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r<s>a JOHN H. SEALS. - Editor and Proprietor W. Q. SEALS, - Proprietor and Cor. Editor. 3£RS. MARY E, BRYAN (*) Associate Editor. ATLANTA, GEORGIA, JULY 20, 1878. The Newspaper Stage Critic —In •Macleod of Dare,’ Mr. Black’s new novel, the clever author shows up the dramatic critic of the ordinary type to be found in. towns, and not unfrequently in those more pretentious col lections of houses, called cities. Miss Gertrude White, the heroine, is an actress, whom experi ence has disillusioned ot enthusiasm for her pro fession, but who is yet wholly conscientious about her work, studies assiduously and feels that she has earned a right to the plaudits that a-6 liberally bestowed upon her. But these disgust her when she sees thov are lavishly be stowed on other actresses who have no claim to praise—or some girl in a burlesque who, struts up and down the stage and smokes a cigar with an air. The house roars and the reporter for the paper next morning commends the burlesquer as highly as he could a true artist.’ ‘Oh those papers V cries Miss Gertrude. ‘I have been making minute inquiries of late; and I find that the usual way in these towns is to let the young literary aspirant who has just joined the office, or the clever compositor who has been promoted to the sub-editor’s room, try his hand first of all -reviewing books and then turn him' on to dra matic and musical criticism ! Occasionally a -reporter, who has been round the police-courts to get notes of the night-charges, will drop into the theatre on his way to the office, and ‘do a par., as they call it. Will you believe it possi ble that the things written of me by these persons w jth their pretentious airs of criticism, and their gross ignorance cropping up at every point —have the power to vex and annoy me most ter ribly? I laugh at the time; but the phrase rankles m my memory all the same. One learn ed young man said of me the other day: ‘It is really distressing to mark the want of unity in her artistic characterizations when one regards the natural advantages that nature has heaped upon her!’ ‘And perhaps, also,’he went'on to say. ‘Miss White would do well to pay some at tention before venturing on pronouncing the classic names of Greece. Iphigenia herself would not have answered to her name if she had heard it pronounced with the accent on the fourth syl lable.’ . ■ Is it not too ridiculous that such things should *w I should be s t absolutely at thei^son oimve ar mercy of the opinion oFthe people wfidse juag-'j^'*-'**- ° “ ment I know to be absolutely valueless ? I find the same thing all around me. I find a middle- aged actor, who knows his work thoroughly, and seen all the best actors of the past quarter of a century, will go about quite proudly with a scrap of approval from some newspaper, written by a voung man who has never travelled beyond the snrburbs of his native town and has seen no acting beyond that of the local company.’ * Turner’s First Picture.—We have read a pleasing anecdote of the first manifesta tion of genius on the part of the great artist the idol of Mr. Buskin, who is himself the great est of word painters. West took his first art- inspiration from the face of his baby sister whom her little Nil About I.<OVe letters.—Is there auy young lady over fifteen who has not receiv ed at least one love-letter, conned it over a doz en times, ftom date to signature, and laid it away in the most sacred corner of her trun k ? or any young gentleman, who has attained the grave and dignified age of eighteen, that has not perspired over the inditement of one of these precious epistles, to the dark-eyed lady of his adoration, with Webster's Dictionary and the ‘ Complete Letter-Writer’ beside him ? Oh ! what a deal of ink and paper and valua ble time have been wasted in telling that old, sweet story, ‘I love thee, I love thee,’ which, un like other things, never grows stale, and never will, so long as youth carries a warm heart with in its bosom. Wasted, did we say ? We recall the word. That which gives innocent pleasure is never wasted, else the beauty of sunsets, the sweetness of flowers, the music- of bird and breeze are all in vain. No, not wasted: for of what pure joy, what heart-throbs that sent the blood to the cheek and a tremor to the white fingers, have these little missives been produc tive ? Can we not all remember our first love- letter, and the tumult it excited under our bod ice—how we stole away to the solitude of our own white-curtained room, locked the door, read and re-read the precious billet, and at night laid it beside our pillows, as little girls do their dolls, to be conned over at earliest day. It is said that romance dies out of the heart with its quickly sp’ent youth, as the rose-blush fades from the sky, when the morning melts in to day. But we cannot believe this true. Ev ery human heart keeps a little corner sacred to romance, where worldly cares and sordid feel ings mav not enter, and whose sanctuary is nev er profaned by the disenchanting presence of ‘practical common sense.’ We see this in Ihe care and tenderness with which the ‘fair, fat and forty’ matron hoards the little satin bound package of yellow, lavender- scented love-letters, that were once chief among her girlish treasures, and which she still reads over occasionally with moistened eyes, when she lights upon them in searching for some missing skein of silk. . , Next to reading a love-letter written to one s sell, it is most pleasant to read those addressed to others. Some rare samples of these have come under our observation—samples to which it seems impossible to attach any romance whatev er; for just think of a smitten swain telling a girl that he loves her with a little i, or spelling the ‘magic word’ with a u, and writing on blue foolscap paper with the edges notched with a pair of shears, as we have seen in our country experiences. But they have another kind of love-letter in that ‘land of the myrtle and vine’ —a love-letter, the sweetest, the most poetical that can be imagined, and no thanks to enamel ed paper or extract of violets either. In the Foason of love and roses and mating birds, the sweet secret upon the fragrant snow-white petals of the Magnolia Grandifiora, and send to 6ach other the love-freighted messengers. Surely, billetdoux more delicate and beautiful could not be devised; the only fault to be found is, that such missives cannot be packed away and preserved; but then, they often last quite as long as tbe vows recorded upon them. Many interesting and curious specimens of love-letters have been bequeathed to literature. We have read the love-letters ofyDean Switt, and seen how the satirist could lay aside the gall into which he so often dipped his pen, and pour the honey of Hybla into those tender words addressed to Stella and Vanessa. We have read the letters of Burns and Clorinda and smiled !»Ien-<Sossips.—The woman Scandal-mon ger is bad enough, in all oonscience, but she is not so contemptible as tfce male retailer of the article. The woman gus^pper has some excuse. Gossip with her is a re^ge of an empty mind. Parental Favoritism.—The lives of the Ancient Patriarchs, as written by the pen of the inspired Historian, teach important lessons in regard to the evils that may result from a display of parental partiality Abraham be- The average woman has no engrossing pursuits oe - ! nnnnniahead aa ! ' !‘ 0 ™ d U ? 0a Isaac most <* ^ love and wealth, Kebecca loved Jacob more than Esau and con- tirived to give him the advantage of his broth er and Jacob in his turn loved Joseph more than he did any of his sons. All of these favorites suffered more or less for this preference of their parents. We may well suppose that the quiet gentle Isaac was all his* life long afraid of the wild, fierce Ishmale who had been driven no business that occuphs head as well as hands. She has been taught, impractical training and example that she li^j nothing to do with politics, science, progfif in art ft nd literature, mechanical iinproveme :s, and all the world of active ideas and of* il results. She meets her dear female friends ivery day. They talk and talk as they ciooM >r rock in low chairs and sway their palm-le^fans. Their few sub jects of conversation arloon worn thread-bare. Having talked a little atat the latest style of overskirt and discusseithe latest sensational item in the daily papeiihey fall into gossip, which is soon thought me unless spiced with scandal. So long as the are women who have no pursuits or aims infe and whose brain is barren of aspiration, slong as there are wo men who have been tfht to bring into the daily conduct of life iwider knowledge, no nobler motives and nqore respect for their minds and souls than any of those we see aronnd us, so long sha'ehave female gossip- pers, and there will b«use for their talking gossip since they can t nothing else. But there is none for male gossipper, who with all a man’s broad d of thought and work opened to him, all a nnvariety of topics made ligitimate-for him to dss, who with the priv- elege to criticise the < and speculate as to Tilden’s secret progme or Tyndal’s next step in searching for life principle, shall yet condescend to loi on side walks and comment on female prs-by. Often, the male iipper is not merely ridiculous, he is peons. His gossip has venem in it. Loungit street corners or in bar-rooms, he is, & vble serpent, striking stealthily under the .* of hint or shrug or sly insinuation. He ‘Conveys a by a frown Anil winksfutation down,’ For it is in winks aninuations, as safe ways | of stabbing,that thesand malicious slander ers usually deal. Sn earnest and feeling writer; ‘the insinutu more to be dreaded than the outspoken. In one case, a plain statement is made, ■ other a great deal is left to the imaginatnd on the vividness of that the honor andation of a woman, in nocent or guilty, idependant. I know so many cases where lent people have been morally murdered careless word or jest; the hand that shot row forgot it, perhaps, as soon hs sent, buieart it struck never got over the wound, imes it has been not a moral bat an actucder. I know a case in this city, and maiou, my gossippers, will remember it also, 1 few years ago a young girl of well-knowny died from a broken heart, caused by salous story started by a masculine vampt moment of drunken boasting. It wsjs st by male and female —r.nd the girl died, and lrderer deserved hanging far more than <0 shoots you down in the streets. The sad part the world likes to beleive the worst. It great delight in people’s affairs. It likibscandals, and the divorce column is the id best read in the news paper. It is interested in anv crime where a womaacerned, and it grows idi- odic over a hi promise. The honor of a respectable iis no sooner attacked than the whole worls to listen. Calumny and slander sticklur, and though you may think you hared it all off’some of it is sure to remai: * RcyomI ISrlok Walls. Wonderful W illotYS.—This week, the weather king drop ped upon us by mistake, a quiver-fall of days meant for the tropios. Thursday was the most fire-tipped of the batch—a day to suggest torrid palms and sun-tanned bread fruits and dusky natives cooling their_naked limbs in reedy wa ters, and tawny tigers lying with red, lolled-out tongues in the depths of the jungle. The ther mometer climbed high among the nineties, the city’s brick walls glowed as if red hot; vainly patent sprinklers and water-work’s hoses fought against dust and caloric. In the afternoon, a breeze sprang up, cool as if it came from kiss- from the parental home that he might enjoy the j the green sea-waves; but relaxed spirits were heirship without a rival. Jacob, who seems to ■ s ^ ow reviving under its spell. The editorial have been as cowardly as he was crafty, was we know, greatly beset by his tears lest the brother whom he had wronged, should avenge his inju ries. Upon Joseph were visited the severest penalties for being a favorite. Torn away from his home at a tender age and carried by strang- brain felt wilted and the editorial body drooped, langurously, and with the touch of the wind came a longing to look on wild greenness and to hear the tinkle of hidden waters. The wish was unexpectedly gratified. We were transported to j ust such a spot of green coolness and hidden waters. The good fairy ers into a strange land, he had for many years came In'tieshape ’of a friend whoTndsTe? to endure the painful humiliations of slavery, happiness in giving pleasure toothers, and seat- and suffer, though underserved, the rigors of by her side, in her pretty, open landau, we • • • • D U’nViAVn A n A* — il J « f VI prison life. We may not suppose that the par ents of our day are more just and discreet than were those worthies of the olden time. The improved manners, and above all, the fact that ontside the dark domains of Mormanism there is rarely seen the spectacle of the children of different living mothers it the same household, render this evil far less now than in the days of which we have been writing. But still parents were borne away from the town’s shadeless cen tre, past the noble mansions and cosy homes of Washington Street, where family groups in light, cool dresses sat under the vine draped porches and looked out at their lovely lawns full of green shrubbery and winding walks, and ro ses, and oleanders, freshened every evening by the spray of the spouting hydrant. Some of these family groups were most picturesque. The one gather on the pillared piazza and velvetylawn in front of the home of Bishop Beckwith was a pleasing tableau, the lady lying back in her in- do exhibt preferences among their children, and j valid chair, her pale face touched with the sweet thereby lay the foundation of feuds and ani- 1 P eace the scene. The good bishop seated with mosities which continue through generations. ‘Thereby Hangs a Tail.’—Mr. Felix Smith was holding his first examination in the ‘ Franklin Academy,’ as the little village school a book in his hands, but his fine eyes looking smilingly out over the terraced lawn where chil- dern ran across the velvety grass, and a lovely girl stood laughing,dressed in some cream-white, clinging fabric, whose short sleeves displayed ner round, white arm as she held the hose and house was called. Mr. Smith felt the dignity of scattere d the sparkling coolness on flower beds his position, as he stood behind his desk in all *? d gra - 8 £ ? arther °“> was the beautiful Farrow the glory of white vest and sleek hair, with ,h. ' ^ •"»*“«■—«» of eyes of the august trustees, and of the villagers in general, bent npon him, and one pair in par ticular, peeping from under the brown lashes of Miss Mary Ann, the delight of Felix’s heart. So he felt the expediency of ‘showing off,’ and he elevated his eve-brows, looked stern, bit his yews and spruce and Norway pines and gold- green laurels—a winter garden, such as Disre- ili pictured in Lothair, gently sloping down from the fine mansion that crowns the hill. But none of these lovely places was the spot of wild greenness we craved to see. There was too much of the trimmed parterre in their beau- ty. So, we drove on, till suddenly the town was he was set to mind as she slept in . crib. Turner was more aspiring. It was the j sadly to mark the difference between the passior, Monarch of the jungle that his novice pencil sought to represent. The father ot Buskin, was a jolly butcher whose shop upon Maiden Lane was well patronized, and whose heart’s pride was his boy, Billy. One morning, when ‘little Billy was about six years old, the barber of Maiden Lane went to a certain Mr. Tomkinson’s to dress that gen tleman’s hair. The boy was allowed to accom pany his father on this occasion,and one can im agine him trotting along, grand with the respon sibility of carrying the barber s scissors or curl- iisg-ton^s. Mr. Tomkinson was a rich silier- sm'tb, whose house was filled with many ob jects of beauty. While the father was at work frizzling the wig of his grand patron, the boy was placed on a chair, where he sat in silent awe gazing with great blue ©yes at a huge silver sal- ver on the table at his side, adorned with ram pant lions. The barber’s work was done, father and son again turned their faces toward the dusky little shop in the iane. The boy was si lent and thoughtful all that day; he sat up stairs, away from the confusion of the little shop be low, brooding over a sheet of paper. At tea time he appeared, triumphantly producing his sheet of paper, upon which was drawn a lion, a very oood imitation of the one mounted on the sal ver at Mr. Tomkinson’s. The little barber, un like some parents whose children have given early indications of artistic talent, was beside himself with delight. His son’s vocation was at once settled in bis mind. Thenceforth when old customers, looking up from under the glit tering razor, would mumble through obstruc- ive lather, ‘Well, Turner, have you settled yet what William is to be ?’ the barber would smile proudly, rest tbe ready razor on a thin piece of brown paper, and reply: ‘Its all settled, sir, William is going to be a painter. Two or three years later the door of the little barber s shop was ornamented by small water-colored draw ings, hung around among wigs and frizzes, tick eted at prices varying from one to three shil lings. Some were copies or imitations ot Paul Sandby, a fashionable drawing master; others; original sketches made by Boy Turner, as he waf then called. His great delight was to get out side of London into the fields, a ? d *. pencil in hand, spend whole days tryin to catch the exquisite effects of color and light and shade, which touched the youDg artist like a grand poem. Gut Bid of the Eats.-Four years ago my barn was regularly infested with rats; they were so numerous that I had great tears ot my who e srain being destroyed by them afte* “ was housed. But having two acres ot wild pepper mint that grew in a field ot wheat, alter the wheat was harvested, the mint was cut anu bound with it, and drove the rats from my prem ises. I Lave not been troubled with one since, nor am I at present, while my neighbors have lots of them. I teel confident that any person who is troubled with these pests could get rid of them by gathering a good supply of mint and . placing it aronnd the walls or base ot their barns. half love half vanity, wLich the admired poet professed to feel for the pretty Mrs. McLehose, and that other, earlier love which was the rustic bard’s inspiration, and which ripened his poetic genius as the sun unfolds the bud into a rose. We have read, too, with filling eyes, those ten- derest of letters—from Luther, the stern cham pion of truth, to ‘the well beloved Katharine, mistress of my heart.’ Love-letters they are, in the full meaning of the word, although the Kath arine so fondly addressed was his wife and the mother of his children. And we have seen in the letters of Napoleon to Josephine, how the man of consuming ambition had still in his wild, fiery life a sheltered nook for the sweet blossom of human love. Such letters as these are pages from the vol ume of the heart—pages from the most romantic episode of its history. The genuine love-letter is invested with a charm that hangs round it like a faint perfume. Even when it is written on bine foolscap, in a cramped, school-boy band, there is something in the spirit breathing from every awkwardly constructed sentence, which gives it a kind of sacredness, and we hardly find it in our hearts to smile over the ludicrous shortcomings in chirography, and the original improvements upon Webster; * Test ot Amiability.—The true test of good nature is not how one treats acknowledged equals, but the deportment towards inferiors. We have known ladies whose ever ready smiles, and pleasing manners made them idols of their own set, while their .supercilious haughtiness rendered them objects of hatred to those be neath them in the social grade. We have known ladies who were voted charming by society, whose perpetual scoldings among their servants were terrible to their households. Men too are often gentlemen in society, while they are exacting, overbearing and tyrannical at home. It is said that servants like young bloods of the George Osborne style, who can accept their services with a lofty condescension, and curse and storm at them on the slightest provocation. It is true they do not regard such me)u with a deference resembling admiration. Yet we must believe that they regard with a higher reverence and esteem, Col. Esmond, who never utters an im polite word even to the humblest slave, while he permits no one to take any liberties with him. The pleasant smile and cheerful word bestowed upon a dependent are generally more sincere, and are almost always more appreciated than are the same marks of favor when bestowed npon those of equai rank. An Aberdeen man was telling his symptoms —which appeared to himself of course dreadful —to a Scotch medical friend, who, at each new item of disorder, exclaimed: ‘Charming! De lightful! Fray go on!’ and when he had finish ed the doctor said, with the utmost pleasure, ‘Do you know, my dear sir, you have got a com plaint which has been for some time supposed to be extinct V I am so glad!' Alter SW Graduated.— 1 ‘Chris.’ in the FhrenoJournal has some sensible words to say relation of the ordinary education of gheir life after school. He says: ‘Girls are rer the most part, in the be lief that womsf and final destiny is to marry. This only ambition cultivated. Parents, friensociety at large all tend to inculcate the e. So the education of our girls goes on; smattering of the languag es; a little mueat deal of fancy-work; but not enough oig to enable them to say: ‘I hold withirthe power to gain an hon orable livelihuy own exertions.' There is ever the miense of dependence even for thought, sure there are a few who have dared taside their allotted sphere, but these arcong-minded and unfemi nine.’ Tbe superfcation finished, the daugh ter waits in t circle for him who is to fulfill her deieohaps he never comes, or if so, only to What then ? Ah, if the parents couli the veil and see ! A mis erable life spmplainings and bitterness of soul. Somdeed the mind and body both a wrecMl for what ? Because, this hope gone, tation did not supply that which wouldie cravings of the mind an aim, a soangible for which to work. Society is arking out the problem of the sexes, aig the cause which we es pouse will nur poor pencil. We have listened wit'incredulity to the discus sion of the rf woman’s work and edu cation, by td doctors of our colleges and nniversis not they who can settle the questiovoman’s mental capacity. We must an: ourselves. Parents n well the obligations rest ing upon tlsee that the intellectual wants of thers are satisfied with prop er pabnlumtn supply for their daugh ters, as thejeir sons, work which will satisfy not ical, but mental cravings. It is not goome, satisfying work that wastes enexntal fibre, but rather the lack of it. I on sweetmeats exclusive ly cannot bnd it is useless to bring up the preiess of woman’s intellect as her normal when her mental diet has ever tendetd. Give th# ice, and they will develop strength a*r. A thorough education, and speciavitn reference to self-sup port, cans from womanly dignity. nity, then, to work out for ‘ name. Then, if they be ely-appointed position of will fill it nobly, and self-sustaining, they erity a worthy heritage. snch be not their lot, walk through life alone, lip, and knocke'd his rule upon the desk as ^ behind> a ^sonant fragrance filled the air . poa tae aesk, as | andagroveof wild nines was arm-mH no_ D r,^ Q ^ though he were chairman of a political caucus, instead of pedagogue of Franklin Academy. The class of round jackets and white aprons were reciting a lesson in rhetoric, (they had been rehearsing every day for a month) and one of the number had just quoted the lines from Milton, in which he says ‘ Satan like a comet burned,’ when Mr. Smith stopped, pulled up his collar, ran his fingers through his hair, braced himself and prepared to show off bril liantly before the admiring eyes of Mary Ann. ‘Satan like a comet burned,’ he repeated in his most impressive voice. «What a stupend ous and magnificent comparison ! What a snb- iimoVoongEi ! Coa aay of roe th« of resembance between Satan and this brilliant, baleful, but terrible wonder of the heavens ?' He did not expect or desire a response to this question. He wanted to display his eloquence m describing the ‘points of resemblance’ him self; but he paused to observe the effect of his grandiloquence upon the admiring Mary Ann, and a little red headed youngster of the class cried out, triumphantly: ‘ ’Cause the comet got a tail, and Satan got one too.’ ° Felix wilted, and settled down into his neck- tie, while Mary Ann hid her blushes behind her fan. Give the: themselv called to wife and Strong will tra But if, o and they The Poetry of Birds.-There is nothing in nature more calculated to excite those emo tions of beauty which are wont to express them selves in the form of poetry than the feathered travelers of the air. Whether we consider the graceful elegance of their movements, the bril liancy of their plumage or the rich melody of their music, there is something in each to charm the fancy. Accordingly we find that they have been much the theme of Poets. Far back in antiquity, the author of Job, who drew his imagery from the given scenery of Idumea, described magnificently the bird of the Desert,’ which ‘lifteth up herself on high and scorneth the horse and his rider.’ The proud eagle which carries his flight above the realm of storms, and delights to make his home in cliffs where human feet cannot approach, has been sung by poets of every age. Even the huge condor which combines the majestic flight of the eagle, with the filthy habits of the vulture, has more than once been put in verse. What a weird interest has the Ancient Mariner thrown around the wide-sweeping scavenger of the ocean, whose presence brought propitious breezes to the sails, and whose unprovoked slaughter brought upon that crew so long a train of disasters ! A far more agreeable, if less sublime poetry has been written of the birds of our own country. Our merry mimic with her joyous throat and glossy wings, besides having had consecrated to her the sweetest of melodies, has been celebrated in many a stanza. The plaint of the ‘whip-poor- will,’ excited the Muse of Willis to one of its sweetest utterances, and the graceful evolutions of the swan, and the majestic movements of the heron have not remained unsung. In a word, every ‘Winged Worshipper’ whither small or large, presents something which the fancy may seize and utilize to purposes of Poesy, and few of them have been passed unnoticed. a grove of wild pines was around us—spread- | in 8> symmetrical, silver-tinged pines with a | ^mk carpet of their ‘shatters’ beneath. On one side, the grove dropped suddenly to a stretch , ot low meadow covered with native blue grass j (it had not been planted, the owner assures us ; which contradicts the theory that blue grass is | not indigenous with us here.) The steep bank tapestried with wild ivy that bounded this bit ot meadow, would have drawn the eye had it not been attracted by a wonder on the other side the road—a cataract of green, a succession of tree-lountains, under which the foot of the hill seemed to bury itself. This mass ot cascade-like verdure was a row of magnificent weeping willows, tranks and limbs utterly hid by the wealth of dropping branches Were they wild? Wild growths were all around them, trees, and bushes, and grass u “ strati its-juurse betraved.bv the richer gross that fringes it. But when w'e had passed the bridge that spanned this stream we saw a rustic fence running up the long hill’ caught a glimpse through forest trees of a pret- ty cottage on the brow ot the hill, and saw that on the other side of our glorious willows, was a lawn, not clipped and shorn but left to its own wild ways—its green slopes unterraced, wild flowers and grass mingling with splendid lillies and gorgeous gladioli and crimson and crearn- my-cupped roses. e stopped delighted, feast ing our eyes and wondering who owned this lovely spot, when a step sounded near us and we saw a gentleman approaching just on his way to the house. He touched his hat and came up, anct we found that the fortunate owner of this bit of Arcadia was Mr. Knapp, of this citv son-in-law and partner of Mr. Me Naught—At lanta s well-known sterling merchant and own good friend. At his invitation and took a closer look ot these iows. their livaite fruitful of good works and croW»est blessings. * Bobin o his room the other af ternoon,: that there was only one match r he box. ‘Now, if that shouldn ht when I come in,’ solil oquised :I should be in. So he tried to good one. It was. Young Mabiued FoLKS.-When two young s start out.in life together with nothing but a determination to succeed, avoiding thein- vasion of each other’s idiosyncrasies, nor carry- u.ff- 6 •. < j andl ? near the gunpowder, sympa- thetm with each other’s employment, willing to live on small means until they get large facili- ties paying as they go, taking life here as a dis- fnnr h!’ n T « f u* nr e y es watching its perils and ur hands fighting its battles—whatever others may say or do, that is a royal marriage. It is so set down in the heavenly archives, aDd the or ange blossoms shall wither on neither sideof the grave. Mr. Hamlin is the oldest Senator now serving- he is sixty-eight. Mr. Dorsey is the youngest; he entered the Senate when only thirty years old and has served five years. Mr. Edmunds, who is torty-nine, is the Senator who looks oldest. our we got out wonderful wil- They grew on a low strip of alluvial’ deposit bordering the brook. Oh, what a cool, Jich can opy they matte! how delightful to sit under U on summer noons, with the brook drowsily sink ing ana that green fountain falling around you One would feel like a naiad. Mr. Knapp told t ^? t ot * he fPrays were sixteen feet in length. And yet, these trees were planted as little slips, only five years ago. Tfieir marvel ous growth is due to the richness of the soil and to the stream that flows at their feet, for the willow is a deep water-drinker. This sdb- cies is the Ilex Babylonka—the same that weens °' er :P;? na P arte ’ s tomb. A grand monument one ot these trees would be, in itself, such a one as we would love to think of over the poet Bryant s grave, he who, in his tenderly rnourn- ful verse, wished his ‘place of sleep’ to be green and cheerful, that when his friends came to visit it, they ‘might not haste to go.’ Mr. Knapp told us of a lady who earnestly begged him to give or sell her one of these trees that she m ,g ht transplant it, with all its mighty wealth of root and branch intact, to the Ceme tery and plant it over her dear one’s grave where the water-drinker, even had it lived’ 8 8host its ptea8ai All along the edge of the willows, with their green mass as a bickground, bloom rare flowers among the wild water plants; most splendid among them being a Japan lily—the giant among all the flowers of that land of wonder- fui flora. This one lifts its thick stalks clown ed with clusters of lillies-each flower measur ing nearly a foot across—white, with a nale lemon stripe down the centre of each satinnv leaf, and freckled with red-brown, velvety dots J Close to this grandiflora, a Malmaison rose holds out its shell-pink salvers among the grass and wild growth and a step or two from if lnxuri ant black berry vines fling their network of briery sprays over the tops of roses and wild bushes and spread a ripe feast for the birds that have aristocratic head quarters in the willows; while just beyond, a water oak is made mto a bower by the festoons and flower-clusters of a Chinese honey suckle. Gladiolis of every color border the pebbly walk that winds 5 through the trees to the house, to which we accompanied Mr. Knapp who wished ns to see some rarer flowers. He meant the roses that oloomed in beds about the pretty cottage but he might have pardonably meant, thf three sweet child-faces that smiled before the door— particularly the wild rose face of the baby boy w.T.T‘i“Sr Ul . w Xffi genius of this pretty home presiding awa? e fr S ^ r ‘P:r e e r s e t moon showed its shielS of silver SouSh^he