, and my train
hand—a lively, good fellow—and myself went
out on top of the train about two miles south
of Kingston. We were up near the engine,
which was running fifteen miles per hour. We
were teasing each other, and having knocked
ofi his hat it was necessary for me to retreat to
the rear, which I did, and my train hand after
me. I ran as fast as I could, the train in rapid
motion, but it seems I did not look well to the
front, as I heard my hand scream at the top of
his voice; I looked back, but thought he was
only trying to detain me, as he was making vio
lent signs; whereupon I faced to the rearward
and continued to run, when, to my horror, the
train had uncoupled and past, driving at will,
and at least twelve or fourteen feet from the
end of the car on which I was then running, at
full speed. It was impossible for me to stop, I
was so close to the gap, and by almost super
human effort I leaped the opening and landed
perpendicularly on the extreme edge of the
jostling car. The train hand Baw the danger
before I did, and hence his fright.
Bayard Taylor, the great traveler, is nominated
for the embassy to Germany.
James Gordon Bennet seems to be a theoreti
cal blue-beard. He is engaged to another girl.
Hon. Gideon Wells, Secretary of the Navy
under Lincoln’s administration is dead.
When Senator David Davis is measured for
clothes the tailor always politely requsts him to
‘ please hold the end while I go around.’
Miss Mary Anderson expects to go abroad in
June, but wishing to preserve her American in
dividuality will not take lessons from any master
in the dramatio art.
Hon. Charles M. Conrad, successively mem
ber of Congress, United States Senator and Sec
retary of War under President Fillmore died at
New Orleans lately aged seventy-three years.
William Welsh, the well-known philanthropist
and merchant of Philadelphia died suddenly
last week of heart disease. He dropped to the
floor, surrounded by bis beneficiaries while
visiting Will’s Eye Hospital.
Mrs. Abby Sage Richardson is lecturing in the
West, and her son, Leander P. Rirchardson, who
wasn’t scalped, but should have been,is writing
a story called ‘ No Slouch. ’ It is unnecessary to
inform the average reader that Leander is not
the hero of the story.
On the fourth instant Miss Bessie Darling, a
favorite ‘society actress,’ gave a series of read
ings at the residence of Senator Gordon in Wash
ington. Miss Darling received quite au ova
tion, from the wealth and culture of the Capitol.
Mr. Leander J. McCormick, of Chicago has
offered his great telescope to the Yirgina Legis
lature for the State University at Charlottesville.
There is now a bill pending before the Legisla
ture accepting and making provision for the
conditions of the gift, which are that an obser
vatory be erected for it at a cost of $50,000.
William Trainor, age 16 years, while butting
his head against the heads of two schoolmates,
several miles northwest of Pottstown, on Friday
last, to see whose skull could stand the most, re
ceived such injuries as to cause his death the
same evening. He recited his lessons in the
afternoon, but while walking near home in the
evening became sick and dizzy, and soon after
wards died. A physician said he had ruptured a
blood-vessel in his head.
Miss Hannah Rothschild, the English heiress,
has in her own right, $120,000 per annum. The
marriage of the young lady which is to take
place in March, will be celebrated according to
the Jewish and Christian rites. She is not only
an heiress, hors ligne, but, like many of the
ladies of her family, an enthusiast in music and
art, and has very pronunoed opinions upon po
litics and all other matters. On the Eeastern 1
question she is pro-Turkish.
Answers to Correspondents.
George asks; * When was gold first discovered?
And was it always used as it is at this time ?’—
The disoovery of gold is lost in antiquity. In
the antideluvian days, many were renowned for
their accumulated gold and silver. It strikes us
that in biblical timeB, gold must have been more
plentiful than it is now, because it was exten
sively used in their temples, gates, etc.
Little Anna says: ‘As you are aware, wears
getting up an entertainment here called the
* Mistletoe Bough; ’ being an active participant,
and possessing one of those inquisitive minds—
accredited to Mother Eve—I come to you with
the inquiry. Who was the author of the same ?
By answering the above, you will very much
oblige one of your thousand little Atlanta
friends ?’ With unlimited pleasure we gratfy
the laudable curiosity of dear little Annie, and
we shall feel delighted to hear from her again.
The author was Thomas Haynes Bayley.
‘Want-to-know,’ asks: ‘Why have I not re
ceived answers to the many letters which I have
written to various parties advertising in the
Correspondence Column ? Is that the only
recompense, (unadulterated disappointment!
which a poor fellow receives, when he trusts his
matrimonial hopes in your keeping. We
Russian laces are ooming in favor.
Circle cloaks are growing in favor.
Point lace mittens are worn by brides.
Knife-blade pleating is as popular as ever.
Bonnets of kid and of velvet are considered
the most stylish.
Undressed black Swedish gloves are very pop
ular for demi-toilet.
The most fashionable fur stoles are of black,
white, or silver fox furs.
Fur linings and fur borderings are having a
decided run at present.
High combs of rustic designs in gold are
Maltese crosses of diamonds are fashionable
Embossed and Jacquard woven velvets are
destined to hi ve only a temporary reigin.
Many ladies of mstidious tastee rejeoi the ■ compound interest every day
varigated jet trimmings and embroideries.
The gypsy ring with the jewel embedded in
gold is the engagement ring of the moment.
Outside facings appear on many of the hand
somest cloaks where a quiet effect is aimed at.
Box-pleated flounces of medium depth ap
pear on the front of the latest Paris dresses.
Bows of ribbon, with the ends finished with
tassels of various kinds, are seen on nearly all
Fringes, gimps, passementeries, and other
dress trimmings are gorgeous with varigated jet
beads this season.
Sleeves are no long trimmed at the wrist,
broad cuffs of lace or linen, or embroidered
cambric having come in to such general use.
Lace-trimmed lingerie, in the form of fichus
and chemisette for very young girls is a Paris
fashion designed to become very popular in
Ignorance of Young German Girls of the
Ootavia Hensel writes, that a few months in
the aristocratio circles of Vienna are enough to
utterly astonish—I had almost said disgust—
any one with the slightest intelligence, at the
frightful ignorance, the utter neglect of intel
lectual culture, and the refining influence of art
and musio in the education of the children of
the nobility. This is plain speaking, but it is
true. I once said to a young countess that her
ignorance of the history and geography of her
own country surprised me. ‘Yes,’ she replied,
‘if I was not a noble it would be necessary for
me to know something ; but I am a countess; I
shall marry a prince, perhaps, and who will
dare to say that Madame la PrinceBse is stupid?
I know as muoh as my companions. It is so
bourgeoise to be educated!’
This is the root of the evil, their pride of
rank, their self-sufficiency. _ Governesses and
tutors are not to blame, their power is limited
by the indulgence of the parents. I speak of
the titled aristocracy, of families where the
governess occupies a subordinate position. She
eats at the table with the family when guests
are not present, but she is never seen in the
parlor, never at soiree or children’s ball. She
is expected to be nursemaid, ladiesmaid, and
teacher, live alone, and die alone, and nobody
care, except for the inconvenienoe the funeral
might cause. I have seen a little countess bite
the hand of the governess till blood came, and
when my indignant exclamations called the
mother to the room, the oounteBs took the little
imp on her lap, and, kissing her, said, ‘poor
little darling, how norvouB she is!’ Then she
turned to the suffering governess, ‘wipe your
hand, mademoiselle, and amuse the darling.’
And yet, for the sake of a home, the poor crea
tures endure this treatment. I do not wonder
America seems as a ‘land of promise’ to them.
McCormick, our favorite “Dick,” haring deci
ded to take from os onr marines, now wants to
exhibit the education of America at the ooming
exposition. Now if he really wants to show
what we. can do in the matter of education let
him take the whole Cave of the Winds, and if
they don’t make those frisky Gauls weep with
envy, I am mistaken.
A LETTER FROM MISSOURI.
A prominent lawyer thus writes us from Hsr-
risonville, Missouri, and we call special atten
tion to the attractions which he holds out to
Enclosed please find $3.00 with whioh to pay
for Sunny South during the year. In anticipa
tion of the resumption of specie payment, I had
to cease taking your paper last year. But in
view of the remoBitization of silver, I concluded
to risk it again, anyhow.
Does Senator Ben Hill reflect the sentiments
of his constituents on the money question ? We
would like to hear from you upon this point, as
we have no other means of ascertaining the
viev s of your citizens upon this question.
We have had a very mild, but wet winter.
Our prospects for wneat are splendid; our lands
cheap and productive, and our schools cannot
be surpassed. Would like to have some of your
good farmers oome out and visit onr country, if
they desire to locate in the West. Good un
improved land can be bought at from $5. to $10.
per acre, while well improved real estate ranges
in price from $12,50 to $25. per acre—depending
upon location, improvement, etc. Our county
is settled with citizens mostly from Virginia,
Kentucky, Ohio, Illinois and Indiana.
I did not intend to write a communication,
and will therefore close. Hoping the enclosed
post-office order may reach you safely, I remain
yours respectfully, R. T. R.
In reply to the question concerning Mr. Hill
we can Bafely say that he does not represent the
views of a majority of his constituents on the sil
ver question by a great deal.—Ed. Sunny South,
Nature seldom makes a phool; she simply
furnishes the raw material, and lets the fellow
finish the job to suit himself.—Josh Billings.
‘Does the razor take hold well ?’ asked the
smiling barber. ‘Yes,’ replied the unhappy vic
tim, ‘it takes hold well, bat it don’t let go worth
‘I thought you told me that ’s fever was
gone off,’ said a gentleman, ‘I did so,’ said his
companion, but forgot to mention that he went
off along with it’
Discussion between a wise child and its tutor.
—‘that star you see up there is bigger than this
world.’ ‘No, it isn’t’ ‘Yes, it is.’ ‘Then why
doesn’t it keep the rain off?’
A greenhorn sat a long time, very attentive,
musing upon a cane-bottom ohair. At length
he said: ‘I wonder what fellow took the trouble
to find all them ar holes, and to put the straws
‘My hair is eighteen years older than my
whiskers,’said a lawyer, *and I cannot under
stand why my whiskers should turn gray first.
‘Because you have worked so much more wit’h
your jaws than with your brains.’
have imperative laws in connection with our
Correspondence Department, which are ignored
by some. When these laws are strictly adhered
to, everything works smoothly, provided the
parties written to choose to answer the letters
received. Of one thiBg we can assure you, if
your letters were sent to this office in a blank
envelope, with an extra stamp for re-mailing,
they were certainly sent to the parties designa
ted, if their true address was in our possession,
which is not always the case; even then, we pub
lish all letters which remain over. Try youT
luck once again, perhaps the Fates may prove
more propitious next time. ‘Faint heart never
won fair lady,’ and ‘disappointment" is anything
but nutritious. We should delight at being in
strumental in changing the, current in your
‘ Engaged’ asks: ‘ Will you please tell me just
the amount of clothing whith constitues a hand
some bridai outfit ? And would you advise a
newly-married couple to keep house or board
Which do you most approve, public or private
ceremonies ? I mean at one’s home or in the
churoh. By giving me the desired information,
you will very much oblige a true friend of the
genial Sunny South.’—The amount of clothing
requisite to constitute a bridal outfit, we serious
ly think entirely dependent upon the length of
one’s purse. With plenty ol money, you have
only to consult your taste and inclination.
Otherwise, a very few additions to one’s ward
robe, made up a la mode, will answer every pur
pose. The same infallible rule will apply to the
ostentatious cuBtom of public ceremonies
Whilst they are not objectionable, provided the
parties can afford the pageant, yet for many sub
stantial reasons, we unhesitatingly advocate a
quiet marriage at home. If you understand
housekeeping it is a married woman’s terrestial
heaven. If yon do not understand the modus
operandi, the pleasure of learning will draw
that you live
‘Boarding-houses’ have destoyed more lives,
alienated more families, severed more friends,
than any other institution extant A woman’s
true sphere is in her domestic circle.
An Issue on the Bbidle Question.—a distin
guished lady of Augusta Ga. takes issue with us
on an answer to the lady on horseback. There
is no one in the world better posted than this
accomplished lady, and we have therfore the
highest respect for her opinions on thi6 subject,
If she differs witn ns on any point we always
feel like “giving in” and adopting her views.
In the answers to correspondents in the last
number of yonr sprightly paper there is one to
Roxana W. of Ark., wnich I am going to take
the liberty of correcting. A lady should hold
her reins in her left hand. The position in
the saddle to be square necessitates this. The
lady should be able to look directly between the
horses ears. If the reins are held in the right
hand it throws the body out of position, this is
easily proved by testing. In the left hand it
keeps the body “square" in the saddle. The
English, who are the authorities all over the
world in “horsey” matters, have Bottled this
Very sincerely yonrs
Louise W. K.
List of letters remaining in this office, Feb,
17th, uncalled for:
Pearlie Vane, 2; Henry C. Tanner, 1; Kathe-
leen, 2; Frank de Colma, 1; Dante, 1; Louise, of
Kentnckv, 5; Kilsington, 4; Fred Howard, 1;
Floyd Janetto, 5; M. R. E., 1; Violante Rieo-
bocca, 1; Violet and Petite Daisy, 4; Lois Vivion,
2; Viola, 1; Percy de Qaand, 1; Devigne, 2; V.
B. Temple, 1; Birdie Dapsie, 1; Willie Ray, 1;
Minnie Achers, 5;Rose, 1; Sybil, 1; Ollie Lee, 5;
Miss E. A. L., 1; Estelle, 1; Gertrude, 1; Mable
Lanier, 5; Watchme, 4.
BBI G?0 LI’S
IT ASIAN ©FISA.
If R. DE VIVO takes pleasure in announcing ONLY
ill ONE NIGHT of
Tuesday Evening, February 26th.
When Donizetti's charming Opera, in four Acta,
Will be given, with the following best ensemble of ar
tists which ever appeared here :
Mile. Galimberti, as Norina.
Signor Brignoli, as Ernesto.
S g G. Tagliapietra, as Dr-Malatesta
Signor Susini, as Don Pasquale-
Signor Ciccone. as the Notary.
Musical Director and Conductor.
N. B.-Nicnor OICCONB, the celebrated Clarionet Solo
ist. will play a Fantasia on Lncrezia Bor. la between the
first and second acts.
General Admirsiou $1.00
Reserved Sear* 1JI
For sale at Phillips A Crew's, commencing'Saturday
morning, February 88d.