Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH
5
Love's Golden Hour.
BY THOS. F. SMITH.
’Tween quivering leaves the moonlight falls,
On trailing vines and garden walls.
And wilderness of flowers.
The soil wind whispers through the plain,
And trilling birds join the refrain
From out the leafy bowers,
A fair girl stands beside the gate.
And, listening, wonders “what so late
Can s:ill delay his coming?’’
Till, soon, sweet music greets her ear—
His well-known voice, so very dear,
A sweet love sonnet humming.
The 6tars look down, the roses blush.
And twittering birds their music hush
To listen to his story.
His love, as boundless as the sea—
As endless as eternity,
6hall crown her life with glory.
Her faltering tones in sweet replies—
The soft light in her soul-lit eyes—
A wealth of love betoken.
He clasps her to his throbbing breast,
And on her lips a kiss is pressed
To seal the vows they've spoken.
The stars shine on—the moon, to rest,
Hides ’mong the hilltops of the west,
And lengthening shadows darkle.
The thought of parting brings a sigh,
And on the hand he clasps good-bye
The clustering jewels sparkle.
Decatur, August, 1881.
Household Decorative Art.
All Manner of Fancy Work to
be Exhibited at the Interna
tional Cotton Exposition.
It is a question of taste, of ambition to ex
cel, of progress, even of duty, to be able to
make a handsome display of artistic handi
work at the great International Cotton Ex
position to be held in Atlanta next October.
Ladies from all parts of the Union, who are
experts in any of the ornamental or decora
tive arts should be sure to send their rarest
specimens. Do not send in any tawdry work
made of shoddy material and done in a sort
of “half hand” way; but beautiful and useful
articles wrought of excellent material, and
of the best execution you are capable of. It
will rtass the inspection of superior judges
and be admired by thousands of visitors; it
will advertise your taste and attainments,
and be productive of much good in the ad
vancement of your own sex’s claim to skill
and ingenuity and to ability to support them
selves. In New York there is what is termed a
“Women’s Exchange,” where all kinds of
fancy work may be sent, and for a trifle as
commission on sales, every pretty and useful
article can be sold. In this way many ladies
are earning hundreds of dollars. A fine dis
play of such beautiful art at the Exposition
would doubtless result in establishing such a
remunerative and much needed business in
the South.
Almost every lady has some specimen of
her work in some of the following arts.
Honiton lace-work, embroideries, Breton-
work, bead-work, crochet, applique-work,
Saxon insertion, darned-net, and fine tatting
and all those exquisite knitted goods in silk,
thread and worsted, which would make a
splendid display. Embroideries, braidings.
bead-and-Berlin-wool, tapestry work of all
kinds, wrought either in silk or crewels.
Then the endless beauty and richness of the
floral world may be executed in flowers
wrought upon satin, silk or velvet or muslin,
fish-scales,skeleton-leaf-work,or the supreme
beauty of wax-flowers and fruits. Beautiful
articles wrought of leather, moss-work,cone-
work, feather-work, shell-work, and even
fancy straw-work wrought into fashionable
millinery must not be forgotten,
Others may excel in fancy hair work of all
kinds, such as wreaths, crosses, elegantly ex
ecuted hair-jewelry, and the very rare and
exquisite hair-work known as “Device hair-
work.” where the different shades of hair are
used to represent different colored flowers
with all the delicate traceries of lights and
shades seen in fine engravings. These devices
for brooches, lockets and bracelets reveal ex
quisite vignettes, and even lovely little bits
of landscapes, A.distinguished artist in this
work, who lives in New York,has just finish
ed a large landscape beautifully executed in
this ingenious work, for which he has been
offered three thousand dollars. An effort is
being made to induce him to exhibit this rare
piece of art at the Exposition,
You ladies who excel in drawing and paint
ing, send in the choicest specimens from your
studios: drawings in crayon, pencil-drawings,
pieces in pastel, portraits or landscapes in
water-colors or oil; fine hand-painting on
satin, crepe, or silk; Grecian painting, an
tique painting, oriental painting; and, lastly
—and just now all the rage—the decorative
china painting.
Ladies who are not artists in any of these
ornamental branches, may claim reward and
admiration by excelling in the compositions
and conserves that tempt the palate—
canned fruit and vegetables, preserves, jel
lies, pickles, catsups, and domestic wines.
This is a wide field, and to excel in this line
of home industry is a distinction of which
the most cultivated and aristocratic lady may
be proud.
There is another and very important in
dustry—the production of raw silk. Many
a Southern lady, during the late struggle be
tween the States, when importations were
cut off by the closing of our ports, learned to
manufacture her own sewing silk, silk hosiery,
ties, handkerchiefs, etc. Every lady who
knows anything of “silk culture” should
send in some specimen of her production.
Particularly would it be interesting to see
some of these silken relics of the war.
The “Women’s National Silk Association”
of Philadelphia, is expected to make a very
handsome and elaborate display, and any
additional entries from any part of the Union
are very desirable to complete this grand
display of silks, and promote the silk culture
in America.
Art is not only for pleasure and profit, but
for good. Beauty is good. Let us do all we
can to advance the “good.”
Do not think it is too late to complete work
for the exposition. There is still much time,
and applications for entries will be received
in this department up to the dav of opening
the exposition. Yet it is desirable that all
who wish to make exhibits should apply as
early as practicable, and make such applica
tion direct to Bon. H. I. Kimball, director-
general International Cotton Exposition,
Atlanta, Ga. Ample space will be provided
in the grand art pavilion, especially for all
such exhibits. J. F.
Garfield's Virginia Farm.
A correspondent of the Golden Rule says:
“President Garfield has begun the purchase
of a farm in Alexandria county, Virginia,
before he was hurt. His agent completed the
purchase, advancing the money while Gar
field was too ill to do anything. I hope the
good man may shortly recover to enjoy his
new possessions and improve it to the like
ness of the farm at Mentor - I really don’t
see what he means to do with it. Perhaps he
will make farming fashionable. A lady re
mark'd of some of bis views of education,
addressed to the Normal graduates, June 16,
and of other interesting, unhackneyed utter’-
ances of his on the same subject, “If the
President keeps on, he will make teaching
fashionable.” He could do no better than,
by his ideas or his practice, to lend a charm
to farming, I should judge from the dreary
accounts that come from old England and
from New England, of the abandonment of
farms even in favorable conditions. A sirai
lar complaint comes from Milton Turner,
colored ex-minister to Liberia, in regard to
bis race in the South. He says he found bis
people qui'e flourishing and contented cheer
fully, co-operating with the whites in efforts
for the moral, intellectual and material in
terests of both races, but when able to afford
an education, the negroes were disposed to go
into i be professions rather than to acquire
the industrial arts.
Senator Don Cameron’s new residence in
Washington is descri bed by a Washington cor
respondent as “fascinatingly ugly on the out
side and palatial within.”
THE BACKWOODS.
FAMILIAlt LETTERS.
Betsy Hamilton to Her Cousin
tialeny-About Her Re
turn Home.
LETTER NO. 17.
Dear Saleny:—I was tellin you, when ole
Miss Green come an sont me to huntin roun’
for sumpin to feed her an her gang on at
dinner, how Caledony got after me to go on
with them to camp meetin. I was mitily in
clined ter, but I knowed ef I did, George
Washington Higgins’d set it down as I done
it bekase he was along, and I’m not agoin to
have him think I’m so anxious to have his
company. So I jes lowed to Caledony,
“Maw’s done sent the ridin nag fur me
now, and she’ll set up all night if I don’t go.”
All the time I sot thar, I thought about what
all I‘d hearn about how old Arminty Pen
dergrass had talked and the harm her tongue
was still a doin, fur I could see by the way
Milly Acker sot stiff up in her cheer and nev
er said much that she didn’t want to have
nothin to do with me, but George he tried to
talk like nothing had never happened. You
see Arminty told it that I made fun of him
at the writin school a d she ’lowd he had
done forget me and was a gwiue to marry
Milly. Well, thar he was a gwine to camp-
meetin with her so hit looked like thar was
sumpen of it. I done most er my talkin to
Caledony. I thought this, if he was a mind
to believe old Arminty without axil me
about it, and if he-was mad, he had his life
time to git glad in and I wasn’t a gwme to
show him I keerd.
George ’lowd: “Did you git acquainted
with Mr. Dave Billingham?” “Yes,” says I.
•‘How did you like him?” says he. “He’s a
nice man,” says I. “Well,” says he, “I
hearn it a singin around that you and him
was a gwine to marry, then I hearn some
body else say it wasn’t so, that vou made fun
of him and called him a ‘punkin head. 1 " I
say it,” says I, “I never sed no such thing.”
says I. “I like him mightily. I couldn’t
marry him, bekase he never axed me. I nev
er made fun er him nor no other voung man
that ever walked with me, ur flew around
me, but if he hears I did and haint got no
better sense’n to believe it, he ken jist believe
on fur all I Keer.” Then says he, “Miss Bet
sy hit aint right to believe all you h ar.”
“No,” says I; “fur if you do, you ken allers
hear more’n you want to. Thars plenty er
folks to talk when they know you’ll listen. I
never believe nothin less its sumpen good,
without h<ts proved to me." “But,” says
he, “when vou hear the same thing from two
or three different folks, what then?” “Why.”
says I, “if I can, lax the right one and git
the straight of it.”
“That’s right,” says he—and jistthen. Miss
Simpson stept to the door and 'lowd “come
in to supper; we haint got much, but what
we’ve got you’re welcome to.” And I wlsht
you could er seed the table, hit was plum full
of ever’thing you’d want, the dishes was jist
a .pilin’ full—and hit was cooked the best
kind. We riz by times next mornin’ and
started ’fore the sun got hot. Me and George
wasn’t together no more, so I never got no
chance to explain nothin’, but I don’t low to
no how lessen he axes me fust. Hits jist
er pourin down rain, the hardest I’ve seed fall
sense summer sot in, the boards on the house
is so dry hits er leakin’ in two or three places
and I’ve been a movin’ around to keep out’n
it. Some’s ready to say, “Whyn’t we git
this rain sooner when we needed it so bad?”
Some’s glad to git it any time, and some is
sorry no matter when hit comes so hits hard
to please ever’bodv. I never seed many rains
that suited ever’hody at onc’c, but thar is
some folks wouldn’t be pleased if hit was to
rain gold instid er water, they’d ’low they
didn’t want it, if hit had to be so plentiful.
The Joneses wonld’nt want it if the Brown’s
had it, and the Brown’s would grumble be
kase they didn’t git as much of it as the
Joneses. Hit looks to me like things is a
gittin’ wuss and wuss, them that’s got the
most is the least satisfied. Now thars the
Brown’s that’s got more’n any folks in this
settlement, and they’re allers a grumblin’
and a talkin’ poor. But the Long’s is jist
tother way, they are so poor they haint got
enough to eat, but you wouldn’t know it to
hear ’em talk—they pnt on airs and set np
and talk grand about the niggers they used
to have—and what all thev’d have “if hit
hadn’t er been fur the war.” Maw says she
knowd ’em plum well ’fore the war, and they
never had no niggers nor money nother, and
they’ve been a talkin’ rich ever sense she
fust knowd ’em wbar they come from in
Georgv. Some folks brag that’s got room to
brag, but mostly the oct-bragginest ones is
them tbat’s got nothin’ to brag oflTn. But I
believe I’d rather listen at the Long’s brag,
ns to set and hear the Brown’s grumble.
They grumble over the good bekaze hit ain’t
better, and the better bekaze bit aint the best.
Now thars Pap, haint a bit like the Brown’s
nor the Long’s nother, bekaze he haint as
rich as one. nor as poor as tother, he don’t
talk poor about what he haint got, nor brag
about what little he’s got. As long as he’s
got a dime in hfs pocket, he is as happy as a
pig in a water-million patch—in pertickler
when he is tight. He’s got a plenty as long
as it lasts— and when it gives out he sobers up
and goes back to his harpenter’s work and
makes more Hits gittin’ too dark to see, so
I’ll stop. Write soon to vour fust, cousin,
Betsy Hamilton.
ENCHANTER GROUND.
“Beyond doubt
(The spot's enchanted.”
“Cupid, cupidity, stupidity.” This is the
epigrammatic way in which a cynical phi
losopher has diviied life. To enlarge-in youth
we worship women, in middle life, money,
and in old age, our own ease. The division
is fair enough as a generalization. We wish
to look now upon the first era only—that
ruled by the sweet morning-star of love
“Love makes the world go round,” asserts
the old proverb. Tapper says it is “a vol
ume in a word, a heaven in a glance, a whirl
wind in a sigh, a lightning in a touch, a mil-
lenium in a moment.” This is said to be
Utopian. Whoever escaped from Arcadia
gave a very vague account of his sojourn
there, and old Rip Van Winkle was but a
poor witness to the experiences of his long
nap, yet what dreams he must have had!
Such is the manner of those who have been
to the Enchanted Isle of Love
“There is sweet music there that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Music that gentler on the spirit lies
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
Happy lotus eaters! thrice happy! for not
for all beam those halcyon skies. There are
some who can never be permitted to visit the
Enchanted Isle. There are ethers who sneer
at its witchery or are contemptuously in
credulous of its beatitudes. Their boats lie
along the enchanted shore, the inhabitants
thereof piss them with a wondrous light up
on their faces, but these hapless voyagers
cannot even smell the spicy odors of the
charmed coast. Is there no remedy? Have
they an Arcadia of their own? No, the loss
is irreparable, and thongh they are spared
the conscious deprivation, the truth remains,
it is a deprivation. Even those who have
left love's aidenn forever carry about them a
subtle token of havirg dwelt there, which the
d-votees of cupidity fail to understand, but
all those who have tasted the charmed cup
recogmz* the token by a species of freema
sonry. Yes.Love.sweet Love,there is always
a wistful looking back at your enchanted
shores. Mist of tears makes it but loom fair
er in memory, and longing hearts are fain to
say. “If it be a vain vision, would I might
dream again.” Hester Shipley
An editor had occasion to use the expres
sion. “Alpha and Omega.” He was over
whelmed with delight when he found that
he compos or had made it “apples and or
ange- - .” That evening the wretened mangier
fled from the city in wild haste.
How Some Authors Work.
George Eliot’s, Payne’s, Dick-
en’s, and Balzac’s Method of
Composing.
It is only comparatively recently that we
knew to a certainty how the idea of “Adam
Bede” began to arise in George Elliot’s mind.
The usual report was that the Quakeress,
Dinah Morris, was literally “copied” from
Elizabeth Evans, George Eliot’s aunt who had
been a female preacher at Works worth in
Derbyshire. But from George Eliot’s own
account, given in her letter to Miss Sarah
Hennell, we find what the facts of the case
really were. She only saw her aunt for a
short time. Elizabeth Evans was then a
“tiny little woman about sixty, with bright,
small, dark eyas, and hair that had been
black, but was now gray;” of a totally differ
ent physical type from Dinah. For a fort
night, Elizibeth Evans left her home and
visited her niece in Warwickshire. One sun
ny afternoon, she happened casually to men
tion that In her youth she had, wijh another
pious woman, visited an unhappy girl in
prison, stayed with her all night, and gone
with her to execution. “This incident,” adds
George Eliot, ‘ lay on my mind for years, as
a dead germ apparently, till time had made
a nidus in which it could fructify. It then
turned out to be the germ of ‘Adam Btde.’”
We may take this very remarkable account
as a fresh proof of the adaptive faculty of
genius. A slight newspaper paragraph; a
passing word in ordinary conversation; a
sentence in a book; a trifling anecdote, may
suggest ideas which will eventually blossom
out into volumes of intense interest. That
germ is, however, the root of the matter; it
is the mainspring on which the whole de
pends.
Mr. James Payne, the novelist,tells us that
when he was a very young man, and had
very little experience, he was reading on a
coach-box an account of some gigantic trees.
One of them was described as sound outside;
but within, for many feet, a mass of rot
tenness and decay. “If a boy should climb
up bird-nesting, into the fork of it, thought
I, he might go down feet first, and never be
heard of again.” “Then,” he adds “it struck
me what an appropiate end it would be for a
bad character of a novel. Before I had left
the coach-box I had though, out ‘Lost Sir
Massingberd.’ Such a process lasted for a
shorter time with Mr. Payne than with the
majority of novelists; with many, the little
seed might have germinated for years before
it brought forth fruit. Yet Mr. Payne is re
markable for the clearness and coherency of
his plots; they always hang well together,
and have a substantial backbone.
Other writers do not lay so great a stress
on plots. Dickens’ plots are rambling and
discursive in the extreme. They resemble a
high road that winds, now into a green lane,
now up a steep hill, and now down to a broad
valley, whils we are quite unable to tell how
we arrived there. His personages are his
strong point; it was they who haunted his
imagination day and night. He wrote un
der strong pressure, and with an intense con
sciousness of the reality of his men and wo
men. For the time being, he lost his own
identity in that of the creations of his brain.
The first ideas that came to him were at once
eagerly seized and committed to paper, with
out any elaborate circumspection, though he
was at infinite subsequent pains to revise and
correct both MS. and proof. With regard to
Kingsley, we learn from his “Life,” that
none of his prose fictions, except “Alton
Locke,” was ever copied, his usual habit be
ing to dictate to his wife as he walked up
and down his study. Hence, probably, the
inequality of his writings. His habit was
thorougly to master his subject, whether
book or sermon, generally OHt in the open
air, in his garden on the moor, or by the side
of a lonely trout stream, and never put pen
to paper till the ideas were clothed in words.
And these, except in the case of poetry, he
seldom Altered.
Charles Lever was one of those authors
who hated the drugery of copying and re
vising. He says himself: “I wrote as I felt,
sometimes in bed always carelessly, for, God
help me, I can do no better. When I sat
down to write ‘O’Malley,’ I was as I have
ever been, very low with fortune; and the
success of a new venture was pretty much as
eventful to me as the turn of a right color at
rouge et-noir. At the same time, I had then
an amount of spring in my temperament and
a power of enj oying life, which I can hon
estly say I never found surpassed. The
world had for me all the interest of an admi
rable comedy.” Lever had remarkably lit
tle of the professional author about him; and
bis biographer telis us that no panegyric
about his last book would have given him
as much pleasure as an acknowledgment of
his superiority at whist.
It constantly happens that authors them
selves prefer those of their books which the
public fail to appreciate. This was certainly
the case with the late Lord Lytton. In one
of his letters to Lady Blessington, he says:
“I have always found one is never so success
ful as when one is least sanguine. I felt in
the deepest despondency about ‘Pompeii’ and
’Eugene Aram,’ and was certain, nay, most
presumptuous about ‘Devereux,’ which isthe
least generally popular of my writings.” In
the same way George Eliot was far more
anxious to be known as the author of “The
Spanish Gypsy,” than of “Adam Bede." It
is quite natural that authors who make com
position a study, should pride themselves on
those books which have cost them most pains
and trouble. But these books are not always
their masterpieces. The comic actor who is
full of the idea that his forte is tragedy, sud
denly and unexpectedly finds himself hissed.
Of all literary workers, Balzac was cer
tainly the most* extraordinary in his modus
operandi. At first, he would write his novel
in a few pages—hardly more than the plot.
These would be sent to the printer, who
would return the few columns of print, past
ed in the middle of a half a dozen blank sheets
in such a way that there was an immense
margin left all round. Oa this margin,
Balzac would begin to work, sketching the
personages of the story, interpolating the
dialogue, perhaps even completely altering
the original design of the book. Horizontal,
and vertical lines would run everywhere; the
paper would be scrawled over with asterisks,
crosses, and every kind of mark. The dreams
of the unlucky printers must surely have
been haunted by those terrible sheets, be-
spiinkled v. ita all the signs of the zodiac, and
interspersed with long feelers like the legs of
spiders. To decipher such hieroglyphics
must indeed have been no enviable task.
Four or five imes this process was repeated,
until at last the few columns had swelled in
to a book; and the book in its turn, never
went through a fresh edition without being
revised by its over-scrupulous creator,” who
sacrificed a considerable portion of his profits
by this eccentric plan of building up a book.”
Harriet Martineau at first believed copy
ing to be absolutely necessary. She had
read Miss Edgeworth’s account of her method
of writing—submitting her rough sketch to
her father, then copying and altering many
times, till no one page of her “Leonora”
stood at last as it did at first. But such a te
dious process did not suit Miss Martineau’s
habit of thought, and her haste to appear in
print. She found that there was no use copy
ing if she did not alter, and that even if she
did alter, she had to change back again; so
she adopted Abbott’s maxim. “To know first
what you want to say. and then say it in the
first words that come to you.”
We have a very different style and a differ
ent result In Charlotte B ■ onte's toil in author
ship. She was in the habit of writing her
first drafts in a very small square book or
folding of paper, from which she copied with
extreme care. S .muel Roger’s advice was,
“To write a very little and seldom—to put it
by—and read it from time to time, and copy
it pretty often, and show it to good judges.”
Happiness is sometimes so great that to
keep silent is impossible. When a young
lady described her ttate ef mind at the mo
ment when her lover offered himself she said,
“It seemed as though every nail in the house
was a jewsharp, playing ‘Glory, hallelujah.”
LIGHTS AND SHADES.
Of The Working Man ’s Life.
On the 26th of last April as the flower-
laden throng, lead by a military band, were
wending their way to Oakland Cemetery At
lanta to cast their offerings upon the graves of
the fallen brave of the lost cause, in an
humble cottage on the suburbs sat a widowed
lady and her daughters. The father and hus
band bad fallen in the war, the end of which
had left them destitute. The tender age of
the girls and the delicate health of the
daughters had rendered them unable to pro
vide one for the other. Their aching hearts
were made still sadder by witnessing the
moving crowd which circumstances made it
impossible for them to join. Ere the last
notes of the drum had died upon the ears of
the pinched and careworn sufferers, two
wagons stopped before their door, one to de
liver a load of wood, the other a supply of
family groceries. The two scenes showed the
wide contrast in the minds of individuals.
How many are lead by the few, and how
very few act for themselves. While several
thousands of our citizens were paying the
“tithes of mint, anise and cumin,” two young
men well known in business circles in this
city, did not “neglect the weightier matters
of tha law,” for by their timely donations,
theyM*eered the hearts, and gave new life to
those who must have suffered without assist
ance. Another decoration day, who will re
member the destitute widows and orphans?
That afternoon there was a bright sunbeam
in the hearts of those unfortunate ladies.
Who will unite in carrying out the idea so
happily originated, to take cheer and comfort
to the homes of the widows left destitute by
the war and its consequences. Hallow the
day to the suffering survivors, as well as
honor the memory of the noble dead, who, if
permitted to speak would say, “Help, help
for the living; aye leave the sunlight of
tangible human sympathy with my family,
even if my grave should remain unnoticed
through all time.”
the mechanic at home.
He is young, sober, honest and industrious.
He has a cheerful willing hearted helper in
his little wife, aad he has a tiny, clean little
home and a garden, in which you may see
him working on spring and summer morn
ings before work hours while his wife
prepares breakfast. He takes a delight in
raising fine vegetables, and is proud of his
wife’s lovely flowers, which are indebted to
him for many useful and ornamental touches.
Their home, though only a simple cottage of
three rooms is the admiration of all who pass
it The occupants are esteemed as persons of
refinement, and their tasteful surroundings
are often envied by others who possess far
more means, yet are devoid of the taste and
energy necessary to such results.
By sobriety, order and economy the sun
beams of content and prosperity play around
that humble home, just such a one as almost
any mechanic might own, were he to follow
the example of my bean ideal working man.
THE PERSECUTED NEGRO.
A Colored Man In Georgia Pays
>*33,000 For a Farm.
Last week Pleas Harper, a colored farmer
living near Glade, paid Messrs. Powell and
Davenport $32,000 for 2100 acres of land, ly
ing on Broad river, in this county. This is
one of the largest purchases ever made by a
negro in Georgia, and it occasioned a good
deal of comment. We last Sunday saw Mr.
Powell and asked him if there was any pos
sibility ef Pleas ever liquidating the debt.
I feel confident that he can and will pay
every dollar as it falls due,” was the reply,
“ana-as soon hold a note on PU*s'
Harper as the best white man in Georgia.
He is worth now at least $15,000, and doesn’t
owe a cent. He can pay $10,000 if he wants
to cash on the place, and I give him ten
years on the rest at eight per cent. He has
this year a fine crop and will make plenty
of proyisions to run his farm. Pleas has
been paying ns $i5oo a year rent for about
one-fifth the land we sold to him, and by in
creasing bis farm operations he can easily
meet the claim.”
“But do you think he is competent to man
age such a large business?” was asked.
“There is not a better business man in
Oglethorpe county than this negro,” replied
Mr. Powell. “He can tell you any day to a
cent how he stands with the world, and as a
farmer I never saw a better. He is econom
ical, his family all work, and he can get
more out of a hand than any one I ever saw.
Pleas, too, is not an old cotton farmer. He
has been making from 100 to i5o bales of
cotton a year on rented land, besides grow
ing enough apples to run his place. In fact,
his cotton crop is nearly all clear money.
Yon justought to see the Bermuda grass hay
he has saved this summer.”
This purchase conclusively proves what a
colored man can do in Georgia, if he will but
go to work, and we think it will be about as
good a campaign document as can be circu
lated in the North. Pleas Harper is a bright
mulatto, with a good face, and has always
been noted for his honest dealing and good
management. The little education he has
received was secured since freedom, and he
has always beeu a staunch Democrat. It is a
singular fact that whenever a negro begins
to accumulate property he leaves the Radi
cal ranks.—Oglethorpe Echo.
The Medical Intolerant.
Since the shooting of P resident Garfield
this type has bloomed out luxuriously. And
as the Irishman said at a free fight:
“What a beautiful shindy ye prevint.”
The intolerant has each his own individual
theory of the proper practice to be pursued,
and spurns all the other intolerants. I ven
ture to assert that the market will be short
of telegraph operators and newspaper men
after it’s tdl over, for they have become so
conversant with human anatomy, and the
general practice of medicine in writing up
the daily condition of Dr. Bliss—pshaw! of
the president, I mean, that they’ll all be tak
ing out sheepskins as medical (mal) practi
tioners. Should the president recover it will
be almost a miracle. This recalls an almanac
anecdote: A man was run over by a rail
road train and pretty badly cut up. A crowd
collected of course, and, after the doctor<
had diagnosed around the sufferer for a while
some one asked:
“Will he recover?”
“Recover?” answered an old lady, “why,
Jerosha, how kin he recover when the doc
tor says as how his Latin parts is ail cut to
pieces?”
The president's case is analogous; if there
are any of his Latin parts untouched we
haven’t heard of it.
Suicide ot a Horse.
At Fishkill, N. Y., a short time ago, an old
hoise was seen to come out of the l«aru of his
owner and stand a few moments as if looking
ont upon the river. The animal returned to
the barn, and in a few minutes came out
again, went deliberately to the river, waded
into the cove that is enclosed by the Hudson
River railroad, swam through the culvert
under the railroad track into the main river,
and thence continued to swim out into the
stream. A man employed on the piledriver
near by saw the horse, went after him in a
small boat and brought him ashore. But on
reaching shallow water the animal persist
ently refused to come on dry land. He laid
down in the water, floundered about, and
apparently made every effort to keep his
head under, as if determined to drown him
self; and finally he did drown, in water not
’eep enough to cover his body as he lay
down, and where he could only drown by
making a determined effort to do so.
An ant town in the Alleghany moun
tains consists of 1.600 or 1.700 nests, which
rise in cones to a height of from two to five
feet. The ground below is riddled in every
direction with subterranean passages.
Cape May Sights.
A Veritable ’’Model” Show Pa.
troalzed by the Elite.
People talk of the ballet and the degen
eracy of the stage. Faugh! that is nothing.
Right here on Cape May’s beach, sanctified
by the customs of society, is the greatest
1-1-leg show on the earth. There is nothing
like it, and it is all free. Suppose a girl
should give a garden party and invite a hun
dred or two of her acquaintances, male and
female. Suppose each girl should get herself
up regardless, her only object being to dis
play her form to the best advantage. Sup
pose a single garment should be her only
clothing—a garment fitting closely to her
neck, belted at the waist, and buckled at the
knees, with a short skirt like a ballet-girls,
falling from the waist to the knee pans.
Then suppose her to saunter out under the
trees with her round, plump, dimpled arms
bare above the elbows; with her long, golden
hair falling loosely down her back, and with
beautifully worked stockings fitting closely
to her lower limbs, her only foot cov
ering. In this costume let her lean on her
lovers arm and parade around for an hour,
talki ng romance and nonsense. W hat would
society think of it all? And what would so
ciety think of the girl who gave the garden
party and of the girls who attended it? And
yet this is the kind of show you can see on
the beach any day at noon. The girls parade
about with scant costumes, and the scantier
the costumes the more society looks on and
applauds. By noon all the bathers are on
the beach. It is a lively spot. Here comes
a perfect beauty tripping down from the bath
house. I saw her only an hour ago on the
Stockton piazz 1, and some one pointed her
out as the prettiest girl at the hotel. She is
from Baltimore. She is gotten up to kill.
Her loose hair is flowing down her back,
only caught together slightly with a blue
ribbon. A dainty little straw hat covers her
head. Her costume is of dark blue flannel,
edged with white. Like most of the bathing
suits it falls to her knees only, leaving her
limbs entirely free from encumbrance. The
most marked feature of her costume is her
beautiful stockings, which must have cost sev
eral hundred dollars. They are of a very fine
silk, evidently imported, with the most beauti
ful and dainty tracings upon them. A young
man accompanies her. also attired in a neat
fitting suit of blue. She trips over the sand,
clutching his arm occasionally as she appa
rently stumbles a little. Her arms are bare
to the elbow. Everybody looks at her. Bare
arms and well turned ankles are so common
here that there is no novelty about them,
and it is only when they belong to very pretty
girls that they attract admirers. The plain
or medium girl who goes into the water as if
she enjoys it could not get a corporal’s guard.
Indeed, I doubt if anybody would notice her
if her entire clothing consisted of a linen
sheet, or if she had no clothing on at all. At
the water’s edge the couple stop and gaze
about them. Why don’t they plunge in? As
I ask myself this question, I hear a voice be
hind me murmuring: “Pooh! she don’t dare
to go into the water.” I turn to see who is
speaking. Near by are two young ladies.
They are lookers on.
“Who is she?” asked one of them.
“I don’t know—Miss Somebody-or-other,
from Baltimore. I refused to be introduced
to her only last night. Sue’s all sham.”
“Why, what do you mean, Belle?” asked
number one.
Belle smiled significantly and pointed to
the bather’s bust “Corsets,” she murmured
with a slight sneer.
“Oh, that’s nothing, Belle,” protested the
other. “Most of the girls wear corsets in the
water this year, it’s the style.”
“Don’t care if it is,” put in Belle. “You
m-wk my words. She won’t go into the wa
ter, now you see. Why, she would all fall
to pieces if she did. She looks very nice and
pretty now. but the water would make her
a fright That’s her beau with her. Do you
suppose she is going to show what an elegant
form she hasn’t got by going into the water?
I tell you she is all sham. The water would
g ull her dress all down and would show every
it of padding about it” And Belle tosses
her head disdainfully, while I wonder can
such things be? Belle is right The beauti
ful hair is not wet with salt water. The
young girl steps into the foam which rolls
upon the beach, and, with an affected little
scream, jumps back in an instant “Oh, it’s
so cold!” she cries, although her ankle has
hardly been wet. Her escort comes to her
rescue, and, after a sufficient amount of tug
ging, the girl allows herself to be dragged in
up to her knees. But no further will she go.
In a moment she is out And then I see
through it all. The beautiful silk stockings
cling close to her limbs, and are prettier than
ever. It is a very pretty ankle she has, and
everybody knows it, and as the girl and her
escort parade up and down the beach they
are the center of attraction.
RAILROAD ANECDOTES.
A conductor on the Great Northern Pacific
road tells a story illustratrive of the ignor
ance and the rough, belligerent character of
some of the people along the route, who are
more familiar with hip-pocket pistols than
with conductor’s ticket punches. “I had
only made one run down here,” said the con
ductor. “when, passing one of the sidings,
we took on a Simon pure, double-fisted ‘gray,’
one of the pioneers; those fellows who had
lived a life in advance of civilization, mak
ing the way easy for others, but always leav
ing in time to escape the press and improve-
m nts, the foundation for which he has so
surely laid. Evidently he had never before
seen the ulterior of a car, for it was some
moments before he concluded to seat himself,
which he did cautiously and with that quick,
nervous, twinkle of the eye which men con
stantly on the alert for danger exhibit. Let
me say here that in this country every man
carries a pistol, and generally in his back-
pocket. Well, as I had already seen the other
passengers’ tickets, I took my time about
matters and slowly walked up to my man
and put my hand, with the usual quick mo
tion, behind me to get my punch; but before
I could say ‘Ticket, sir!’ quicker than powder
the muzzle of a six-shooter swelled under my
eyes, and a hearty voice rang out: ‘ Put her
hack, stranger, I’ve got the dmp on yel’
(You may laugh, but 1 shook hands with him
o/t.ra free ride, anyway.) Another time I
Happened down the road when there was to
be a service held in the new depot. Old
Hays, a one legged preacher, had permission
to hold meeting there. Hays wore an old-
fashioned wooden leg, strapped in place and
held firm by a leather around the waist, and
this being uncomfortable he was constantly
tugging at it. Very few of the hands knew
s im. but they thought it a good chance to
have some fun; and a very rough sat they
were that filed in that evening and filled th9
back seats. Of course, some few ladies and
railroad officials were present. Planks raised
on boxes and some few chairs served as seats,
while the preacher stood behind an empty
whisky barrel, on which were his lamp and
books. From the singing of the first hymn
to the close of service an ever-increasing buzz
and noise disturbed worship; but old Hays
in his quiet way went on oblivious of it all.
The forms gone through with, he prepared
to dismiss his congregation with the usual
benediction. ‘Let us orav,’ he said, and
slowly put his hand behind him under his
coat-tails. The sudden silence was wonder
ful, and as he got on his knees every mother's
son on the back benches ducked down
quicker’n a diver. The old fellow never
lreamt of drawing a pistol, but his habit ot
hitching at that strap served him in good
stead.”
A man who went West to “grow up with
the country” has retarned. He got there j ast
in time to get acquainted with a tornado
which was doing a little visiting in that sec
tion. The tornado took him up an exceed
ingly high distance, and showed him all the
possessions of the earth, and then let him
drop down again. He says he has grown
enough in the last few days to satisfy him
for all the rest of his natural life.
RANDOM NOTES
Of a Personal, Social aad Goo
•Ipy Character.
Dr. Tanner, the faster, is dead. Eminent
physicians attribute his sudden demise to his
forty days’ fast last year.
Rev. George H. Hepworth has written a
romance entitled “1 ! !” It is in §§§, and the
interest is *tling and untied.
Twenty years ago James A. Garfield said:
11 1 regard my life as given to my country. 1
am only anxious to make as much of it as
possible before the mortgage is foreclosed.
Pope Leo XIII has retired from journal
ism, his paper, the Aurora, having been sus
pended, after costing him several hundred
thousand dollars. The paper had several able
contributors, but no journalist in its manage
ment.
A farmer near R 3d wood Falls, Minn., who
had 300 head of sheep that were greatly an
noyed by wolves, finally hit upon the plan of
having a burning lantern at night in his
sheep pen, and thereafter his sheep were not
disturbed.
Lady Florence Dixie, who went to the
Transvaal as correspondent of the London
Post, is “roughing it” in camp fashion, and
cooks all her own meals. She is a splendid
shot, and never misses at a distance of two
hundred yards.
Sojourner Truth is living in fair health at
Battle Creek, Mich. Her hair, which for
years was white, is turning dark again, and
her eyesight is improving. According to the
best information her age is 106, though she
thinks she is older.
The Empress Augustais so ill andjdebilitat-
ed that even her husband is not allowed in
the sick-room. She is very gentle and pa
tient during her sickness, and shows great
consideration for her attendants,
The press of orders which are constantly
pouring in to Krupp, the well-known Ger
man gun-maker, does not speak well for the
peace of Europe. He was recently obliged to
hire an additional force of 8,000 men,
the total number in his employ 13 00c.
No American will longer hesitate about the
expediency of surrendering Nihilist Hartman
to the Russian government. We possibly
might tolerate him as a social and political
pest, and even as a would be regicide; but he
has now deliberately threatened to lecture in
the United States.
Of one party, consisting of twenty-five of
the returning Chinese students, it is stated
that nine have changed their religious faith
since they came to this country. It is im
possible to estimate the influence upon China
in future years of the education of these
youths in a Christian land.
The duke of Sutherland dresses as he
pleases. He appeared at a garden party given
by the princess of Wales at the Marlborough
house in a suit of white linen, to the great
astonishment of everybody, but to his own
comfort. The duke can drive a locomotive
or command a fire department.
Mrs. Bianchet, of Ottawa, Ontario, left her
sister’s bouse in Prescott on Friday to take a
train for Ottawa. Nothing has been seen of
her since, and it is feared that she has been
kidnapped by tramps, a desperate gang of
whom have lately been committing serious
depradations in the vicinity of Prescott.
The Czar of Russia, it is said, nas a curious
ornament on his writing table. It is a piece
of the foul bread—a mixture of uninviting
and innutritious refuse—on which the peas
ants have been trying to live in one portion
of his domains. He was ignorant of the dis
tress in the district until a newspaper publish
ed the facts.
One of the bronze bas reliefs on the Stephen
A. Douglass monument in Chicago, represents
a public hall, with John C. Calhoun in the
chair, and Henry Clay in the act of making
a speech. Douglass leans against a pillar,
near him are Daniel Webster, Abraham Lin
coln and J. Q. Adams. The corner-stone of
this monument was laid in 1866.
Kean’s last acting was as Othello, at Co
vent Garden theatre, with his son Charles as
Iago. His memory was impaired, his consti
tution shatt-red by the nse of intoxicating
drinks and his spirit gone; but on this last
night he struggled through his part as far as
the speech, “Villain, be sure,” when his head
sank on his son’s shoulder. He was carried
off the stage and his acting was at an end.
• Mrs. Swisshelm says if men wear boots at
all the boots should reach to the waist and be
fastened by a belt; that they should wear no
collars, but leave the neck and throat bare,
tnat the pantaloons is an awkward contriv
ance, impeding locomotion and catching dirt;
that a ‘boiled shirt’ is a physiological abomi
nation and the hat of a man is the climax of
absurdity. We would like to see a man
dressed after Mrs. Swiss helm’s idea. Ye
gods!
I ran against Mr. Wilson, the great manus
facturer of oleomargerine, last Friday, as I
was climbing the stairs of the grocery house
of the Thurbers on West Broadway. Mr.
Wilson is a big, broad-chested, fine-looking
man, and he is churning thousands of pounds
of oleomargerine each day, regardless of all
the opposition it has provoked. More than
all this, he is growing rich—which is really
the chief end and aim of most men; has a
handsome uptown house, and sends his fam
ily to Saratoga for a season of pleasure.
Great is oleomargerine!
A watchmaker in Newcastle, Pa., says a
Pittsburg paper, has completed a set of three
gold shirt-studs, in one of which is a watch
that keeps excellent time, the dial being
about three-eighths of an inch in diameter.
The three studs are connected bv a strip of
silver inside the shirt bosom, and the watch
contained in the middle one is wound np by
turning the stud above, and the hands are set
by taming the one below. Bat perhaps the
most remarkaole thing about the Liliputian
machine is that it works with a pendulum,
like a clock, and the pendulum will act with
ease and accuracy in whatever position the
timepiece is placed, even if it be placed up
side down.
Saved from Drowning by a
Horse.
Miss Kennedy and several companions,
while bathing in Lake Harriet, near Minne
apolis. Minn., waded into a deep hole, and
Miss Kennedy was drowned. The others
were rescued by Dr. Foster, who was riding
by at the time on horseback. The doctor
cannot swim a stroke, but he urged his horse
into the water, guided him out to the drown
ing girls, and told them to take hold of the
horse’s tail and they would be towed ashore.
One of the girls grasped the horse’s head and
pulled him under water. He quickly threw
up his head, when she grasped the mane, and
the whole party was safely towed to shallow
water. When he started out, the doctor
saw Miss Kennedy straggling in the water,
her hands only being visible above the sur
face. He is of opinion that she sank instant
ly and but once, as no one saw her rise to
the surface. The body was recovered after
being in the water about twenty minutes.
A boang; Girl Holds a Mad Dos*
A circumstance which occurred in Syra
cuse recently is worthy of more than a pass
ing mention. Mrs. Palmeter.of this citv, was
passnig along one of the streets, having with
her a pet dog which all at once showed symp.
toms of hydrophobia, frothing at the mouth
and snapping on all sides. Mrs. Palmeter
attempted to seize the anniiaal,but he eluded
her graso and endeavored to bite her, when
the brave girl who accompanied her—her
daughter, only fourteen years of age—
caught the dog by the neck and bel 1 it fast,
calling to her mother to hasten and get some
man to kill it. The mother saw that thu was
the only course, anl hurried away, but it
was sometime before she could get help.
When she returned, accompanied by a gen
tleman who had volunteered to finish the
brute, she found the brave girl, with flashed
face and flashing eyes, hanging on to the
mad creature, which was making desperate
efforts to bite her. The dog was quickly des
patched witiiout injury to any one.