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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 ple. 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 pronounced good—ripe! 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 Conductor.” 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 once. 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 bery. 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 eternal home! 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 been. 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. Old Condcctob. Personal Gossip. 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 Fashion Notes. 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 worn. Maltese crosses of diamonds are fashionable pendants. 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 dressy costumes. 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 New York. Ignorance of Young German Girls of the Mobility. 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 emigrants: 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, Fan Flashes. 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 a cent.’ ‘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 round them.’ ‘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 favor. ‘ 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. She says: 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 beyond dispute. 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. NEW ADVERTISEMENTS. OPERA HOUSE. BBI G?0 LI’S IT ASIAN ©FISA. GRAND COMBINATION! If R. DE VIVO takes pleasure in announcing ONLY ill ONE NIGHT of ITALIAN OPERA, Tuesday Evening, February 26th. When Donizetti's charming Opera, in four Acta, DON PASQUALE, 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. Signor Tomasi, 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.