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? I»j< ami oil ;i I’ocJ.
Sto<l«lnr»!—1lie Hrhufls h<* Siiir red, tin* Good
Wifi* lie .^1 ariii*il.
‘Give me tbe benit-poets,’ says iBgersoll—‘the
poets who sing of home and hearth, of the love
of wife and child and the griff that throws its
shadow arrows the fireside. Sneh a poet is
Richard Henry Stoddard. Heart-warmth glows
in ali his verses and simplicity is one of their
sweetest characteristics. A writer in ‘Wide
Awake’ gives some interesting incidents of bis
life. We learn that the young embryo poet was
apprenticed by his stepfather to a tailor end
afterwards to a blacksmith and then to an iron
moulder, all of which did not break him of the
hankering to write poetry, or rather verses
which he had the good sense not to publish. He
wrote volumes of these verses from the pure
love of rhyming. In the day, while working and
perspiring over his dirty, uncongenial employ
ment, he wonld console himself with the
thought; ‘night will come, there is my little ta
ble my lamp and blank book; I can finish my
‘Song of a Summer Land,’or whatever it might
he that his muse was at work upon. At last he
wrote something he thought not too bad to
print, and printed it in a magazine edited by
Seba Smith—then in vogue as the author of the
‘Major Jack Downing Letters. The writer of
•Poets Homes," says:
Abont this time he made the acquaintance of
tbe Rev. Ralph Hoyt, a minor American poet,
who condescended to read his manuscripts, and
contrived to disgust him with them and with
himself. This acquaintance somehow led to his
knowing Mr. Park Benjamin, whose gre t news
paper he used to read when a boy in the law
yer’s offices, and w ho treated him as an equal.
He sent one of his little manuscript volumes
of verse to N. P. Willis, the poet, who was edit
ing the ‘Home Journal,’ he was kind enough to
look over it, and to express his opini n of it.
‘I should think that the writer of this’ {he
wrote in substance) ‘had genius enough to make
a reputation. Pruning, trimming and condens
ing is necessary to make it what it should be, as
the same labor'was necessary to Byron’s genius,
and to Moore’s. It is hurd work to do, and ill-
paid when done.’
The good opinion of Mr. Willis encouraged
the foundry poet to do better work than he had
yet done. He was further encouraged about this
time by Mr. Lewis Gaylord Clark, a genial,
whole-souled man, who was anxious to bring
forward young writers in ‘The Knickerbocker,’
and not at all anxious to pay them. It was im
pecunious to all but the editor, who had to live,
even if his genius starved.
A wiser and better acquaintance was next
made, and with a notable writer and an excellent
woman, Mrs. Caroline M. Kirkland. She was
interested in the worker in iron, and as she was
editing a magazine at the time, she published
some of his poems in it. He was a proud man
when he at last earned ten dollars oy his genius,
but a good deal of a donkey, lor he at once in
vested it in an accordeon for a young person
with whom he was infatuated.
His first literary acquaintance of his own age
was Mr. Bayard Taylor, who had made his first
trip to Europe, and had published an account
of it in ‘Views Afoot,’ and who was one of the
editors of ‘The Tribune.’ The acquaintance
soon ripened into friendship, as Mr. Stoddard
has told the reader of ‘Wide Awake’ in his pa
per on the home of Mr. Taylor.
What with wanting in Mrs. Kirkland’s maga
zine, The Knickerbocker,’ and other periodicals,
the simple-minded purchaser of accordeons
saved up enough money to do another foolish
thing, namely: to publish a little volume of his
own verses.
He called them ‘Footprints.’ They were
pleasantly noticed in two or three magazines;
one copy was sold; the edition was committed
to the flames, and there the matter ended. The
foot of the young poet left no footprint on the
sands of time, bet many prints on the wet
sands of the hated foundry. The publication of
his little volume, failure though it was, made
him somewhat known among literary people.
It introduced him to the notice of the great Dr.
Rufus Griswold, who sat like another Apollo
on the summit of Parnaassus, and dispensed
crowns to the poets of America.
‘Who wept with delight when he gave them asmile.
And trembled with fear at his froivn.’
He put the author of ‘Footprints’ in a new
edition of his ‘Poeis of America,’ and told the
little story of his life, more beautifully than I
could ever hope to, complimenting him on a
quality which he never possessed, ‘indomnita-
ble energy,’and on the impossible art of mould
ing his thoughts into the symmetry of verse,
while he moulded the molten metal into shapes
of grace. He was a fine w r riter, was Dr. Gris
wold, and a judicious critic, hut a knowledge
of foundries was not one of his strong points.
He meant well, however, and was friendly to
the young man, whom he introduced to the
Mrs. Leo Hunter of the period, a young unmar
ried lady ot Celtic and American extraction, who
wrote poetry and gave literary reunions. There
he became acquainted with an elderly young
woman who was somehow a friend, a Mrs Eliza
beth Barstow, of Mattapoisett, Mass., whom he
ought to know. He bowed, do doubt, at the
distinction in store for him, for was it not a dis
tinction for the son of a sailor to know the
daughter of a ship builder?
They finally met at the house of the elderly
young person, but nothing remarkable happen
ed. It never does when it is expected to, ana
when match-making miDds try to lead up to it.
Mr, Stoddard and Miss Barstow were not appar
ently suited to each other. He was a penniless
youDg man of twenty-five, good-looking it was
thought, with a knack at writing verses, but ill-
dressed, careless in his personal appearance,
and with no manners to speak of. She was a
young woman of about the same age, was hand
some, though a little faded, had a i,harp tongue
and off-hand ways, a determination of her own,
and had been accustomed to be tenderly cared
lor all her life. The only thing they shared in
common was the love of books.
The youDg lady invited the youDg singer to
her father’s house at Mattapoisett, to spend the
Fourth of July. They read and talked and walk
ed together, and very odd riding it was on his
part, for he had not beeD on the back of a horse
since he was a boy in Abingdon. The some
thing that was expected to happen before hap
pened now,neither quite knew how. He thought
that he had lost his heart, as the saying is; she
knew that she had not lost hers, but she rather
liked him, if only for his simplicity.
To cut the matter short, for courtship is a flat
affair, outside of novels, they made up such
minds as they had that they might possibly do
worse than to marry each other.
So they went off together one December morn-
m New York, and wandered Into a fold, the
shepherd of which consented to nuite these lost
lambs. In other words they wi nt to tbe Church
r t the Good Shepherd, the pastor of which was
tbe Rev. Ralph Flo;, t. who found it easier to mar
ry tbe poet than to praise his verses.
I don’t know how the young husband and
wife feit when they were made one, bnt I know
what the old dramatist Middleton wrote about
the feelings of a bust and, and T 1 ope bis bean-
titul lines reflect the fee!mgs of the Stoddards
at this and ail later times.
Here they are:
amazing to tell you than anything I have >et rel
ated. These places are nightiy putrunizeii by heads
of families. Fathers and husbands, with the awful
perjury of broken marriage vows upon them, leav
ing t heir wives and children behind them with a
niggardy stipend, go forth carrying thousands in
diamonds, wardrobes and equipages to the ranks of
sin and iniquity. It s not so much the hoys that
need now to be looked after; it’s their fathers and
wot hers.’
ISolM‘l r f'K I'lM’do.—‘Roberts' has her say
I “how near am I now to a lmppines
That earth exceeds not! not another like it.
The treasures of the d< op are not so precious
As are the concealed comforts of a man
Locked up in woman’s love. ! scent, the air
j • if blessings when T come hut near the house.
What a delicious breath marriage scuds forth !
The violet bed's not sweeter."
Before Mr. Stoddard married he had become
acquainted with that incomparable writer, Nath-
: n el Hawtbc rue. He met him in his own house
at Concord will; a party of friends, one of whom
had come to talk with him abont his old college
I chum, Franklin Pierce, who was a candidate for
j the Presidency, and whose Life he was to write.
| Mr. Pierce was elected, and it seemed to Mr.
j Hawthorne that a young poet who had married
i on nothing a year might jibe a situation in the
j New York Custom House, so he obtained one
tor him.
He entered on his official life the day before
he completed his twenty-eighth year, and be
continued in it for nearly seventeen years, de
voting the best years of his life to a thankless
government. He had charge of a room full of
the strangest codgers alive; meD fit for no other
duties than he found or made for iheiu, and, in
deed, most frequently unfit tor those. They
were old and lame, and they were incapable.
Most of them had seen better days—seine of
them had been rich and one or two had seen
millionaires. Of this rnotly multitude he was
the guide, philosopher and friend,—the com
mander-in-chief of a very awkward squad.
The habit of writing is sometimes catching,
as his wife finally discovered when she caught
herself penning little essays, and poems, and
stories, which she brought to ber husband in
fear and trembling. She had a fine intellect,
hut it was untrained, and all that he could do
for her was to show her how to train it. She
was not cursed with mediocrity, bnt bad the
misfortune to be original Her growth was slow
but sure. She produced with labor, bnt what
she produced was worth the labor, and to-day
she is the btst writer of blank verse and the best
novelest in America. *
Inotliaiei 5»y li^lil.-A Ct.f.rgtman's
Midnight Walk Through a Modern Sodom, ash
His Sermon About It.—Mr. Talmage, the celebra.
ted sensational preacher, lias lately been taking
midnight observations of New York’s places of
secret sin, gilded and otherwise, and standing in
the Sabbath pulpit without the fear of the police
or the City fathers, or aristocratic hypocrites be
fore his eyes, he tells what the midnight moon
shines on in New York—tells it in his character
istic style, none the less effective for being jerky
and highly colored and tneatrical—hyperbolical,
his detractors say.—But his eloquent denunciations
have the ring of earnestness in (hern that carries
away the hearer and even the reader. We make
a long extract from a ‘World’s’ report. The press
almost unanimously affects to sneer at Mr. Talmage
as the ‘pulpit comedian,’ the‘crazy preacher,’ etc.,
but his eccentric enthusiasm is more effective and
convincing than the tame utterances of men that
keep to the beaten path. Head his barbed senten
ces; no doubt they pierced the brazen fronts of
some of his fashionable hearers—sinners in high
life.
His text was from Isaaih, 31st chapter, eleven
verse ‘Policeman, what of the night ?’ ‘Watch
man,’ the original text bad read, but Mr. Talmage
chose to give tne modern interpretation, saying
that it might be translated either way :
‘There were roughs and thugs and desperadoes
in Jerusalem just as there are to-day iri New York
and Brooklyn. Police headquarters were on the
top of the city walls. King Solomon needed a
large posse of police to look after his royal grounds,
for he had 12,000 blooded horses in his stable and
millions of dollars in his paince ami he had 000
wives. I don’t care how big his house was, there
never was any house big enough to hold two
women married to the same man; much less could
000 wives keep the peace.’
This caused tbe congregation to giggle, but the
preacher’s face was grave, and bending over he
said, in his penetrative voice :
‘Some of you may have been surprised at my
visiting the haunts of vice, for there was a great
hue and cry raised before these sermons were
begun. The simple fact is there are in all the
churches, lepers who don't want their scabs
touched. The devil howled because he knew I
was going to hit him hard. O ye hypocrites (this
was said so suddenly and sharply that half the
congregation jumped), ye generation of vipers,
can ye escape the damnation of hell?’
Mr. Talmage was now thoroughly aroused. His
voice reached its highest piich, and his hands
soared wildly through the air at utter variance
with each other, lie said in substance that he
was going to expose the mouldiness of the upper
crust. He had noticed in his midnight tour that
the haunts of vice were chiefly supported by men
of weaith, ‘by men who come down from the finest
avenues, and cross over from the best streets of
Brooklyn. Ah I'said he, ‘I could call the names
of prominent men in this cluster of three cities
who patronize these living hells. T es, and I may
call many of them before I get through, though the
fabrics of New York and Brooklyn society tumble
into the wreck. There were judges there, and
lawyers, and political orators who stand on the
Republican, Democratic and Greenback platforms
talking about God and good morals until you might
suppose them to be evangelists expecting a thou
sand converts in a single night. Call the roll in
any of these haunts of iniquity, and if they an
swer to their names you will see stock brokers
from Wall street, importers from Broadway,
leather merchants, cotton merchants, iron mer
chants, wholesale grocers. Talk about the heath
enism below Canal street ! There is more above it.
1 prefer the heathenism that wallows iu filth and
thus disgusts the beholder, to that kind which
covers Us putrefaction with camel’s hair shawls
and point lace, turning out in S3,000 equipages,
with a liveried driver ahead and a rosetted flunky
behind. I tell you what we want. We want about
fifty Anthony Comstocks to go about and explore
and expose the abominations ot fashionable lite.
For eieht or ten years there hail stood on the most
fashionable New \ork drive a Moloch temple, a
brown stone hell on earth, which neither the
Mayor, judges nor police dared to touch, when
Anthony Comstock, a Christian man of less than
average physical stature, with a cheek scarred by
the knife of the desperado, walked into this pal
ace on Fifth AveDUe, and in the name of the Eter
nal God, put an end to it, the priestess at the or
gies retreating, by suicide, into the lowest world.
It was now quite evident tiiat Mr. Talmage did
not propose to confine himsdf .'-trictly to the sub
ject suggested by his text, but he was nevertheless
listened to with breathless attenliouand frequently
applauded.
‘While we were in one of the gilded palaces of
sin,’ he continued, ‘the officer said to me, “Look
at them now; in three years, when the.r beauty
has faded, they’ll be aheap of rags in the station-
house. ” Another officer pointed out to me a daugh
ter of one of the wealthiest families in Madison
square. But I have so mething more awful and
at out religion in the last Capital, and a very
frank-spoken, down-tight say it is. Roberts is
no hypocrite,whatever e:se she may be. Indeed,
a woman who ha« saved hundreds from suffer
ing atri perhaps from starvation this summer
and fail, by the ‘penny lunch-house’ kept up by
her through pers.stent energy in spite of opposi
tion and ridicule, deserves to be called a Chris-
tian, since she certainly does Christ's work ot
feeding lire hungry and helping tne needy. She
says:
People talk of ‘getting religion,’ as if it was
a dress or a fall overcoat. I know hundreds
who went to tbe late exciting revival meeting
as they would go to the theatre or circus. I
know of persons who were‘shining lights' at
the revival, who prayed loud and delivered pa
thetic addresses, yet who were willing the next
day to turn a poor man and his family ont on
the street for a little bit of back rent. I know
ot one, who was prominent in the amen corner,
who had—well, I wont say swindled, bnt who
•financiered’ a woman ont of her earnings. These
are eases 1 know of, and it is fair to presume
thete are many more. There is too much reli
gion and too little Christianity in this world. The
hypocrites keep people down, and prevent
them from reforming aud living a better life,
even if they wish to. I was struck lately with
an instance, where a woman, keeping a house of
doubtful character, was arrested for harboring
young girls. She said to Major Morgan, crying
bitterly: T tried to earn my living honestly,and
had a house filled with respectable people as
boarders, but the officers and others wool d say,
as they saw me: ‘On, that is oldMollie; she kept a
bousein the Division;’and all my people left,and
I could only reuirn to my old business.' Another
instance is that ot a man who was sent to the
penitentiary, and, after serving his time out,
tried to earn an honest living. He was engaged
by a gentleman in this city to drive for him.
Some one passing,saw him,and said: ‘That man
is a thief; he has been in the penitentiary. ’The
man was instantly dismissed. That is the way
the world treats any one trying to do better. Pi
ous people, so called, will give you .tracts and
advice, and tell you you are damned if you go
on in the way you are travelling, apd then they
will damn you if you try to do better. The only-
way I console myself is by thinking that the
Lord is not easily fooled; that he takes all this
dollar-store religion for what it is worth. *
A Sensible Stride —‘I do like the way Sue
Mason acts as a bride. She just goes along in a
plain, matter-of-fact way, as if nothing had hap
pened. She calls her husband Joe as she al
ways did, and puts on no airs of blushing and
shyness. If it wasn’t for her new dresses one
would never guess she was a bride, She’s real
sensible.’
Thus we overheard a sage miss of seventeen
discoursing to a knot of her friends, all of whom
concurred in her opinion. But we beg leave to
differ. We do not like such sensible brides.
We do like blushes and shyness and a little
foolishness and flutter in the young creature
who is enjoyiDg her brief, bright days of Elen.
Sense and commonplace and disillusion come
soon enough. Let the world look rose-colored
awhile, l6t the soft moonlight of romance rest
over every day realities, let the future seem
bathed in the light of love and happiness. Let
her dream that thVS’iaband will always be the
lover, that coldness ana crossness will never
come, anymore than wrinkles and faded cheeks,
that the buttons will never come off the shins,
nor the socks need darning.
Opera Opening in Yew York.—La 1
Traviuta inaugurated the Opera season in New
York last week, with Miss Minnie Hank (the
American singer who has won such laurels in
Europe) as Yiolet.ta, and Signor Frapolli (it
came near being Frog-po ol) the well known
tenor as Violetta's lover. Miss Minnie is the
prima donna who embraces her stage lovers
with such naive heartiness. It will be remem
bered that Olive Logan told us that when play-
iDg Margaret she clasped her Faust (this same
Signor Frapolli) again and again till the audi
ence laughed and applauded, the Princess of
Wales threw herself back in her crimson velvet
seat with tears of laughter brimming her eyes,
and the breathless tenor fairly ran off the stage.
Saphir’s last New York letter to the Capital
glows with colorful description of the Opera
Opening Night. The Academy had been newly j
swept and garnished. Soft crimson carpets, |
tropical plants in every nook, ruby tinted pros
cenium boxes in whica sat the white armed
daughter of the moneyed aristocracy with flowers
and jewels on their bosoms and in the puffs and
fluffs of their hair—and much-to-be-praised
innovation— a soft, red curtain that was drawn
away in graceful folds instead of being run up
and down on tradtional rollers.
‘A rose-colored portal to the new-old world of
lyric art for which the musical public had
hungered and thristed so lung.’ So Saphir calls
it and goes on to say of the audience that, ‘never
in the day when Nilsson’s popularity was in its
height, and fair hands showered roses and
geraniums in aB odorous rain upon her and that
ardent Victor of Victors, the effusive and burn
ing Oapoul, have the boxes of the opera house
been peopled by a more elegant and brilliant
assemblage. From where Mrs. Hoey sat, blaz
ing with diamonds and looking almost as youth
ful as her daughter, who was beside ber in a
robe of pale blue, to where Clara Louise Kellogg,
in the same soft color, occupied one of the
‘artists’ boxes,’ a succession of fair women, iD
handsome attire, and with uncovered heads, dis
tracted the gaze of casual swells, in immaculate
evening dress, ali alike, who employed their
lorgnettes and chatted, and recalled the black
birds who began to sing when the pie was opened.
Thecrustof theMaplesonpate wasduly broken,
and whir-r-r ! what a covey of them !
Presently there is clapping of hands, for
Violetta comes on almost immediately, you
remember, and Miss Minnie Hauk emerges from
the throng, from which it is at first difficult to
distinguish her, smiling and bowing right and
left. When she last set foot on this stage she
was a promising, but inexperienced girl, with
ber road to make. Now she is a woman, with
an established reputation and the prestige of an
extraordinary success in at least one opera—
Carmen -which we are to hear her in next week.
She certainly looks Violetta, in her pale blue
dress with its bands of silver embroidery, and
some bright flowers in her dark hair. She has
a mature, well-developed figure, and a bright,
saucy, dark face, and her abandon as an actress
is evident. The voice ib"elf is not a phenomenal
one by any means, but it is clear, ringing, Mull-
throated,’ and of good compass. Miss Hank is
rather a mezzo than a pure soprano, and alter
hearing such a singer as Nilsson in the florid
passages of the Sempre Libera, her high notes
were not as impressive as might have been
desirable. •
The k Hea(hen Chinee.’
The Krai Secret of his Persecution.
Rev. Myron Heed, of Indiana, just backjfrom
an extended tour along the Pacific Coast, lectu
red in Indianopolis last week on Our Brethren
of the Pacific Coast,’ taking as the text s of his
very interesting lecture the words in Ecclesias
tes, ‘Better is a handful with quietness than both
hands full with turmoil and vexation of spirit.
This text he shows to be most apropos to the con
trolling spirits inhabiting the gold belt of the
West. They are not the patient, industrious
workers, whose fortunes, though ‘but a handful'
! are possessed in quietness of soul. No; the im
press of tbe gold-fever of-19 is still upon San
j Francisco and Virginia City.The thirst for gold,
j then acute, is now chronic. Gold is more than
J ever the god of tbe Californian’s idolatry. Home
| is a word without meaning; the hotel, restaurant
i and boarding-house art - where the citizens stay.
J They seem always in light marching order. There
I is no Sabbath worth speaking of. The StocA
' Exchange is a gambling room,and the gambling
I mania possesses tngh and low, master and ser
vant-news boys, boot blacks judges and church
; deacons. The rise and fall of stocks—shares iu
! the ‘Sierra Nevada' —that one day are worth three
I dollars and the next three hundred—absorb the
thoughts of the men morning aDd night. Noth-
j ing else is talked of on the streets or in the pi -
I kzzaa of the hotels, crowded with restless-eyed
j mortals. Says Mr. Reed:
‘The average citizen of the city of the Gulden
! Gate is always id an abnormal mood. He has
lost, and is much depressed; he has gained and
is unduly elated. He is in the Slough of De
spond, or on a peak of Darien. 1 saw more des
perate faces on these streets than I had seen in
a lifetime. I read of Frequent suicides. It must
come to this. If a man's god is gold, and gold j
fails him, to whom shall he go? If there is no
life but this one, and this is a failure, why lin
ger ? So argued Ralston in his day, and he swam j
out to sea; and no week passes that some disap- i
pointed devotee of the yellow idol does not fol
low him. In the old states, possession of wealth
not unfrequently implies industry, foresight,
prudence; at least it once was so. On the coast,
possession of wealth implies nothing that is ad
mirable. The great fortunes have been blunder
ed into as a man might fall into a well.
Plenty of envy, and strife, and bitterness,and
discontent, on the Pacific coast. There must
be when Denis Kearney can make disciples
enough to carry the ehief city. Nowhere is there
such a gulf between the rich and tne poor; there
is no sympathy between the head and the hand.
Pleasant as it is to see the acres of wheat in those
valleys—five thousand acres in a field, bnt it is
one farm. The man who works in the field is I
Indeed fed and paid, but he is essentially a serf
To say that a man is a ‘sheep-hearder’ is to im
ply that he has fallen very low. That he does
his work well is Dot enough. Work is not re
spectable. A young man from Indiana—a grad
uate of one of eur best regiments in the war—
drifted to the coast and hired out on a ranch in
the Sacremento valley. He told me about it.
He worked ali day in the field, went to the house,
got his supper, and after supper tried to enter
into conversation with his employer; he tried
him on politics, current events. He said he
found tbe conversation somewhat onesided, aDd
about 'J o’clock he suggested that he would like
to be shown where he should sleep. ‘Oh,’ said
the farmer, ‘anywhere. 1 have GOOD acres of land,
take your choice.’ It seems to me that the thing
in the Chinese which provokes the bitter hostil
ity of the coast, is that he works—at everything,
at anything—works contentedly, and out of his
small Mages saves money, I have yet to see a
Chinese loafer. He is always going, coming,
loaded both ways. Meek, patient, with a face
on him full of the expression that he does not
know what he has done that he should be kicked
by the hoodlums—‘jeered at by genteel and by di
amonded idlers—why he should be the theme
on Sunday of the sand-lot orator's tirade, why
he should have all his faults magnified and mul
tiplied in the daily papers.’ His face shows he
does not see why this is so. He looks as if he
was about to burst into tears, but he never does.
I do not wonder that be smokes opium. Cut off
from the land that bore him, outraged by the
land he finds, I do not wonder that he desires
to forget the city he is in and his neighbors.
There are some Christians in San Francisco who
have mercy upon him. There is one paper,and
the ablest, that is not ashamed to speak for him.
In a hurried journey, one cannot study him;
but one caDnot fail to see ihat he is invariably
civil and always busy. The menial work is all
done by him. I believe that he has vices, but
that, is because he is human, not because he is a
Chinese. He is not converted very rapidly,and
will not be until he learns to distinguish between
the religion of Jesus Christ, the religion of love |
and mercy and peace, and the Christians who j
kick him and cut off his cue. It will dawn on :
him after awhile. *
!*<>»•< rail onion. KobertTonibM,- j
A number of Mr. Guerry’s fine portraits were
on exhibition at the excellent fair held this week
in Atlanta,among them the one which is in some ;
respects his best—that ot Hon. Robert Tombs. I
This picture is painted with as much fidelity to |
minute details as that of Dr. Johnson, while
here is a yet bolder and freer touch apparent
in the outlines of the face and figure. The
grand old head, leonine in its massivness and
majesty add its shaggy,manelike hair,the broad j
brow, the eyes that we have all seen flash with
scorn of meanness,and kiudle with enthusiasm,
dreamful and dim in the picture as though i
‘hoarding up some UDacainplishedvow.’the large, j
firm mouth, the face written all over with lines
by the pencil of time, -lines full of strong mean- I
iugs, telling of thought and work, of sympathy
generosity—courage firmness, —the perfect type i
ot the Southern Gentleman of the old re- 1
gime-ail are here in this fine portrait, with its
pejfeet coloring,and its bold yet delicate limn- :
ing. • j
Matter and the Soul.—Beecher’s Last
Sermon.
Mr. Beecher closed a fine, thoughtful sermon j
last Sunday by the following on the present ma-
terialistic tendency of the human thought:
The direction of the thought of the present l
times was to unharness men from this higher J
world and to harness them to the lower and ma
terial world. There was a feeling abroad that
this material tendency was going to emancipate
men from superstition. Men forgot in their
reasoning about nature and matter that in all
the round world there was uot so much nature
as there was in a human soul. It was urged
that the mind was material, but even on that
ground it must be admitted that it was unlike
all other matter; it lifted itself far above infe
rior and grosser forms of matter, as the law of
its being and the law governing lower sorts of
matter could not apply to it. The pumpkin
and the squash must perish, but it could not be
argued from that that the hutnaa brain would
perish. The effect of this tendency would be to
dwarf men mentally, not in this generation per
haps, bnt in the next or the seoond the effect
would be apparent ‘The epitaph,’ said Mr.
f Beecher, ‘of the world, if such a state of things
prevails, is not hard to find. It is: “They have
taken away my Lord, and I know not where they
j have laid'him !’’ It will he a sad requiem for
the human race if that day should ever come;
but it will not come.’
‘Dosha,’ our translated French story by Henri
Greville, is thus praised by the World: ‘It would
| be hard to suggest a more sparkling aud viva-
i cions, and at the same time firmly painted and
worthily conceived picture, than that presented
! by 'Dosia;' and one can easily account for
its ‘crownmg’ by the French Academy and its
1 great popularity in a society where no literary
work is popular that is lacking in merit.’ *
This speaks bopefnlly for the cause of woman,
which is also the causa of progress and of ruo-
jrality: 1 The Board o'" Curators of the Missouri
University have elected to the chair of Modern
: Languages, Mrs. J. P. Fuller, daughter of the
late Win. A. Smith, D. D., President of llan-
1 dolph-Macon College, Virginia, and widow of
j the late J. P. Puller, ol Lumberton, Robeson
county, N. C. *
The Atlanta Fair.
j The fair in Atlanta which occupied the whole
! of last week was the work of individual enter-
J prise and money. A number of energetic, solid
- men planned and carried it out successfully upon
J an extensive scale, yet one in which there was
an eye to the economy necessary to secure tb.e
i best results of such an enterprise. The Fair
Grounds, put iu handsome order with several
convenient improvements added, were thronged
with a crowd 0 f visitors estimated at twenty
thousand. Some fine stock was exhibited, and
the races and the drilling ot military companies
for prizes vied with each other in the interest
they excited. The machinery roomR were well
stocked, the display of goods in the Merchant’s
Hall was varied and splendid, aDd tbe art rooms
! displayed a variety of oil paintings, crayons,
water color and pencil sketches of which we
shall have more to say. Some comic sketches
by Matt O'Brien were very spirited and a collec
tion of stauettes was of remarkable merit. There
were some beautiful skeleton leaves and ferns
and fresh looking preserved natural flowers.
There was also a large case of preserved insesets
artistically arranged and comprising an almost
endless variety of bugs, beetles, moths aDd but
terflies—some of the latter very splendid iu
size and color. The department of fancy and
plain needle work comprised many admirable
specimens. Some handsome quilts and especi
ally some well made shirts and dresses by young
girls and old ladies wore particularly worthy of
commendation. *
What one Woman J)Ia.
Dear Elitors:— I am very glad to see you ad
vocating horticulture and gardening, etc., for
women, in place of the eternal and unhealthy
sewing and school-keeping. Teaching is a no
ble profession, but all are not called, and few
are competent, thanks to the unpractical, shal
low education that is too often bestowed upon
women. Let me tell you a bit of my experience:
I am the daughter of a lawyer who had a showy
house, kept a carriage, and lived well; but he
had no money to bestow on his daughters, and
he determined they should marry rich. I dis
appointed him by marrying a poor man, and he
treated me with such coldness that I never after
felt welcome in visiting hi? home. My husband
was engaged in a small business whioh failed
through the extravigaace of his partner and we
were left without income at a time when a nuan-
panic was on the country.
At length, despairing of finding anything in
the city to do, we turned our laces country ward;
feeling that onr slender stock of money would
last longer than in town. After many weeks of
painful anxiety_my husband found a situation
in a small village,*, with just salary enough to
keep the wolf from the door. How I longed to
do something to better our condition; but alas !
what could I could do ? I might have had a fine
music-class in the village, but while I splayed
and sang well, I was not proficient enough in
music to teach it successfully. Oh, bow I
wished I had given the time to it I had spent on
French and Latin ! Many an hour of hard study
had I given to these branches, and of what prac
tical advantage had they been to me? I never
met any French people with whom I conld con
verse, and had never been able to secure a class
in either language, while all the while my
knowledge was becoming rusty by non-use. It
is painfai to recur to this period of my life. I
was so unhappy. I expected every day would
be the last my husband would be able to attend
to business. Finally, driven to desperation by
our misfortune, I resolved to do something, or
die in the attempt. Attached to the house we
occupied was a large lot for gardening purposes,
and I made up my mind that out of that bit of
earth I would dig our fortunes—or at least, a
living—with my own hands. I made horticul
ture and floriculture a study, and brushed up
my little knowledge of chemistry. It was hard
work and small profits the first year ; but
having once put my hand to the plow, I never
turned back. Our table was bountifully suppli
ed with fresh vegetables and fruits, and what
was better, my step had grown elastic, my eye
bright, and my cheek rounded with health. My
hnsbaed, too, found many a spare moment from
business to assist me, and in doing so found
himself growing well and strong again. Oh,
how happy we were ! Surely there is a dignity-
in labor unknown to ease ! How prou I I felt
when I received the returns from my first ship
ment of vegetables to the nearest 'market! I
counted it over aud over. It seemed to possess
a value that I had never attached to money in
the old days when father had lavished it so free
ly upon me. Then I would have thought noth
ing of spending such a paltry sum upon the
trimmings of a single dress ; now every penny
was hoarded with miserly care, for we had re
solved upon having a home of our own. Well,
to be brief, each year I attempted something
more—first a poultry-yard, then the culture of
bees,and so on—until, befor we were hardly aware
of it, our home was paid lor. I had carefully
concealed every trace of our adversity from my
parents. I think I would have died rather than
gone home—a beggar. Now that the dawn of
prosperity had set in, I wrote, asking them to
come and see the little silken-haired girl that,
like a sunbeam, danced through our home.
They came. Father, accustomed to his broad
acres, was astonished at the prodacts of my
small plot of ground. He declared that I was
the best farmer he knew, aud should have great- i
er scope for my powers. He bought a fine large
tract of land adjoining our grouuds that
happened to be for sale just then, aud made me
a deed for it. This is the origin ot the country-
seat you visited last summer and admired so
much. Belle is a fine horticulturist and an ac
complished housekeeper. Should she ever be
thrown on her own resources iu the country she
could make a living, and I wish her to be equal
ly as independent in town. We came to town
to superintend her education. She thinks her
forte is journalism, and desires, in addition to
this, to become a practical printer. And now—
can you wonder, dear friends, after mv experi-
ence, that I am trying to have her avoid the er-
rors that ▼•ll-nigh made my young life a fail-
mre - 7 Helen M.