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SAN MARTINO.
BY BIDE.
“On the hill that overlooks Naples, just under the
eastleot St. Klmo, stands the Carthusian monaste-
ry of San Martino. The monks who formerly in
habited it, were men of noble birth and fortune. It
was founded in 13‘29, by Iluke Charles o‘ Calabria.
T.ie monks took a vow of perpetual silence, lived
and ate apart, aud met only for prayer. The mon
astery was rich in jewels, and its altars elaborately
and expensively decorated. These monks were
driven from their retreat, and their treasures con
fiscated by Victor Emanuel.”
*'Ave Marla!’’ voices sing,
Through cloisters dim and grey;
“Ave Maria!” echoes ring,
O’er purpling waves away,
Where sunset banners slowly swing
Their folds to the dying day,
The glow worm lights her fairy lamp,
Where the sea weeds kiss the shore,
Through plumy rustles, green and damp,
The golden fire-flies pour;
A white star presses the signet stamp,
Each crested billow o'er.
The boatman’s lamp glows thrice its size
In the glass of the darkling stream,
The shadowy bridges arching rise.
Like silent spectres seem,
The city glows with a thousand dyes,
In the white moon's silver gleam.
The mandolin’s mellow, dulcet tone
Breaks on the hushed repose,
Love’s soft utterauce—passion's own.
That Italv only knows.
Drifting tenderly, downward thrown,
Like leaves from a shaken rose.
Two blending shadows lie among
The shapes on the gleaming sand,
With soft words spoken in whispered tongue.
Two lovers hand in baud.
Watch the stream as it glides along
To its grave in the grey sea sand.
No prophet mutters boding fears.
For their passion’s “deathless Are;”
Tells how its flame shall die in tears,
Its rushing stream shall tire.
As it silent glides through cold, grey years,
To its grave ol dead desire.
“Semper Sllentia!” chimes the bell
From Martino’s dizzy height;
Sadly its echoes ebb and swell
Above the billows bright;
Its hollow voice like a funeral knell
Comes wailing on the night.
’Neath grey St. Elmo’s towering height.
Circled by clouds of snow,
San Martino's turrets, coldly bright,
In sunlight, gleam and glow;
Founded by fair Calabria's knight,
Five hundred years ago.
Agate and Jasper, pearl and gold,
Above the altars gleam.
Diamonds rare, of price untold:
Their sunbrigbt glories stream
Down parian cloisters, white and cold
As Arctic snow that seem.
Rare marble, hued like ocean’s shell
In rich mosaic thrown,
In garlands wrought by magic spell,
Like Eden bowers shone,
Transfixed, as by a miracle,
And frozen into stone.
Here, through the hoary centuries.
Mid death, and dust and mould,
A priesthood wrought its mysteries
In siiorsV” — 1 '»
“Semper Silentia!” in its sight.
Their death in life Is told.
Of noble birth, and fortune vast,
Lives in their earliest bloom,
Out from the lap of pleasure cast,
Here met their dreary doom
Of silence, solitude, prayer and fast,
In Martino's liviug tomb.
Year after year they live apart.
Day drearily followed day;
No pulse is stirred, no kind words start
As they silent meet to pray.
“Semper Silentia!” tolls each heart,
As its life slow ebbs away.
Four times an hour, o'er hill and wood,
And valley fair beneath,
The chapel bell, with echoes dread.
Peals out its warning breath—
“Ye ghostly Sons of Solitude!
Draw so much nearer death!”
“Semper Silentia!” peals the bell
In the listening ear of night.
Solemnly steals its funeral knell
Across the vallies bright—
Never again shall its echoes swell
From doomed San Martino’s height.
Its tones are hushed in the crash and din
Of rolling musketry;
Hotly and high, the cries within
Swell upward to the sky—
“Victor Emanuel! live the King
Of ransomed Italy!”
The dawns day fair on Martino’s skies,
And her gardens white as snow,
The Summer wind through the cloister sighs,
And the Summer roses glow.
Glad peasant voices echoing rise
From the vine-clad depths below.
No fluttering robe the soldier sees,
Who looks from the turret high.
No incense floats among the trees,
And Alls the summer sky;
“Semper Silentia!” sighs the breeze.
Weirdly, and mournfully.
One lone heart from its weight of woes
Is shaking its pinions free,
One sad life to its dreary close
Is drifting silently.
Under the whispering olive boughs
Where they laid him down to die.
Last of his band, he still remained,
When his brethren fled apace,
Wearied and worn, and travel-stained.
In life’s unequal race;
Over his features, shrunk and strained,
The gray death shadows chase.
Not one whisper from white lips wrung,
Falls on the listening ears,
For he has forgot the crowding throng
Of human hopes and fears—
Forgotten the soun” of the human tongue,
Through fifty silent years.
A gleam of memory—fitful now,
In its dim, uncertain quest.
Kindles his eye—it is often so.
Ere a wauderer sinks to rest—
His withered fingers tremble slow,
O'er his feebly throbbing breast.
‘‘Do not take it”—he whispers low,
“She was fair as flowers of spring—
She gave it me—and she laughed, you know—
But she did not mean to sting—
Bury it with me—I go—I go
Where I hear my Alina sing.”
“Semper Silentia!” voices sing
Through the ambient upper air;
“Seinp-r Silentia!” answering
From the still form sleeping there
His hand close clasping a broken ring
And a circlet of golden hair. ’
Huntsville Ala., May 1879.
A Permanent Position.
BY MBS. M. SHEFFEY PETERS.
CHAPTER I.
If Fate onoe granted yon a visit to a certain
beautiful city of the Rhineland, aDd, whilst
there, appointed your fortunes within the fres
coed walls of its Hotel de Saxe, you will doubt
less, dear reader, hold in pleasant remsmbranoe
the fragrant, airy and capacious eating hall of
that most enticing of oaravanseries; the spa
cious dimensions of the room; its far away an
gles and alcoves; the immaoulate whiteness of
its facings, and the mellow tintings of its gilt
arabesques, reflected in the polished smooth
ness ot its flooring of mosaics over whioh clerks
and waiters, sandaled, glided like swallow-tailed,
white-gloved spectres.
You will remember too, the skylighted dome
tar overhead and rising to its support the row
above row of slender columns, within whose
shadows lay half-hidden, half revealed the tiers
of galleries upon which opened the chambers of
the guests whom the rotund Oasticirth of this re
nowned Hotel desired to honor most highly.
After a midnight arrival in the oity, it was the
good fortune of Angus Mordaunt, American
banker, to be favored with a few hours of repose
in one of those honored apartments. A tardy
toilet the morning following, brought him out
upon the gallery of the second floor while but a
few late breakfasters were loitering at the tables
below, and he stepped to the railing to look
down for a moment, upon these Sybarites of the
hotel.
That the young banker had not been a mere
Bummer idler was evidenced by the intent ex
pression habitual to his grey eye, and the brisk
readiness of his alert figure; that he was an
American all the world might have seen at a
glance; that he was of a high type of that na
tionality the world would have learned in any in
tercourse with him whether of a business or of
a social character. The fact that he was also an
American of wealth and influence had long since
crept from Wall street to the drawing rooms of
manoeuvering mammas, and of late ye*rs his
name had not been, perhaps, altogether an un
known sound in the salons of Paris and other
foreign cities of Fashion. Hence, combining
pleasure with business, Mordaunt in his wan
derings, about the world had, everywhere
found ready hands to draw him from the bank
er’s office to the banker's palatial residence; and
not a few had been the nets spread to ensnare
him here and there. Yet, as he stood overlook
ing the mellowed radiance of the morning per
vading the seductive freshness of the aromatic
breakfasting in the Hotel de Saxe, he would, un
equivocally have pronounced himself altogether
heart whole and fancy free.
In the next instant his wandering gaze was
caught by a familiar face in a remote alcove of
the salle a manger. He even bent forward eag
erly, to assure fiimself that he was not mistaken
in the identity of the lady who had thus fixed
his attention, and, as he looked a faint color
crept from its ambush in hiB fair, luxuriant
beard, shooting rapidly over the usual pallor of
his features.
Anon, however, perplexity seemed to usurp
the place ol bis first assured and delighted re
cognition. He leaned further over the balus
trade scanning her appearance more carefully
and evincing, as he did so, a momentarily in
creasing surprise, almost distress.
‘It is assuredly Miss Devereux,’ he muttered,
presently, as if to settle his own incredulity.
'Yet how changed she is from the radiant New
Orleans star, dazzling even Paris last winter.
F:ir wid molslj i? <^»«r,.-b.TitooJ<>r.Iese,'W-i.it3 fl*j
lifeltss as* a star in truth. What oan be the
the meaning ol this metamorphosis ?”
There could have been no solution of the mys
tery through his own surmises however, and he
was therefore, much relieved by an opening
door just behind him, giving egress to a gentle
man to whom he at once hastened, greeting him
warmly as a familiar acquaintance.
It was a young German Baron with whom he,
Mordaunt, had sojourned amid the enchant
ments of the season, j ust overpast, at the Alpine
watering place, St. Moriz.
The two friends greeted each other oordially.
‘I arrived here so late last night,’ said Mor
daunt in answer to Yon Woltke's inquiries, 'that
I did not have the heart to Btir yon up from
sleep, though I knew of your being in the Ho
tel through your name in the register. I intend
ed calling at your apartments early this morn
ing. By the way, Von Woltke, you are the very
one to solve for me an enigma which has baen
puzzling me greatly for the last ten minutes.
Look over yonder. Will you enlighten me as
to the real identity of that fair vision of the al
cove? Surely there cannot be two such wo
men on earth as Isabel Devereux; yet what does
she here breakfasting in solitude, mute, Bad
faced, black robed ? You surely oan be at no
loss, Yon Woltke, to explain the meaning of
this eclipse of the star whioh, when I left you
basking in her radiance by the moonlit foun
tain of St. Moriz, I thought was destined to be
the one star of the heaven for you
It had not needed the pointing of Mordaunt’s
hand to inform Yon Moltke of whom he ques
tioned—nor even now did he glance towards the
quiet figure sitting at the distant table, isolated,
abstracted and wholly unconscious of the inter
est she was exciting in her two observers.
‘It is Isabel Devereux,’ he answered in a lew
voioe, dispelling with a visible effort the cloud
which had passed over his bright Saxon face;
‘you say truly that there cannot be two suoh wo
men on earth—Ay, Mordaunt,’ he went on rap
idly, his enthusiastic German nature awaking
unconsciously* ‘She is a star of stars. Efful
gent in herseli, she is immeasurably beyond me
who must worship her with my ardor, my very
life and spirit, ehilled by the cold beams she
casts from her Heights upon all the universe
alike—Changed ? Yes—see bow changed she is,
Mordaunt; and behold me repelled through its
influence to the utmost limits of my ellipse
from her illumination. Ah ! my friend, she has
thrust me so far that she gives me not one ray
to warm me into life.’
At another time the practical American might
have smiled at the sentimental attitude and tone
of the enslaved Yon Woltke, but, somehow, the
Bubjeot seemed nearer to his own heart thfin he
cared to acknowledge, or had thought possible
It was therefore, with difficulty that he repressed
bis impatience to learn the cause of the change
whioh was more evident to him every moment,
as he again turned his gaze upon his fair coun
trywoman.
‘But why is she alone, Yon Woltke ?‘ h6 ques
tions, eagerly. 'Why is she alone and in that
mourning garb ?'
Von Woltke turned upon him a look of sur
prise.
*Do you not know ? Have you not heard ?’
'Know ? Heard ?' answered Mordaunt impa
tiently. 'No—nothing. I have neither seen
nor heard of Isabel Devereux since that night
you oonfided to me your intentions and hopes
regarding her future. I know nothing but that
it is strange to see her over there alone, unat
tended when, a few months ago, 1 never oaugbt
a glimpse of her save when surrounded by the
moths that wished to have tueir wings singed.
Not being one of that species—’ here Mordaunt
smiled rather constrainedly—'I thought it better
to withdraw to a safer distance from the attrac
tions. Since then, having been a stroller in the
wilds, a wanderer through the gorges and upon
the heights of the Swiss and Italian Alps, any
anchorite would have heard more of the world’s
talk than has met my ears. But seriously, Von
Woltke, I see you have news - Miss Devereux is
in trouble of some kind. What is it ?’
‘Is it possible then, you have not heard of the
failure of that great banking concern in New Or
leans ?’ asked Von Woltke, surprisedly.
‘Oh! that of course’answered his friend, care
lessly—*My business correspondence would keep
me informed on those points. But surely,’ he
continued with a start, a sudden light dawning
upon him, ‘surely Miss Devereux was not a ser
ious loser in that miserable swindle ?’
‘It is understood,’ said Von Woltke, gravely,
‘that her father, that prince of bon vivants, who
was the proudest, and yet the humblest slave his
daughter had—it is understood that he must
have lost every fiano—every dollar of his im
mense fortune in the contingencies arising from
the failure of that bank.’
Mordaunt changed color and a contemptuous
sneer curled bis mustaohed lips.
‘Ah, ha!' he ejaculated scornfully, ‘so that ac
counts for Miss Devereux being exiled to Cov
entry in this manner—moths no longer flatter
about a light that has waned.’
Though the young German was slow to catch
the full force of the American’s sarcasm, he was
as quick to understand and resent the imputa
tion of his sneer. The angry blood blazed
through the Saxon fairness of his cheek, and his
blue eyes flashed.
‘It is not in Germany,’ heljaid, hotly, ‘it is
not here, that good old blofrljgs forgotten when
its rich tides roll no longer ove'r golden sands.
The jewels of the Von Woltkes would not, I
think, be wholly unworthy of the brow of the
queenly Isabel, yot has it been no longer
than a week since she rejected every advance
I sought to make to her through my honored
mother and sisters when they were here on their
way home from St. Moriz. She dosed her doors
as relentlessly upon them and me, as she did
upon the rest of the world.’
Mordaunt extended his band frankly.
•Forgive me, Von Wolke,‘he pleaded, ‘Ispoke
unadvisedly. But will you teil me what reason
Miss Devereux assigned for such conduot ? It
was peculiar—not like her to be discourteous
without a cause.’
Von Woltke shrugged his shoulders mourn
fully.
‘It was the pustom of her country, she said,
for the ladies to immure themselves so daring
the first days of mourning—’ then seeing the
lookof bewilderment in bis friend’s countenance,
he apologized hurriedly.
‘Ah ! I forget you are in the dark concerning
the whole matter—Miss Devereux emerged from
her apartments only a few days ago for the first
time since the death of her father more than a
month past.’
" Since the death of her father !*’ exclaimed
Mordaunt, distressed and troubled. “Is her
father dead, and is she then re^t,thus alone, and
perohance a penniless stranger in a strange
land ? ’
“Poor child ! Yon Wolkte, do not hold me
rude if I leave you abruptly. I will risk an
intrusion upon her without delay. I am at
least a country-man and, possibly she may ac
cept the services of a friend when in her first
sorrow, she might reject the wooing of a lover.
Pardon me, too, my friend, for speaking to you
as I did a moment since. Had I thought an
instant I would have known that you would
cling to a fallen friend as staunchly a31 would.’
‘There is no need, at least,’ said Von Wolkte,
smiling, 'to excuse yourself for the defence of
one who is so much to me as this fair country
woman of yours. But frankly, Mordaunt, I fear
even you will find it difficult to serve das schone
fraulein. She is silent, unapproachable, haughty
*—everything to repel those who have so far pre
sumed to approach her in ^r^misfortune. If
Isbe is as jijJUi ae ’fca'Zar'S''w j'Wt uuu her"
prouder than Dives.’
‘I will venture to serve her,’ answered Mor
daunt, and lifting his hat courteously, he went
on his way down the galleries to reach the stair-
wav.
His courage well nigh failed, however, 'as he
stood face to face with the young girl who,
aroused by bis approach raised her head slowly
from its position of evidently painful thought.
At first, so cold and unsmiling were the eyes
lifted to his, he thought she would quite fail to
respond to his salutation, but finally she in
clined her head slightly.
‘I bad not expected to see yon in this part of
the world, Mr. Mordaunt,’ she said, courteous
ly, but as coldly as she might have done in
speaking to a Kaffir, or to a New York police
man. ‘1 supposed you had sailed for America
months since.’
Then she had thought enough about him to
suppose that he was somewhere iD existence,
this was some encouragement.
‘It was my intention,’ he replied, quietly, ‘to
return immediately after leaving St. Moriz, but
business carried me northward to Russia and
from there I returned with a party of Russian
pedestrians, and with them, have been wander
ing over the country ever since. I am now,
however, on the way to the coast to take pas-
saga for New York.’
Did not a flicker of pleasure, or relief light up
the pale, proud face of his companion ?
‘You will then not make other than a short
stay at this point.’
There was, undoubtedly, a tone of relief in
the voice and somehow it nettled Angus Mor
daunt more than he cared to show. The ques
tion, however, gave him an opportunity whioh
he would not allow to pass unimproved.
‘No,’ he answered, slowly. ‘I go from here
in a few days unless, perchance, Miss Devereux,
I am permitted to serve you in any way. Be
lieve me—’
She waved her hand hastily.
‘I thank you,’ she said ioily; ‘you are kind,
but I can think of no service which need detain
you from your journeyings.’
‘I trust,’ he said, constraining himself to
speak without noticing her coldness, *1 trust
you will pardon me if I am presuming upon our
acquaintance as upon our common nationality,
but I have heard that you arijfip trouble and in
deed you will honor me by claiming any ser
vice at my hands.’
A slow, faint tinge of blood flowed into the
girl's white face, but her tone had lost none of
its metallic clearness.
‘I thank you,’ she again repeated, 'but I have
only myself to provide for. you know, and that
surely will not prove difficult for one who has
all her faculties and her health intact’
He smiled pitifully, yet could not help feel
ing how lovely she was in her proud wayward
ness.
‘Poor child,’ he said softly, thinking how she
had been sheltered from every rough wind of
life and how little she knew of the hard usages
of the world she thought of braving. ‘Poor
child! permit me—I am older than you; my ex
perience has been a longer and a harder one
than yonrs and the very fact that you are alone’
—bow sorry he was to see the piteous quiver of
the proud lips—'that is only a stronger reason
why you should grant me the privilege I would
claim to serve any lady left desolate in a foreign
land. You are too young, too—' he was about
to add—too beautiful—but the sudden flash of
the brown eyes warned him to be discreet ‘too
inexperienced in the world’s ways to go unpro
tected. ’
He stopped suddenly for her proud mouth
had closed with an expressive pressure of the
lips.
'It were needful.’ she said, as he paused, fit
were full time, I think, that I should be learn
ing the ways of the world, seeing neither my
youth, nor my inexperienee will feed and clothe
me hereafter. A woman who has her daily bread
to earn can no longer act the character of the
clinging vine. She must be independent, she
must learn to protect herself or she must go
hungry and houseless. And that reminds me
she added, quickly rising and gathering the
crape scarf she wore about her slender figure -
‘I have an advertisement to insert this morning
in one of the dailies. I seek that dernier resort
of the needy gentlewomen in our land you see,
Mr. Mordaunt.’
With a little air of bravado she handed him
the slip of paper she had been twirling in her
fingers. He read it through quickly, his dis
may being apparent as he gathered the mean
ing of its contents. It was an advertisement
for the position of English governess in some
wealthy Banger, or resident English family.
Americans were not mentioned, lor the girl’s
pride would not permit her to seek aid even
through the sympathetic bond of a common na
tivity. He returned the paper to her in silence,
but she felt that he did not at once relax his
hold upon it.
‘You do not approve of my plan ?’ she ques
tioned rather as if it would make but small dif
ference to her whether he should approve or dis
approve.
I confess I do not,’ he answered, frankly.
‘You know nothing of the trials of such a posi
tion to one of your sensitive temperament.’
'I shall test my capacities for a short struggle
with its disagreeabilities, at least,’ she said, de
cidedly, after a second's hesitation—‘perhaps—’
and she glanced up at him with a shadow of a
smile to remind him of the witchery of the laugh
that had but a short while ago threatened to
penetrate even the shield of his invulnerability
—‘perhaps, Mr. Mordaunt, you can serve me if
you will permit me to use your honorable name
for my reference. In this land of strangers I
shall have no other.'
Angus Mordaunt bowed gravely.
■Certainly,’ he replied, ‘use my name in any
way you desire,’ ai d as he spoke a queer flatter
stirred among the tough fibres of that same in
vulnerable breast upon whioh he had prided
himself. ‘If,’ he went on in a slightly lowered
tone, ‘if you are determined upon seeking such
a position it will doubtle- s be easy for me to
render you aid, but surely, Miss Devereux,
there can be no real necessity for such a step.
You mu t have some means—pardon me—but
was vour father's entire property involved in
that Louisiana swindle ?
She slipped from her pocket a small purse
and opening it showed him a few gold and sil
ver coins shining within.
‘I have not a dollar in the world beside.’
‘But—’ he stopped abruptly, fearful of giving
offence, then with another earnest apology, and
emboldened by the exigencies of the case, he
continued.
'In America you must have relatives, friends
you may call upon to save you from this life of
drudgery.’
A wan smile flitted over her mouth.
*1 am now alone, and, unfortunately, am the
only one who has outlived the prosperity of our
house. I am without kin, without lands, houses
or flacks. Indeed most of the jewels and other
trinkets of my butterfly existence went to buy
the spot of ground which in death my father
may claim for his resting place. He at least
should own a pillow whereon to lay his head."
There was a sudden glimmer of tears in the
lustrous eyes and a tell-tale faltering of her
voice, and Angus felt a fierce desire to seize the
right then and there to shelter her henceforth
from these bitter thoughts and the more cruel
necessities of her future.
She saw nothing of this sentiment in his stead
fast gaze, however, and presently continued,
more calmly:
‘It only remains then, you see, thatjl should
“either oeg^ Btax*ve or wftk Tur my iiTihg,
choosing the last evil, you will excuse me if I go
now to have my advertisement inserted. If in
the next few days, j should no longer be of that
class of creatures wno toil not, nor spin for their
food and apparel, it is not likely, Mr* Mordaunt.
that our paths should ag -in cross. Therefore I
thank you now for this interest you have taken
in my misfortunes and I bid you adieu.’
She extended her hand quickly,’ but Mordaunt
could not endure to see her go from him so and
holding it tightly in his grasp, he pleaded im
petuously:
‘Miss Devereux, 6tay—you surely, surely will
not turn away thus from the one acquaintance
who may be able to befriend you in this land of
strangers. I implore you to heed my offer of
assistance—you may need the help when the At
lantic is between us. But—’ he went on in a
lowered, disappointed tone, releasing her hand
as he remarked the frown contracting her brows
— ‘if I may not olairn the privilege, it is but jus
tice to my friend, Yon Woltke, to say that he is
as eager as myself to stand by you to the last ex
tremity in your hour ol reed. Miss Devereux
—pardon the liberty I take—but indeed this is
no time to trifle with your fate, and if I must
leave you, will you not promise me that you will
not close your ear to the suit of Van Woltke. He
is honorable, well bred and wealthy, and is
ready and able to hold you to the high position
which you have always adorned.’
At the beginning of his appeal, Isabel had
turned with a rare gentleness of manner, a soft
ened lustrousness of her dark eyes, but. before
he finished, she had drawn her tall figure to its
stateliest height, and her eyes were flashing
scornfully.
‘Baron Yon Woltke has at least well chosen
his advocate,’ she said, haughtily, ‘but, Mr.
Mordaunt, I must beg that from this time you
will both cease to interest yourselves in my way
of life which must henceforth lie so widely sep
arate from the one in which you will walk.'
The merest inclination of her regal throat—the
relentless sweep of her black robes, and she had
left his side, and a moment later had vanished
from the breakfast hall.
(Concluded next week.)
A French woman helps to cook the dinner
she has bought - for servants are wasteful with
charcoal and she knows to an inch how little
she can use. In that marvelous plaoe a French
kitchen—where two or three little holes in a
stove cook suoh delicate dishes, and perform
such culinary feats as our great roaring giaDts
of coal fires have no conception of—she flits
about like a fairy, creating magical messes out
of raw material of the most ordinary description.
Yes, though a lady born and bred, refined, ele
gant and agreeable in society, a belle in her
way, yet she does not think it beneath her dig
nity to lighten the household expenses by a
practical economy and activity. The dinner
of a French family is cheap and simple. There
is always soud, the meat of the stew-pan—
sometimes, if not strict in expenditure, another
plate ofgmeat—generally two vegetabjes, dress
ed and eaten separately; and sometimes, not
always a sweet dish; if not that a little fruit,
Buoh as may be the cheapest and ripest in the
season. But there is very little of eaoh thing,
and it is rather in arrangement than in materi
al that they appear rioh. The idea that the
French are gourmands in private life is incorrect
They spend little in eating, and they eat inferi
or things; though their cookery is rather a sci
ence than a mere accident of civilization. At
home the great aim of the French is to save;
and any self-sacrifice that will lead to this re
sult is cheerfully undertaken, more especially
in eating and in the luxury of mere idleness.—
No French womaa will spend a shilling to save
herself trouble. She would rather work like a
drayhorse to buy an extra yard of ribbon, or a
new pair of gloves, than lie on the softest sofa
in tbs world in placid fine ladyism with crump
led gauze and bars hands.
Ml it aud ftuwcrr.
Out on a foul—the man who loses money on a
cock-tiglit.
As soon as a new-born babe comes into the fam
ily, its father wants to give it a weigh.
The mosquitoes stand watch by one’s bedside as
the fly snatches a little sleep, and vice versa.
Have you observed how short the pants of the
man are who wears silk socks worth three dollars a
pair?
He said but little, yet, as lie gazed upon the mu
tilated edge of his best razor, ^he mentally vowed
never again to marry a woman with corns.
“Have you Blasted Hopes?” asked a lady of a
green librarian, whose face was much swollen by
the toothache. “No, ma’am, but I have a blasted
toothache.”
A widow said one day to her daughter, “When
you are of my age, you will be dreaming of a hus
band.” “Yes, mama,” replied the thoughtless little
hussy, “for the second time.”
No one has ever thought of getting the astrono
mers to look up Charlie Ross. They are continu il
ly discovering plan its that have been lost for thou
sands of years, and never charge a cent.
“Here, you little rascal, walk up here and give an
account of yourself—where have you been?” “After
the girls, father.” “Did you ever know me to do so
when I was a boy?” “No, sir, but mother did.”
An Irish gentleman having? purchased an alarm
clock, an acquaintance asked him what he inten
ded to do witli it. “Och,” answered he, “sure I've
nothing to do but pull the string and wake myself.”
A well-known evangelical clergyman, on being
accused ot leaning toward Universalism, replied
that he hoped everybody would go to heaven, “,,nd,”
said he, “there are some persons I wish were there
now.”
What more precious offering can be laid upon the
altar of a man’s iieart, than the first, love ofa pure
earnest, affectionate girl, witlian undivided interest
in eight corner lots, and fourteen three story
houses?
A little boy once called out to his father, who had
mounted his horse for a journey, "Good-bye, papa,
I love you for thirty miles long.” A little sister
quickly added, “Good-bye, dear papa; you will nev
er ride to the end of my love,”
“Does my poem lack fire?” asked a hot-tempered
youth of the editor when his poem did notjappear
in the paper. “On the contrary, it Burns with it,”
said the editor, holding a copy of “Highland Mary”
under the nose of the young plagiarist.
“Hark! I hear an angel sing,” sang a young man
in an outside township school exhibition, “No
taint,” shouted an old farmer in one of the back
seats. “It's only my old mule that’s hitched on the
outside.” Theyoung man broke down and quit.
A man in stopping his paper recently wrote, “I
think foakes doan’ter spend thare money on papers
my father never did evy body said he was the
smartest man in the kountrie and had got the in-
tellygentist family of bu-oys that uver dug taters.”
How foolishly asks that charming old poem, in
the very first stanza:
Whtre, where will be the birds that sing,
A hundred years to come?
Most of them will be dead, but the few old hens that
survive at that time will be most awfully tough.
“Children, said the teacher, addressing the infant
class, “Children, do you know you were born in
pin ?” “Please, sir, interrupted a little one, “I was
joGrn in Atlanta.” ‘‘Well, that’s the same thi ng,”
*aui iffe teaoITer i,upaCl 1 enci> ,** ‘Don’t intei i uj'i me
again.”
When the Confederate army was on its shortest
rations, Gen. Lee remonstrated one day with a
straggler for eating green persimmons, and asked
if he did not know they were unfit for food, “lam
noteating them for food. General,” replied the
man, “but for the sake of drawing up my stomach
to fit my rations.
It is not often that a soft answer turneth away
wrath, after all. He wanted to appear modest, far
more modest than he really was, and so when she
shyly asked, “What are you?” lie answered with a
sigh, *‘I am nothing.” Then her woman’s wit rose
right up, and she said In gentle tones, “Then
sir, I suppose I am next to nothing.”
They had been married a year and were taking a
Sunday afternoou walk-in the suburbs. In a va
cant lot a half dozeu young goats were having a
little “circus,” which attracted their attention.—
"George,” she said, “seeing those six buttin’ kills
reminds me that I haven't a decent pair of gloves
to my name.” George despises a goat now.
“Is this the place,” she asked, as she wandered
down on the barren sands, "where a young lady—
a beautiful young lady—fell into the water last sea
son, and was rescued by a gallant young man
whom she afterward married?” He looked at her
carefully, estimated her at a square 47, with false
teeth, and said: “Yes, ma'am; but I don’t know
how to swim.”
A Dutchman once met an Irishman on a lonely
highway. As they met, each smiled, thinking he
knew the other. Pat, on seeing his mistake, re
marked, with a look of disappointment: “Faith,
an' I thought it was you, an’ you thought it wa9 me,
and it’s naythur of us.” “Yaw, dat ish dru. Iam
anudder man, und you is not youiself, and we are
some odder boddies.”
A “fast” man undertook the task of teasing an
eccentric preacher. “Do you believe,” he said, “in
the story of the prodigal son and the fatted calf?’>
“Yes,” replied the preacher. “Well, then, was it a
male or female e«lf that was killed?” “A female,’*
promptly replied the divine. "How do you know
that?” “Because.” looking the interrogator in the
face, “I see the male is alive.”
“Papa did you see those nice little guns, down to
the store?” asked a six year old boy. “Yes, Harry,
I saw them, but I hsvtf so many children to feed
and clothe 1 cannot afford to buy you one,” replied
his father seriously. Little Harry glanced at the
cradle with no loving exuression on his face. Fi
nally he said, “well, papa, I tell you what to do, you
can swap little Tommy fora gun.”
The Vassar College girls have adopted the follow
ing glove language: Drop a glove—You betcherlife.
Half unglove the left hand—Chew your own wax.
Tap the chin with the left hand—What are you
giving us? Crumple the glove in the left hand—
Never! Crumple the glove in the right hand—Well,
hardly ever. Turn the glove inside out—Wipe off
your chin. Fold thegloves neatly—I regard you as
a bald headed snipe of the valley. Put on the left
glove—I'll put a head on you. Slap the back of the
hands with the gloves—Look out I carry a razor.
In London an American gentleman was one day
invited to dine at the house ofan eminent solicitor.
The daughter of the host sat next to him at table.
Some question arose respecting our national cur
rency, and he took from his pocket some specimens
of our bank notes, am„ng which was one bearing
the portrait of General Washington. The note
passed from hand to hand around the table, and at
last came to the youug lady above mentioned—
“Whose portrait is that?” she asked, “General
Washington,” he answered. “And who was he?’
she asked. “One of our Presidents;” cautiously an
swered the gentleman, who was rather anxious to
see how*"far this fair neighbor’s ignorance would ex
tend. One of your Presidents—ah, indeed! Did he
ceme before or after Mr, Lincoln?”