Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
JOHN H. SEALS, Editor A Proprietor
Win. B. SEALS, Prop’r and for. Editor.
WART E. BRYAN, (*) Associate Editor.
ATLANTA, GA., AUGUST 14. 1880.
■{elision ill Women.—How often
have young men propounded to themselves
and others the question, what is the first
quality to lie sought in the choice of a wife,
and how diverse have been the answers to
this important interrogatory. The thought
less ami gay will point you to beauty, wealth
and accomplishments; others who look be
yond the tinsel to the exterior, regard amia
bility and feeling as the brightest jewels in
the female character; others, still, who have
searched deeper into the springs of human
action and know well the fountains from
whence flow the purest and most enduring
happiness, will give the only true answer to
tile enquiry, viz : a strong Christian faith
sentiment and practice.
Religion is everywhere lovely, but in a wo.
man peculiarly so. It makes her little lower
than the angels. It purifies her heart, ele
vates her feelings and sentiments, hallows
her affections, sheds light upon her under
standing. and imparts dignity and purity to
her whole character. Nor does its influence
end here—
“It beams in the glance of the eye,
It sits on the lips with a smile,
It checks the ungracious reply,
It enraptures, hut cannot beguile.’’
Woman from her very nature, is destined
to drink deeper from the cup of sorrow and
suffering than the other sex. Her trials are
chiefly of the heart, and consequently th e
hardest to be borne. She is seldom, perhaps
called upon to contend with those formidable
evils and temptations which rouse all the
energies of our nature to repel the attack
hut is l>eset ifrom the time she merges into
womanhood! by a thousand petty trials and
annoyances, which, v bile they seem too in.
significant to resist, are at the same time too
difficult to overcome. Religion alone can
disarm these trials, and enable her topreserve
that equanimity and peace of mind so essen
tial to happiness. It is her talisman. To it
she flies in the hour of disappointment, and
5rom it never fails to derive consolation and
support. Yet how few in their selection of
a partner for life, regard this most impor
tant qualification. How few think to pene
trate into the secret chambers of the soul, to
see what is there hidden within so fair an in
terior—if there the vestal lampsheds its clear
and constant ray. External attractions may
lead us captive for a time—feeling may send
a thrill of exquisite joy through the heart of
the recipient—talent may call forth unbound
ed admiration—but if religion make no part
of the character, the key stone of the arch is
wanting, and the fabric will ere long crum
ble and fall.
It should be remembered that life is not all
sunshine. Bright as the world may be before
us, we cannot live long without encounter
ing many sorrows and disappointments, and
troubles. They are sent to sever the cords
which bind us too closely to earth, to turn
our thoughts inward upon ourselves, and up
ward to heaven. While our bark glides
calmly on a summer sea, with the blue sky
above and bright waters around us, the bland
ishments of youth, beauty and accomplish
ment may satisfy the heart; but let us be
overtaken by the storm and the tempest, and
where is the support they yield ! Let dark
ness enter your dwelling; and the pleasure
you derive from them is forgotten, and you
look in vain to the same source for relief
Let death invade your social circle, and lay
its ruthless hand oi; your first born, shroud
ing all around you in darkness and gloom?
and where do you look for a ray of hope ‘ It
is under circumstances like these that relig'
ion transforms a wife into a ministering an
gel. She will bind up your wounded heart,
lead you to the fountain of living waters, and
change gloom and despondency into light and
cheerfulness. As the sun in setting, lights up
every hill top, and tree, and cottage, so re
ligion gilds with its heavenly beams every
feeling, enjoyment and occupation.
Most persons on entering tlieanarried state,
particularly in youth) fancy it a condition
of unmingled joy and pleasure—that they
are within a charmed circle, the bounds of
which no sorrow or trouble can pass. They
forget the new and immense responsibili
ties that are incurred, and the trials which
must necessarily accompany them. Not that
this should deter any one from taking this
most important step: for it is the high road
to improvement and happiness. What are
the boastful pleasures of intellect compared
with those of affection ! The latter are truly
heaven born, and immortal as the former;
they are the earliest developed in our nature,
and the last touched by the finger of decay—
Woman ! thy empire is the heart, and he
who would know the capacity of the human
soul for happiness must yield himself to thy
sway.
I'll«' Seaside in Siuinnier.—Talk
of old ocean in the winter season, and it sends j
a shudder through your frame, it is well
enough to sit by the cosy grate, or what is
better and healthier, though costlier, a blaz
ing fire of oak and walnut, and read the ro
mance of the “dark and deep blue ocean,”
but as for ‘‘going down to the sea in ships,”
in December and January, the idea is only to
lie entertained by a candidate for a lunatic
asylum, or a business man, whose duty com
pels him to disregard the weather. But
when the parching heats of summer come on,
when the sun looks fiery down, when the
sidewalks scorch your soles, when—even in
the country—the brooks are dwindled tonar
row threads of silver, and the corn looks-
drooping and yellow in the fields, and the fo
liage by the roadside is dry and dusty, then
memories of the great deep in its glory and
tauuty, and freshness and grandeur, ci owd
back on you with the force of a first love,
and you are ready to rush into almost any
spot where you are sure of meeting its cool
embrace.
There is 110 monotony about old ocean.
“From morn to dewy eve” its colors play
through all the tones of the chromatic scale
It is alternately purple, azure gold, crimson
and green. Even in the night, when the mists
creep over the distant horizon, and the light
houses come out like stars bursting on the
firmament, one by one upon their rocky sta
tion points along a far extent of shores, all is
not darkness in the waves that sink in music
on the taach, or are shivered like glass upon
the pointed rooks. A thousand phosphorescent
stars, the seeming reflex of the firmament
above, glitter in the surf. And then how
grand, how tragic, is the deep in the roused
fury of a summer storm; when the clouds
press downwards in black battalions, and the
crested waves like plumed warriors rise to
do battle to the storm! How in the sudden
uprising of the tempest, the white wings of
the vessel in the offing suddenly disappear,
as they take in sail to meet the startling
emergency.
Hut in all these phases, we have but a dis
tant acquaintance with the ocean after all.
To know it we must plunge into its heart—
we must feel the exhilarating joy of the
strong swimmer that lays his hand upon the
tresses of the raging billows, as the lion-tamer
strokes the mane of the lord of the desert.
There is joy and health in thus sporting
with the brine. Then the thought of moon
light rides along the sea beach, of hearing
poetry recited by lips we love on the margin
of the deep, with the running accompani
ment of breaking ripples, like musical bells
chiming into the melody of thj verse—it is
enough to make an editor forswear inkstand
and desert his post.
But for the proper e ijoyment of a fit of
genuine laziness, commend us to a nook in
the rex-ks, with a volume not too pleasant or
engrossing, the shadow of a tall clifF over us,
and a good lookout upon the broad expanse
of ocean. What then to us is the strife—the
angry passion of the fretting world! We
find its type in the incessant war of wave
and rock; and there is enough of excitement
jii that endless combat. How senseless to us
seems the fierce pursuit of gold and of the
“bubble reputation.” We watch the white
sail dipping and disappearing below the ho
rizon, the imagination goes forth with them
to tropic climes, to islands in the Pacific, to
the haunts of the Nereids and the homes of
the Faraways. From such dreams, peopled
with “creatures of the element,” we go back
to the routine of daily life refreshed and in
vigorated. No one is worse for a brief so
journ by the seaside in summer.
All A«linirsil»l«* Speerli in llic
llcniocralii- Convention—
The Democratic Gubernatorial Convention
for this State which has just adjourned in
this city presented during its entire session
the most novel spectacle ever before witness
ed in a democratic meeting and gave vent
to an extraordinary amount of political gas.
A great many buncombe speeches were made
but we give below a most admirable address
which was delivered by Col. I*. W. Alex
ander, of Cobb County:
Gentlemen of this democratic convention?
in support of the motion I desire to make a
few remarks, in the best spirit and in the
interest of harmony. I desire you to remem
ber two important historical events in the
history of the democratic party. I11 i860,
tlie party met in Charleston, with a. majori
ty party and a minority party, and failed to
nominate a candidate for the presidency.
They adjourned to Baltimore and failed to
agree. The majority put out its candidate,
and the minority its candidate, and the old
whig party—that’glorious old party—put out
its candidate, and the radical or republican
party put out its candidate. We all remem
ber the painful result. The radicals', though
in a minority, elected their candidate. I beg
you to bear this in your careful memories.
After Mr. Lincoln was elected came the war.
Some gentlemen—some of the syndicate who
are now near by this convention—did not
wait for the state to secede, in their eager
ness; but some of them took steps in advance
of secession. 1 h: ppened to be a member o
that convention ami opposed secession. But
when we went out of the union, like every
true Georgian, I took my stand by the side
of my neighbors, and would have given my
life to have made our cause a success. What
was the result t The emancipation of slav
ery, the disfranchisement of the states, the
loss of property, the loss of good government,
the hardships of reconstruction, and other
evils, all because the democratic ma
jority in the convention of I860, saw lit to
disregard the wishes of the minority, and
split the party asunder. [Applause.] Do
you purpose to re-enact that tragedy in this
convention Do you purpose to adjourn this
covention without a legal and proper nom-
tion, under the two-thirds rule t If you do,
1 warn you that in every congressional dis
trict in this state, we shall have two candi
dates: in nearly every county we shall have
two candidates for the legislature, and two
contesting candidates for nearly every coun
ty office. And in the end, in the black belt,
and in the lower counties, we will deliver
over the white people, and the women and
the children, to the domination of the black
race.
[Cries of “Never, never.”]
Mr. Alexander—I hope you will not. But
to show you my spirit in this matter, I w ill
vote for any man this convention can har
monize upon. But as we cannot control you,
nor you us, I ask you, will you adjourn—
will you let loose this brood of political evils
upon the state < 1 plead with you. I am grow
ing old and do not expect to attend a.iofher
convention, and I beseech you to consider
what you are doing. You cannot make a
nomination under the two-thirds rule by pur
suing a radical policy. We are men as well
as yourselves. We are Georgians and pa
triots, and men who fought and showed our
faith and devotion by bleeding upon many a
battlefi Id. We don’t ask you to do any
thing dishonorable. I would vote for Col
quitt in one moment if I could by that vote
secure the harmony of the party. Will you
do it t Is not Alexander H. Stephens good
enough for the democratic party ! [Great
applause.] Is not Judge Warner good
enough ! Is not J udge Lawson good enough 1
[Applause.] Is not Jackson, either of the
two Jacksons, descendants from that grand
old patriarch up there who looks down upon
us from the gallery ! [Applause.] Have you
no other man ! I will take him in a moment.
I know Governor Colquitt. I have seen him
uixm the battlefield. [Applause.] I have
nothing to say against him. But there is
many another man in Georgia just as good.
But you shut doum the rule anil won't allow
us a choice. I will take the honored presi
dent of this convention. [Prolonged ap
plause.] I will take the distinguished gentle-
mau from Spalding [Applause], or the gen
tleman from Richmond. [Renewed applause]
There are fifty men here who would make
good governors.
One other remark and I am done. In the
secession convention the late lamented and
glorious Linton Stephens remarked, when
called upon to say whether he would sign the
ordinance of secession, gave as his reasons
why he declined to do so that the day might
come when a man who voted for the ordi
nance would have more explanations to make
to the people of Georgia than he would. And
I say it in no spirit of threat or self-glorifica
tion that if you adjourn without a nomina
tion, you may have more apologies to make
to your wives and children in the not distant
future, than we who have asked you to agree
upon any other man whom the people of
Georgia may see proper to present. [Great
applause.
Sell* Importanre.—One of the worst
nuisances to the society which tolerates them
are those individuals who are constantly
tailing over with an exaggerated sense of
their own importance. To some persons the
society in which they move circles around
one centre, and that centre is themselves.
They know nothing superior in importance,
and they believe that all the world agrees
with them in this. What they do and think
and are, how they live anil what they feel,
how they dine and how they sleep, their
pleasure, their hojies and their fears, their
disappointments—these are the chapters of
their sacred book, of which they turn the
leaves incessantly, and read out portions for
the benefit of the rest. This is a manifesta
tion of nothing shorter than wild lunacy;
and a very tiresome manifestation it is, for,
how pleasant soever it be to them to talk of
themselves, nothing is much more wearisome
to others to hear.
A man whose self-importance is of the
rampant kind—who is the pivot on which
all things turn, and who imagines that others
unite with him in this worship—is an uncon-
fineil lunatic, to lie avoided liy those who de
sire peaceful days, and who dread uncomfort
able moments. His importance is of the kind
which overshadows every other person anri
every other circumstance, and you have to
take part in the ritual of self-glorification
that is perpetually going on, and you must
expect a deluge of lunatic reproaches, found
ed on nothing, and tending nowhere. You
will lose nothing by shunning such persons,
for they are too thoroughly wrappad u|i in
themselves to care much for any one else,
and their friendship, therefore, is not to be
relied on.
A Woman’s Life is not a Hap
py One.
Nobody needs a summer holiday or rest
more than the mother of a family. But for
that holiday or rest to be of any use or ad
vantage she must leave her work—the small
folks—behind. To take a family of children
to the seaside or a summer resort entails -a
amount of work and worry for which ho
amount of ocean breeze, or mountain air, or
change of scene, will compensate in the way
of health and vigor. The mere getting ready
to go away with four or five children is labor
which of itself would drive men to drop tilings
and go off to Europe to be cured of over
work. And just here, we might say, that
when women are overworked in the care of
a family and housekeeping—when their
brains have been so busied and bothered that
rest ami recreation are absolutely essential
to prevent a break down—they are not sent
to Europe; they are not ordered to drop work
and worry and go where they can secure
total immunity from harrassing care, but
they are in the main expecte 1 to hang on un
til a regular break down comes, and the in
sane asylum or an early grave receives
them.
We have yet to hear of the mother of ten
children—more or less—being ordered to
leave them and go to Europe for rest and
change of scene, and yet, in the care and
rearing of those children, combined with the
wear and tear of housekeeping, there are, we
venture to say, more real physical strain and
tax of brain power than in the management
of the Pennsylvania railroad, in which Tom
Scott broke down and was sent to Europe.
The fact is not realized nor recognized and
yet it is a fact nevertheless. • We hear a vast
deal about the early fading of American wo
men. We see on all sides families where,
while the hnsbaud is in t]je prone “ f
and vigor, the wife is weak, faded, worn out,
old before her time and ugly through ill
health, and these ills are set down to every
thing but the tru > cause—overwork. Over
work of mind and nerves and body.
Now, what such women need is to lie re
leased for a time from the treadmill of break
fast, dinner and supper, the woes of washing,
the everlasting making and mending and
darning, and the care of the children. Now
this last proposition, by multitudes of good
people, will be deemed tank heresy. No one,
they say, can see to and take care of children
like a mother, which is perfectly true: but
isn't it better to let the children “rough it’’
a little while than for the mother to lose
health, and strength, and beauty, and finally
breakdown ! We saw at the seashore lately
a family which is a case in point. The father,
a fine-looking, robust man, in the prime and
vigor of manhood, came down in the morn
ing looking as fresh as a daisy, and having
secured an armchair to his mind, he luxuriat
ed in the ocean breezes, and took in with lazy
enjoyment the spice and point of the morn
ing paper. •
In the meantime his wife was up in their
ten-by-twelve room getting four children
ready for breakfast, while the nurse walked
the floor with the cross baby. Four chihjren
to wash and comb and dress—imagine it—and
then to array herself in breakfast costume.
Do you wonder that she came down tired and
jaded and used up t Then the same pro
gramme to go through before dinner and tea.
Now we saw enough to show that the hus
band would go back to business after his holi
day, bright and brisk and fresh, while the
wife would be tired to death. And yet had
she been as free to enjoy, as free to rest, as
free to go here and there at will, as free from
all the care and worry of the children, as he,
she might also retain her health, her vigor
and freshness and beauty. She would not
sink into a fretful, chronic invalid, old at
forty and in her grave ere fifty.
That a mother should be a martyr to her
family has so long been held up as a crown of
glory that she imagines she is not doing her
duty by her husband and children unless she
sacrifices to them her health and strength
and even her life. Now, we hold that no cal
amity is so great to children as the loss of a
mother, and therefore the mother should be
prized, cherished, cared for as their richest
blessing, if not for her own sake, then for
theirs; and, therefore, those means should be
used which will best preserve her health and
long life. We hold that for her rest and re
creation are essential, and should be secured
at all hazards. And, moreover, mothers,
by the sheer use of common sense, ought to
know that it is better for them to take care of
themselves, and live for then- children, than
to die and leave them to the jurisdiction of
the forward, frivolous fool which nine men
out of ten select for their children’s step
mother.
Few if any artists perhaps are better post
ed as to all the modern improvements in
“art culture,” than Mrs. J. R. Gregory; who
is herself an Academy member and is in the
habit of going on every year, for several
month’s art study in the schools of design
the North. She is a lady of rare talent and
superior advantages, and we most heartily
recommend her to those who wish their chil
dren instructed in any branch of art. Her
terms are so moderate as to be within the
reach of all Southerners who may wish the
best art instruction without the expenses
attendant on a sojourn in Northern cities.
See her announcement in another column.
A Brooklyn man stole up behind a lady in
a dark room and kissed her, and when he
found it was his wife, and she found it was
her husband, they were both as mad as wet
hens.
The editor of a paper in Wisconsin re
ferred to a gathering of ladies as a “scandal
caucus,” and now the fifty and odd females
won’t patronize a store that patronizes the
editor.
1>1C TALM A«K n Tim ■»AA«'i:
HOUSES*
He Hakes a Midniglil Tour
Among I lie Hance Hon srs
anil Giimlding liens ol'
Ueadvilie.
Rev. De Witt Talmage last evening repeat
ed in Lendville his astonishing performance
in New York a year or so ago, making a per
sonal inspection of the slums and by-ways,
ami privately visiting the dance-houses and
gambling halls and viewing the life therein
presented. On their arrival night before last
Dr. Talmage and his wife were temporarily
assigned to a room on the first floor of the
Clarendon, from which the clerk yesterday
offered to change them to an especial apart
ment near the parlor usually occupied by
Governor Pitkin and like distinguished
guests. Mr. Talmage inspected the apart
ment and said to the porter, “I guess we will
take both rooms; we are nervous from the
effects of our trip, and I do not care to dis
turb Mrs. Talmage.” So Mrs. Talmage kept
the first room while Mr. Talmage took pos
session of the other. No one suspected the
preacher was preparing for his second great
nocturnal pilgrimage among the slums. Last
evening he lectured in the City Hall on “Big
Blunders.” It was io.Jo o’clock when he dis
missed his audience and was rapidly driven
to the hotel. Half an hour was spent in pre
paring for the work before him, and Mr. Tal-
maoe was ready to set out. 1\ ith a solitary
companion to guide him the preacher quit
the hotel about 11 o’clock and entered Harri
son Avenue, crossed the street and stopped
in front of the Board of Trade saloon with
out entering, Mr. Talmage being informed
by his guide that a man had been shot over a
gambling table there on Monday night. He
and his company recrossed the street and en
tered Wyman’s gambling saloon, where Mr.
Talmage stopped long enough to obtain a full
view of the little crowd of players seated
about a half a dozen green tables and watch
ing with breathless interest the progress of
the games. From here Mr. Talmage pro
ceeded to what is known as the “Texas,” an
other gambling saloon, where music and a
good lunch relieve the monotony of faro.
Here Mr. Talmage was recognized by one
of the gamesters, and in an instant was the
cynosure of every eye in the room. He beat
a'hasty retreat, reaching the street, thence
continuing his visit to three other gambling
rooms on Harrison avenue, where he was
thoroughly initiated into the secrets of poker
keno and roulette. The preacher and his
companion then turned down the street and
proceeded to visit the dance-houses. The
first of these places at which Mr. Talmage
stopped and entered was the Udeon. His
companion led half way down the hall, Mr.
Talmage timidly pausing a few feet from
the door and watching the girls as they
threaded the mazes of the dance in wild aban
don. The floor manager, not recognizing
him, approached .dir. Talmage and asked him
to lead a set, but the invitation was politely
declined and as soon as he could get his guide
within reach of his voice they stepped out
and continued down the street until the Red
Light Dance Hall was reached, where they
entered, the preacher timidly inquiring sev
eral times of his guide if all the men carried
arms. In the last dance-house visited Tal
mage had been recognized by one of the girls
and he was glad when he found himself once
more beyond the bold inspection of the fre
quenters of the place, to whom his presence
became Wtown almost as soon as he had set
foot liisy.V'the door. He wished to he ve a
glance at the female gamblers before retiring
Out on consulting his watch found it was
past 12 o’clock, and determined to defer his
visit until to-night. He returned to the hotel
;i nd occupied his room till morning.
SON OF THE GREAT ULYSSES.
“llnrk” 4«r:inl makes a
I’urluiie for II im-i-lf :m«I
Helps ili<- Oi<l Man.
Gen. Grant’s election to the presidency of
a mining company is the outcome of a long-
planned scheme upon the part of Ulysses
Grant, jr., or “Buck” Grant, as he is gener
ally called. Buck Grant is now twenty-
eight years old, and one of the most success
ful financiers of his age in this country. His
talent in that direction has been fully
brought out during the last two years. Dur
ing the closing days of his father's presi
dency he acted as private secretary. Grant
doubted every one about him when Babcock
fell, and would not allow any one but Buck
to have access to his private papers. Buck
was at this time modest, smooth-faced, me
dium-sized, slim in figure, and very boyish
looking. His modesty and ability, however,
made him many friends. Some powerful
men in New York took up Buck when his
father set out for Europe. Young Ulysses,
who is a graduate of Harvard, thought his
future was to be developed in the legal pro
fession. He was, after admission to the bar,
assigned to do duty in the United States dis
trict attorney’s office in New York. There
Secretary John Sherman has thrown special
business iti his way. Buck Grant, after ac
cumulating a small capital under influential
and powerful auspices, began making ven
tures in Wall street. He succeeded so well
that he abandoned the law for more profita
ble fields of speculation. Becoming interest
ed, finally, in mining stocks, he paid a visit
to the Pacific coast, where the great bonanza
firm of Flood & O'Brien took him under its
wing. Mr. Flood tossed young Buck a few-
points, and he made such a good use of them
that the great speculators backed the young
Ulysses in his cruise around the world of
speculation, acting as his mentor at every
point. The docile pupil so made use of his
skillful training that at the end of two years
he had $4'x>,ooo placed to his credit. It was
only when this sum was reached that the
young man proposed a matrimonial alliance
with the great firm. Buck has now associated
with him as partner his brother, Jesse 1).
Grant. Buck himself promises to become
one of the most brilliant operators in the
country. Besides the fortune that he has
made for himself he has made several special
speculations for his father. Just before Gen.
Grant went to Mexico he intrusted to Buck
Grant $“->,ooo for the purpose of seeing what
could be done with it. Buck Grant, during
the absence of his father, cleared for him
from the capital some $4o,000; so Gen. Grant,
upon his return, found a despatch placing
$65,000 at his disposal by his thrifty son.
With this profitable speculation added to his
credit. Gen. Grant is worth to-ilay in the
neighborhood of $ 180,000. This latest min
ing scheme of Buck Grant’s in placing his
father at the head of the Ban Pedro company,
is based upon a plan of the youthful Ulysses
to realize the wildest dreams of Monte Cristo.
The union of the Grant and Flood families is
to be followed by an aggregation of wealth
that will make the families among the most
formidable in point of influence in this coun
try.
A young lady should never have her lover’s
initials tattooed on her arm until the knot
is tied. The engagement might be broken,
and then the next fellow might feel offended.
It very frequently happens that the girl
who has the m jst bang to her hair has the
biggest holes in the heels of her stockings.
RANDOM TALKS?
BY MARY E. BRYA.V.
I have just finished reading (with the sense
of having spent an unprofitable hour) a new
novel written apparently with no other ob~
ject than to illustrate Byron’s anil Miss
Landen’s sentiments that “lore is woman’s
whole existence.” Nothing does the heroine
do through the entire four hundred pages,
but love with an abandon that out Juliets
Juliet, the hero, who is anything but a
Romeo. The story reminds one of Ruskin’s
epigrammatic comment on a popular song.
Says the author of “modern Painters:” “A
young lady sang to me Miss Somebody’s
great song of “love, love and die.” Had it
been written for silk worms it should at least
have added—spin.”
* * * * * * *
The instinct of combat is as natural to
man as spots to a leopard. When the “war
drums cease to throb and the battle-flag is
furled,” the instinct finds some other vent.
The ancient Roman had his gladiatorial com
bats, the age of chivalry had its tourneys.
•Spain has her bull fights, we have our nomi
nating conventions, our elections and our
Legislative arenas of wordy strife. And in
these fair woman has her part. I11 the gal
leries of the convention and Assembly Halls,
as in the Coliseum and the bull fight amphi
theatres, she beholds and cheers the strife.
Many a windy battle of bathos finds its
stimulus in the bright eye looking down from
the gallery heights. Yes, man remains the
“lighting animal” after ages of culture and
woman still crowns the victor at the tourna
ment.
* * * * * * *
From my window, I see in our pasture, a
fine blooded young mare, trim as an antelope,
caressing her colt—a long-eared graceless
mule. She did not caress it at first. She
could hardly bear for it to approach her.
She seemed to have a positive repulsion
against the inferior creature. But she has
become reconciled to its deficiencies; the
maternal instinct has triumphed. The case
has a frequent parallel among human beings.
People wuo deal in didactic generalities, are
fond of saying: “there can be no love with
out respect.” Every day’s observation cor
rects the assertion. We see women, and
more rarely men, of fine natures clinging to
idols of commonest clay, surrounding a cor
rupt wreck of humanity with the sustaining,
concealing and excusing mantle of foveas
the vine surrounds and supports the rotten
tree. Itisiaretliat this devotion is a mas
culine attribute, though fathers, like the
poet sou led David, have loved ami mourned
for their unworthy Absaloms, but it is rare
that a man clings to a woman he has ceased
to respect, unless through force of habit or
the coarse hold of animal passion. And yet
I have known two instances in my life where
men have devoted with faithful, patient anil
self-denying affection, to women whom they
could not respect. It is one of the saddest
moments of life when the consciousness is
borne in upon us that our idols are surely
anil irretrievably flawed. It is a sharp
wound, but it heals over like other wounds
that life makes in our scarred hearts. Once
I knew a high-souled, gifted woman mis-
niated to an inferior man, who had poured
out all her love—checked in other channels—
upon her son—her one child. She had tried
to breathe her soul into the boy—her fine
sense of honor and truth, her aspiring ener
gy—her pure imagination. She would not
believe how miserably she had failed: she
would not see how the coarse metal could not
receive the flue temper and polish. She shut
her eyes to his short comings; she excused
them to herself and others with all the in
genious pretexts love could devise. When
;tt last there coul l be no doubt; when a deed
showing such palpable lack of principle and
refinement, stripped the boy’s character of
the veil her love had thrown over it, it was
an all but mortal blow to the mother. Her
heart withered and shrunk under it, yet the
mother-love dul not fail, it faltered an in
stant: it dropped forever the sustaining hands
of respect and of hope, but it kept on alone—
by the side of the morally—crippled being
she had once dreamed would be the culmi
nating flower and finish of her life. Bo has
our mare—dainty Annie—accepted the fact
of her offspring’s long ears and gawky limbs.
* ***** *
1 know a hollow in the hills, where n little
brook has its cradle. It gushes from the
cleft heart of a green bank, and, laughing in
wild glee, leaps out of its birth-place and
goes dancing away over roots and rocks.
Wild myrtle and honeysuckle bushes, maple
and poplar trees, feathery cats tail, golden
marsh mallow, and scarlet [link root—a leafy
and flowery company—crowd about the
stream as fair thoughts about a poet’s mind.
Never was a lonelier, lovelier spot than this
green hollow that cradles the laughing brook.
Here dwells an echo that loves to repeat the
mysterious mournful cry of the whippoorwill;
here the wild tiger lillv lifts its flame hued
flower like a fairy torch, and here the wild
convolvulus spangles the sward with its
white constellations. A phalanx of dark
woods stands guard above around the rim of
this lonely hollow. There are two breaks in
the woody ranks: through one 1 see the
bald, scarred brow of Btoue Mountain lean
ing against the sky, symbol of Nature’s
mighty and untamed majesty. Through the
other, 1 see fields of tasselled com and creamy
blossomed cotton, tokens of men's industry
and power. 1 like the mountain best. It
pleases me to forget man’s “ceaseless toil and
endeavor,” when 1 lie here in this green
hollow of Nature’s hand.
* * * * * * *
The most awful maladies that attack the
human frame are those that proceed or are
contracted from the lower animals—hydro
phobia, glanders, snake bite etc. To actual
pain are added the elements of the horrible,
the revolting, the bestial. “Talk of no
horror, till you have seen a human being
with the glanders,” said an old hospital phy
sician to me; “1 had one case—a man who
had contracted the disease from a fine horse
in a livery stable. I never want another.”
A sight taut remains on my mind, where it
was etched in childhood with the linger of
horror—is the picture of a strong voung
negro girl of eighteen dying with the bite of
a rattlesnake. Bhe had been my nurse, so 1
was admitted to see her. It was night: the
large, bare white washed sick-room was full
of distorted shadows, but the light of a lamp i
and the red gleam of a pine knot on the I
hearth fell upon the girl’s form crouched on j
a pallet. A convulsion had just passed off,
she lay nearly quiet, only panting, the sweat
standing in great drops iqion her bleeding
half-naked limbs, for she would tear her
clothes and flesh with her nails anil teeth
when the spasms of agony came on. Around
lay several chickens that hud been chopped
open while life was still quivering in them
and applied to the wound on the ankle where
the snake had bitten her. The flesh of these
fowls hail turned green as summer grass
with the virulent poison.
In a moment, the convulsions began to
come on. The muscles in the girl's powerful
arms began to twich, then to swell and knot;
her blood shot ejes glared open, she rose to
her knees crying: “It's coniiu! its comin!
kill me, kill me!” Twisting over the floor,
like a serjxmt, tearing her flesh with her
teeth and fingers, frothing green touiu at the
mouth and spitting it to a distance, uttering
sometimes a hissing sound between her
clenched teeth and sometimes a rattling cry
of agony in her throat, the unfortunate girl
did in her looks and motions most horribly
suggest the reptile that had dealt her the
fatal wound.
Even more revoltingly suggestive of bestial
habits, so 1 have been toid, are the death-beds
of victims of hydrophobia. Lately we have
had almost in our midst, several cases of
this most awful, mysterious, and inscrutable
malady, which has hitherto defied all the
researches of science to understand, and the
skill of physicians to cure it. An eye witness
of one of these cases described as among the
symptoms foaming at the mouth, the snap
ping, the barking like a dog, a sound doubt
less produced by the spasm of the throat, as
the other syptorns are the results of convul
sion. But they serve to increase the horror
that hangs around this mysterious disease,
isolating the poor victim from the tenderness
of his friends. The treatment of the victims
of hydrophobia in these later days attests
the progress of the world in humanitarian
feeling. Formerly persons bitten by a rabid
dog were smothered. This was so common
that Charlotte Bronte makes “Shirley”
speak of it as a matter of course, “In case
the worst happens to me,” said that brave
heroine, who had burnt out the bitten place
on her arm with a white-hot iron held by her
own hand—“in case the worst happens, they
will smother me; they always do.” Bo they
formerly chained maniacs in loathsome cells
anil scourged them with whipS or scorched
them with hot pokers. How different to the
wise, brave, kind treatment that humanity,
hand in hand with science, enforces in what
pessimists call these “degenerate days.”
The wise, large-hearted, unselfish humanita-
rianism which is a distinguishing feature of
the age is “going backward.” Formerly a
charitable institution was a phenomenon;
now, not only are there innumerable asylums
for the poor, the old, the sick, the afflicted,
the orphaned; not only are there numerous
formatories, houses of refuge, homes for poor
children, day nurseries for the children of
working women, free schools ami foundling
establishments, Imt science and art throw
open their doors free to the poor that their
mental as well as their physical nature shall
receive attention, Libraries, museums, art
galleries, music and lecture halls invite the
poor to receive the free baptism of beauty;
flowers and pictures are distributed to them,
anil excursions to the mountains and seaside
are planned for the poor children of cities,
that they may be elevated by the sight of a
freer and grander nature than meets their
eye in the “wilderness of brick and mortar.”
Yet in the face of all this, the pessimists
groan over the “degenerate age’’ and sigh
for the “good old times.”
Old English^ Authors.
Biographical Sketches.
Marimi Ilians.
More commonly known as George Eliot,
was born in 1820, in Warwickshire. Her
works are “Beetles in Clerical Life,” “Adam
Bede.” “The Mill on the Floss,” ‘Felix Holt,
the Radical.” “Midillemareh” and “Daniel
Derond.a.” Her grand characteristic is her
delineation of character in the formative
state, and in exhibiting the power of circum
stances in its development. Her style is
singularly terse and epigrammatic, and her
works are among the few which are often
quote 1.
Ann IS:i«l«-l i l!V.
This female writer was born in London,
1764. Her works are, “The Romance of the
Forest,” “The Mysteries of Udolpho,” “The
Italian.” Her popularity as a writer of
fiction was so great that she received for
“The Italian” £5oo, and the same amount for
“The Mysteries of Udolpho,” which are the
largest sums ever paid for any fiction except
tie? Waverly Novels. She is remarkable for
her vivid imagination and her wonderful
powers of romantic and descriptive narrative.
Her painting of feudal pomp and splendor,
and of gloomy haunted castles, are thought
to be unrivalled; such is her prowess in the
domains of the mysterious and terrible that
she keeps her readers in almost breathless
awe and agonizing suspense. Her works
have doubtless sent many young readers
frightened to bed.
lii'icn.
She was born at Hampshire in the year
i~75. Her father was a man of considerable
culture and bestowed on his daughter an edu
cation far superior to that usually given to
young ladies. Her principal novels are,
“Sense and Sensibility,” “Mansfield Park,”
and “North Rauger Abbey.” These books are
remarkable as thought by critics, for the
truthfulness with which they portray the
every day life of the middle classes of Eng
land in her time, and for their delicate and
yet distinct discrimination of the different
shades and peculiarities of character. It
was of Jane Austen that Scott said, “That
young lady has a talent for describing the
involvements, feelings and characters of or
dinary life which is to me the most wonder
ful 1 have ever met. The big bow wow I
can do myself like any one else, but the ex
quisite touch which renders commonplace
things and characters interesting from the
truth of the description and sentiment, is de
nied to me.”
PERSONALS.
M. Rudolphe Modjeska, the son of the
charming actress, is studying engineering in
Paris.
Senator Bruce, of Mississippi, is reported
to be the possessor of two large plantations
in his State, and has a fortune also of $200,
000.
Miss Mary E. Banks, daughter of General
Banks, is to be married to Mr. Paul Sterling
at Waltham, August 12.
V nimg De Jarnette, who killed his sister in
Danville Ya , because of her frailty, has
twice attempted suicide.
Anna Dickinson vows she will never marry
until she can make a batch of bread. That’s
just like Anna, she thinks all men are loafers.
Henry Irving, the actor, is modest. He
only asks $2600 a night ani expenses to visit
tins country. We can get along without
him.
Kate Field says the late Mr. Lewes was
the ugliest mail she ever saw. Perhaps Miss
Field is like the spinster who thought no man
ugly—until after he was married.
Ulysses, jr., seems to be a bigger man than
old Grant. In a recent stock speculation he
cleared over 8400,000 for himself and $40,000
for his papa.
A gallant young man of Norfolk knocked
his sweetheart down with a brick-bat and
broke several of her ribs because she refused
to marry him. He was determined to make
an impression on her anyhow.
Lexington, K., has the oldest living gradu
ate of West Point Military Academy in
Wright Merrick, of the class of 1S22. lie is
a native of Massachusetts, is eighty-three
years of age, and is the only survivor of his
class.
The Emperor Francis Joseph will go to
Obertraum to meet the Emperor William, of
Germany. They will thence proceed togeth
er to Ischl, where it is expected they will
arrive on Tuesday.
At Boston’s coming two hundred and fif
tieth anniversary it is expected that both
Hancock and Garfield will be present, and it
is a part of the programme that they shall
ride in a barouche together in the great pro
cession.
Colonel Wm. C. Butler, w ho died in Ken
tucky last Friday, was the candidate for
Vice President in 1S4S on the Democratic
ticket with General Cass for President. The
nomination of the latter led to the Free Boil
movement under Martin Yan Buren, w hich
divided the Democratic party and secured
the election of the Whig candidate, General
Taylor.
General Grant may have to earn his salary
as president of the “Consolidated New and
Old Placer Mining and Water Companies.”
The Santa Fe Era thinks that the presidency
is an elephant on Grant’s hands and that he
will have a lively time of it as regards litiga
tion. The Era adds: “One suit has already
been commenced by the Ortiz heirs, setting
forth that the will by which the present
company claim title was fraudulently ob
tained and is of no force or effect. Should
the company, however, be successful in this
there are numerous suits to be bad to depose
tenants in common. In fact, there is more
litigation than mineral in both properties—
to the company.” _ t