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THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 6, 1887.
THE NEW COLUMBUS
—OR,—
Narrative of the Sole Survivor of Sir John Franklin’s
Last Arctic Expedition.
[COPYRIGHT SECURED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
human heart’s tenderest wish—represents the
perfection of earthly joy; and their offspring is
the embodiment of the highest powers of the
parents, whether mental, physical or emo
tional.
Upon the prince are fixed the pride and affec
tion of the people; and his wooing is held to be
the most important event of bis career. When
he has made his choice, rejoicings and gratula-
tions resound throughout the kingdom.
“But you don’t mean, Zuami,” I interrupted,
“that the prince may select a wife outside the
royal family? His choice, I presume, must be
confined to ladies of the blood royal.”
“I mean,” was the emphatic reply, “that the
prince is absolutely unrestricted in his choice;
and I am not able to comprehend why you
should question so natural and so just a cus
tom.
“Of course some restraint would be exercised
if the candidate should unfortunately choose a
woman of questionable character. But that is
CHAPTER LL
THE AURORA BOREALIS.
I had been very much interested in watching
the approach of the night after the sun disap
peared in September. This was in the autumn
° But the law of compensation seemed to be
harmoniously at work in this part of the globe,
and Nature has provided that, although we
lose the sun, yet darkness does not follow as in
the southern latitude.
The twilight lasts into November. As it
beean to deepen, the northern lights appeared
and grew in intensity.
This is the heme of the Aurora Borealis. At
least so 1 shall call the phenomenon I am now
addressing myself to, though it differs some
what from the displays I have witnessed in
lower latitudes.
December came; the time of deepest night;
the time of supposed darkness at the North
Pole; but the light emtinued not only through a supposition too remote to be indulged for a
December, but throughout the entire winter, moment.
varied by occasional irregular intervals of “The prince is educated with the greatest
-darkness. care, and associates with none but the most re-
The displays of the Aurora when no longer fined of women, in consequence of which—and
dimmed by the sun’s light, were inexpressibly ' the important facts that he understands the
beautiful and grand. At least so they ap- dignity of his position in life, and that he for-
reared to me, but the Polarians pay no partic- feits the crown in case of a flagrant misstep—
ular attention to them. there is little danger of his affections falling
As the light of the sun receded and grew upon any but a lady worthy to be the compan-
paler, I began to be conscious of an iilumina- ; ion of his high station.
tion in the northern heavens. I “If he should obstinately form such degrad-
Shadows, which at first fell in the direction ing union, the High Council is charged with the
of the Pole, now fell the opposite way. Then . duty and the power to change the succession
in the north there towered up from the earth a : ‘Confine him in his choice to the royal family!'
column of light several miles high apparently, j you say. What could be more tyrannical than
It was forty or fifty miles wide, and grew that, or what more productive of unhappiness?
gradually brighter toward the summit. J “The prince,” continued Zuami, “may not
A - I beheld it I was reminded constantly of I marry his sister, of course. Neither can he
the “pillar of fire” that went before the chil- | marry his uncle’s nor his aunt’s daughter, nor
dren of Israel in the wilderness. the grand-daughter of either of them, for such
The light rapidly increased in intensity, par- unions would corrupt the blood and weaken
ticularly at the apex or crown, which seemed j the race. That is to say he may not wed with
growing larger.
The enlargement increased until finally the
whole appeared as a vast fountain of fire of
many colors, throwing its gleaming jets hun
dreds of miles in every direction.
God’s lireworks!
From subterranean depths apparently, in
ir.exhaustible supplies came the weird light.
Rising to a great height and curving over
our heads, vast showers of glittering arrows
seemed all the while descending upon us; hut
like meteors or falling stars, they vanished
before coming to the earth.
After continuing this for perhaps thirty-six
hours, the fountain would gradually quit play
ing, and the bright "pillar of fire” would ap
pear as at liret; but gathering new strength, in
a short time it would burst forth again as brill
iantly as at first. But the renewal of the light
was not by any m eans regular or certain.
At one time during this winter there was no
Aurora for a period equivalent to ten days,
duriDg which time there was of course dark
ness. But long periods of darkness are rare.
Zuami was surprised at my continued admi
ration of the phenomenon.
It was as common-place to him as the rising
of the sun each day is to the people of the
central zones; and he seemed to have devoted
very little if any attention to inquiring into the
cause of the light. He said all that is known
of it is, that it seems to proceed from the bot
tomless chaSm which opens about one hundred
and thirty miles north of the capital.
CHAPTER LH.
A VISIT TO THE AURORAL FOUNTAIN.
I expressed a strong desire to visit the lo
cality he referred to, and it was soon arranged
that Wona and I should do so. We made the
trip in a traveling chariot drawn by two horses.
Nothing of special importance occurred by
the way.
There is a well kept highway leading to the
place we were destined for. It led through a
farming country.
We crossed many small streams and passed
through quite a number of villages. The farm
ing business was entirely suspended, as would
naturally be expected. Crops can only be pro
duced in sunlight, though there are several va
rieties of evergreen trees and vines. We
stopped sometimes at village inns, and some
times at farm houses, for rest and refreshment,
and it was curious to see how the habits and
pursuits of the people are adapted to the coun
try they live in.
During the summer season—the long day—
they devote themselves tc planting, harvesting,
and laying in materials for winter employ
ment; and" when the winter—the long night-
sets in, their business is not at all interrupted.
The hours of labor are as punctually occupied
during the dark season as in the day season.
We found the men everywhere we stopped,
busily engaged cleaning and grinding wheat, or
building or repairing their houses and fences.
And the females labored at spinning (what I
shall call) cotton thread and woollen thread,
and weaving the same into cloths. Silk-weav
ing and lace-making are favorite pursuits with
old women.
The people were all kind and hospitable, and
vied with each other in doing me honor; for
they soon found I was the white stranger they
had heard so much of, but whom not many
bad seen.
The sidewalks of the towns we passed
through were always lined with groups of curi
ous gazers.
As we opproached the lower boundary of the
plateau we were crossing—that is, the great
■central plateau or belt—the outlines of the Au
roral arches grew Jess and less distinct. It was
as if we were entering a bright cloud.
We climbed the hills—not over two hundred
and fifty feet high, that border the lower pla
teau, and attempted to look down in the direc
tion of the bottomless chasm, which was about
twenty miles distant from us. But all that
could be seen was an electric or phosphores
cent haze or glare, that covered and obscured
everything like a cloud. It was above us and
about us. We had gained about as much by
our visit as the child who sought to find the
place where the rainbow touched the ground.
The great light was most satisfactorily beheld
from a distance. It was like a cloud, which
viewed from afar off, seems as shapely out- ___ __
lined as a rugged mountain, but closely ap- each line an enigma,
preached. is found to be only a dense mist. A ] a bayrinth of occult riddles!
< >ne thing of interest was apparent, however; uat yet concealing a truth which I was chal-
the climate became sensibly warmer as we ap- lenged to discover, as witness these lines:
proached the great bottomless pit. <
We bade the strauge place adieu; but as we *‘C?“ Wauhama euess what these verses import?
-went home I promise! myself that I would | The truth at their bottom Uescrj?
I retired to bed, but not to sleep. My hours
! of rest were consumed in sighing, and restless
tossings. I could not solve the problem. I
1 could only conjecture, and believe that the au-
I ihor of this curious production was the myste
rious lady I had forsworn. In fact she was
either of these near cousins with the expecta
tion of issue. But if he be willing to deny
himself offspring he may contract such an
union.”
Zuami made the last remark in the most
matter-of-fact style imaginable.
“You see,” he went on, “the priuce must
find happiness in his marriage. Every effort
must be made to gratify the feelings of his
heart. Hence the concession above mentioned,
which allows him—upon his agreeing to forfeit
issue—to possess the object of his passion
even though she be within the prohibited de
grees.
“True, the sacrifice may bring pangs to the
couple, but it is the best plan that can be de
vised. Our laws do not pretend to insure per
fect happiness to the married, but only to
bring to them all the joy that may be compat
ible with the preservation of the general wel
fare.”
“Then how,” I asked, “do you perpetuate
the succession?”
“How is the succession perpetuated?” cried
Zuami in a tone that was almost impatient.
“If you have a childless king and queen,” I
continued, “I presume the crown passes, at
their death, to a collateral kinsman.”
“Not at all; by no means necessarily,” re
sponded my venerable companion.
“You must be reminded, Wauhama, that the
prince’s marriage to a kinswoman within the
prohibited degrees is a matter of profound re
gret to the nation, which—recognizing the fact
that the heart’s affections are uncontrolable in
their action—consents to the union in order
that the happiness of the lovers may not be en
dangered. But the people can go no further.
The blood of the prince belongs to them. They
therefore demand a forfeiture of offspring, so
that the royal life-current may be vigorous and
uncontaminated.”
"But still," I interrupted, “I do not see how
the direct succession ”
“Patience! patience!” said Zuami; “I will
explain. The prince espouses the lady of
his choice, stipulating to forfeit issue. But
the law compels him to go further, and take a
second wife for the benefit of the succession.”
“But I have not observed in my intercourse
with the people that there is a plurality of
wives?” I said.
“For the plain reason that there is not,”
was the reply.
At this point Zuami was called away by pub
lic business, and left me to ruminate on the
strange laws he had told me about. But I was
by no means satisfied on the subject.
CHAPTER LIV.
A SURPRISE—THE MYSTERY DEEPENING.
When Zuami quitted me as above mention
ed, I went to my own rooms. As I opened the
door which led to iny bed-chamber I found on
the carpet a sheet of letter cloth, (as we call
the material used to write uporn au English
man at home would say, letter paper ) It was
snow white, neatly folded, and had evidently
been slipped under the door.
I picked it up and found it to contain the
following unique and incomprehensible pro-
dnctioi), written by a lady’s hand, as indicated
by the delicate penmanship:
Was a star ever known to come down to the Earth?
Did the Earth ever visit a star?
Can a heart that Is breaking flow over with mirth?
Is peace more destructive than war?
Can plants spring to life when the snn Is away?
Dj rivers climb monDtalns and bills?
Does the snn ever go from Its orbtt astray?
Or deserts have murmuring rills?
Is a man that is tongneless e'er krown to converse?
Does one without bearing e’er bear?
Do the living He down in the sable-draped hearse?
Or the grave (or the dead drop a tear?
Does a man without eyes know the color of things?
&9e the b“autitul scenes of the earth ?
Can a bird fly away to the sky without wings?
Does an lufant make speeches at blrtt?
Can a pris’ner In Irons nse (reel? his hands?
Can subjects be equal with kings?
Cm a creature reverse the Creator’s commands?
In short, do Impossible things?
Can Wauhama guess what these verses Imperil
Ti e truth at their bottom descry?
Does he dream that these queries are written in
sport?
Uaaamped by a sob, ora sigh?
Here was a poem of twenty-four lines, and
visit it by sunlight at some future time.
CHAPTER LIII.
MARRIAGE CUSTOMS.
never absent from my thoughts, though every
remembrance of her gave me pain.
CHAPTER LV.
MARRIAGE CUSTOMS CONTINUED.
At the earliest opportunity I renewed the
The royal pair had two children, a son and
-daughter. The prince was sixteen years old,
and his sister two years younger. They were
a splendid pair—fit offspring of a king and
queen.
Looking upon them in their sports upon one
occasion, I asked Zuami about the royal suc
cession, and found it was governed by laws
similar to ours at home of primogeniture. And subject of royal marriages with Zuami, and he
he told me about some customs that so far as I i continued his remarks thus:
know, are peculiar to the Polarians. | ‘It is preferred always by the people and
“Where,” I enquired, “do the princess and the prince’s family that he shall choose a dis-
princesses find their wives and husbands?” ! tant kinswoman; and if it so happen, it is re-
My tutor was somewhat puzzled at this ques- | garded as a good omen,
tion. | The choice being made, the parties are sub-
“Wheredothey find companions?” he re- ' jected to another regulation; which, however,
peated in a tone of surprise. “I connot con- is common to all the people alike, whether
ceive why you should imagine a difficulty. I ' prince or peasant, and is so fixed and univer-
inust make known to you,” he continued, | sally understood you would be weaned in
“that with us the preservation and improve- hearing an account of it.”
ment of our race is a matter which goes before : “By no means,” I replied. “Very probably
•everything. In the matter of marriages, from i the regulation you allude to has never come to
the sovereign down to the humblest citizen, my knowledge. There are so many strange
the first question to be considered is the phys- i things around me, I cannot learn them all at
ical and mental quality of the issue. The once. I am anxious to have you continue, for
naturally deformed in any limb, or likely
to inherit insanity or any incurable disease, the
marriage is prohibited except on condition that
there shall issue no offspring from it. If the
prince in choosing has incurred this misfort
une, he is compelled to choose a second wife in
the interest of the succession, as in the case of
intermarrying with a too near relation.
And the same rule prevails if the first wife,
though apparently sound, prove to be barren.
And upon the issue of the second wife the
crown descends.
If, however, the second wife prove to be
barren, or for other cause the king is hope
lessly childless, he may not seek a third wife,
bat at his death the succession falls upon the
nearest collateral male heir.
It has not happened very frequently in our
history that the law of enforced second mar
riage has been executed, as occasions for its
exercise have been rare; bat Her Majesty, the
now reigning Queen, is such a second wife.
The present king wedded first a lady of the
royal family, but unexceptionable because not
within the prohibited degrees. She passed a
successful examination, bat proved to be nat
urally barren, and the king, after the lapse of
two years from the date of bis first marriage
(the period fixed by law in such cases), es
poused his second wife. The first afterwards
died.”
"But what,” I inquired, “is done if the first
wife have issue after the birth of children by
the second wife? For that is not an impossi
ble occurrence.”
“0, in that event,” replied Znami, “the is
sue of the first wife is preferred. The second
wife is brought in as an auxiliary, so to speak.
But both wives are queens, and regarded as of
equal dignity.”
“I do not clearly percieve,” I remarked, “if
the queens are not equal in birth, how they
can be equal in social station.”
“That,” said Zuami, “is because you have
not comprehended the spirit of our institu
tions. You have brought with you the im
pressions and prejudices received in your na
tive country.
“This is altogether natural, and yon may
never be able to adapt yourself fully to our
modes of thought and action.
“In your native country, you say that among
the royal and noble families, marriages are
contracted for, not by, the individuals to be
joined in wedlock. That though by chance it
sometimes happens the couple married are pre
viously in love with each other, yet that is re
garded as immaterial; and that the matches
are concocted by government for political pur
poses, or by parents for the acquisition or
building together of property. And that per
sons closely related by consanguity, and un
sound in body and mind, are often intermar
ried. That, in short, every consideration of
happiness, health and decency is sacrificed to
mercenary ends.
“No wonder the people you have described
to me are groaning under an awful burden of
crime, and disease, and deformity, and insan
ity, and domestic infelicity!
“Ab, my dear 'Wauhama,” Zuami went on
with great warmth, “I fear that your boasted
civilization and wonderful strides in the arts
and sciences, are not tending towards purity
in morals, or perfection in the art of govern
ment.
“The religions of the southern nations must
be defective either in precept or in practice;
and if, as you assert, there is no restraint upon
off-spring, then theie must be a lamentable
want of wisdom on the part of your govem-
nors, or of learning on the part of your medi-
ical professions!
“But I return to the point from which I
started. There is no difficulty about the social
question. The wife is raised by the union to
a state of perfect equality with the king.”
“Still,” I said in return, “you cannot deny
that the second enforced marriage of the sov
ereign is somewhat inconsistent with your fa
vorite theory of fostering the heart’s affec
tions. If the prince’s first marriage be based
on love, the second cannot well be; and more
or less domestic discomfort must necessarily
result from It.”
“No scheme yet devised by man is perfect,”
answered Zuami. “You have pointed out the
infirmity of the system; but we think it is as
nearly perfect as any that could be invented.
The royal family can afford to make some
sacrifices for the benefit of the nation.
Doubtless the dignities, honors and emolu
ments of their high station afford them con
siderable consolation.”
[to BE CONTINUED.]
A Woman’s Accidental Discovery.
A rather laughable story is that anent the
origin of blue-tinted paper, one so much in
vogue for commercial uses. The wife of an
English paper manufacturer named William
East, going into the factory on the domestic
wash-day with an old-fashioned blueing bag in
her hand accidentally let the bag and its con
tents fall into a vat full of pulp. She thought
nothing of the incident and said nothing about
it either to her husband or his workmen. Great
was the astonishment of the latter when the
paper turned out a peculiar blue color, while
ihe master was wroth at what he regarded as
gross carelessness on the part of some of the
Hands. His wife—wise woman—kept her own
counsel. The lot of paper was regarded as
unsalable, and was stored for four years. At
length East consigned it to his London corres
pondent with instructions to sell it for what it
would bring. The unlucky paper was accepted
as a happily designed novelty, and was dispos
ed of in open market at a considerable ad
vance in price. Judge of Mr. East sur
prise when he received from his agent an order
for a large invoice of the despised blue paper.
Here was a pretty dilemma; he was totally ig
norant of the manner in which the paper had
become blue in color and in his perplexity
mentioned the matter to his wife. She prompt
ly enlightened her lord; he in turn kept the
simple process secret, and was for years the
monopolist of the blue commercial paper man
ufacture. —Science.
CHAT.
“Mandates” are not in order in these realms,
Free Lance.
This is a Kingdom without a ruler, and such
things as commands are out of date. But
your suggestion is a good one and presents an
original idea. If the members will do as you
say, imag ne the contrast of thought, work or
events that could be presented.
To those staunch advocates of Milton, the
thanks of the Household are extended for their
letters. May we hear more of Milton’s works,
and with the coming essays some dtfense in
favor of “grand old homes” he received.
Yes, I “catch,” B. C. A., but that is all
moonshine you are throwing at me. ,
Will Rural Widow let me hear from her
sool? For a few reasons tluM I may write her
and that cannot be explained here.
Headless contributions must be tabbooed,
and the authors of such will know their where
abouts when they fail to appear.
Those of my Household friends who have
written me privately will receive an acknowl
edgement of their letters the first opportunity
I have of making a reply.
Mother Hubbard.
Literary Curios No. 1—Sbakspearean
Alphabet No. 1.
All superfluous branches wq iop away, that
bearing boughs may live.—Rich. II., act 3,
scene 4.
Brevity is the soul of wit.—Hamlet, act 2,
scene 2.
Calumny will sear virtue itself.—Winter’s Tale,
act 2, scene 2.
Death remembered should be like a m'rror
Who tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.
—Pericles, act 1, scene 1.
Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.—
Poems.
Frailty, thy name is woman! .-Hamlet, act 1,
scene 2.
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.—Merchant of
Venice, act 2, scene 7.
He is well paid that is well satisfied.—Merchant
of Venice, act 4, scene 1.
It is the purpose that makes strong the vow.—
Troilus and Cressida, act 5, scene 3.
Jesters do oft prove prophets.—King Lear, act
5, scene 3.
Kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
holy bread.—As You Like It, act 3, scene 4.
Life’s but a walking saadow.—Macbeth, act 2,
scene 4.
Music oft hath such a charm as to make bad
good and good provoke to harm.—Measure
for Measure, act 4, scene 1.
New customs, tho’ they be never so ridicu
lous-nay, let them be unmannerly—yet are
followed.—Henry VIII., act I, scene 3
One doth not know how much an ill word doth
empoison liking.—Much Ado About Nothing,
act 3, scene 1.
Praising what is lost makes the remembrance
dear.—All’s Well That Ends Well, act 5,
scene 3.
Queens in bondage are more vile than slaves in
base servility.—First Hedry VI, act 6,
scene 3.
Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo, the
numbers of the fear’d.—Second Henry IV.,
act 3, scene 1.
Susp'cion always haunts the guilty mind.—
Third Henry VI., act 5, scene G.
The private wound is deepest.—Two Gentle
men of Verona, act 5, scene 4.
iTnheedful vows may heedfully be broken.—
Two Gentlemen of Verona, act 2, scene G.
Vows to every purpose must not hold.—Troi
lus and Cressida.
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend,
Every man will be thy friend.—Poems.
Xperitnce is by industry achieved and per
fected by the swift course of Time.—Two
Gentlemen of Verona, act 1, scene 3.
Young blood doth not obey an old decree.—
Love’s Labor Lost, act 4, scene 3.
Zed, thou unnecessary letter.—King Lear, act
2, scene 2.
and
Sur-
A Significant Fact.
It is a fact of great significance, strikingly
illustrative of the practical value of prohibi
tory legislation in diminishing crime, that as
stated in the forthcoming annual report of
the Secretary of State ot Iowa, there were
the past year fifty-five counties in that State
without a single occupant for their jails for
the whole year; It appears also that there was
but 1,045 convictions for ciiminal offences in
the entire State, and that of this number G57
were convictions of saloon keepers. The re
ceipts from fines for the year ending September
30, 1886, were §46,326.01, an increase of more
than §15,000 over the previous year. This is
making liquor sellers, as criminals pay “high”
fines, without licensing or legalizing their in
famous traffic. Iowa is to be congratulated.—
National Advocate.
second important point, is the fostering of the
heart's affections.
“The latter, love, may in extreme cases be
sacrificed; but only, however, in cases of pos
itive necessity; for personal happiness we
deem to be the most important pursuit of
mankind. But the former—the welfare and
dignity of the race—must never be imperiled.
“To illustrate by the case of royal person
ages: When a prince arrives at marriageable
age, he proceeds to make choice of a wife. In
this matter he is governed solely by his affec- mini
I am curious to know more of customs which
are so different from any I have known.”
“Well,” he went on, “both the prince and
his intended bride are subjected to a medical
examination. There is nothing indelicate or
offensive about the ceremony.
The object of it is to determine whether the
parties are competent to be the parents of
sound offspring: for of course nothing could be
so unwise in government as to permit the
forth of sickly, ill-formed or weak-
Charity to helpless and in-
bringing 1
inded children.
tions; for it is a principle among us that love | nocent infancy would be a sufficient support
in the married state is the only sure basis of ; for this law in the absence of considerations of
haDDiness and properly endowed offspring. I public policy.
It the man and the woman love each other, | If it be found that either of them ismaterial-
he sense of possession that fruition of the ly shorter than a certain prescribed stature, or
Best Goods are Put in Smallest Par
cels.
The old proverb is certainly true In the case
of Dr. Fierce’s “Pleasant Purgative Pellets,”
which are little, sugar-wrapped parcels, scarce
ly larger than mustard seeds, containing as
much cathartic power as is done up in the big
gest, most repulsive-looking pill. Unlike tne
big pills, however, they are mild and pleasant
in their operation—do Dot produce griping
pains, nor render the bowels costive after
using.
They have a toboggan slide at Bismarck,
Dak., where they say that the steel-shod tobog
gans acquire a velocity of three miles a minute.
A hot mixture of one-third paraffine and two-
thirds gutta-percha, forced into the pores of
wood, is winning favor as a means of prevent
ing decay.
Consumption, Wasting Diseases,
And General Debility. Doctors disagree as to
the relative value of Cod Liver Oil and Hypo-
phosphites; the one supplying strength and
flesh, the other giving nerve power, and acting
as a tonic to the digestive and entile system.
But in Scott’s Emulsion of Cod Liver Oil with
Hypophosphites the two are combined, and the
effect is wonderful. Thousands who have de
rived no permanent benefit from other prepar
ations have been cured by this. Scott’s Emul
sion is perfectly palatable and is easily digest
ed by those who cannot tolerate plain Cod
Liver Oil.
All the leading newspapers, and nearly every
paper published in the United States and Cana
da, may be found on file at Geo. P. Rowell &
Co’s Newspaper Advertising Bureau, 10 Spruce
street, New York. They are open to general
■n-pectioD. This firm receives advertisements
for them all
CARD.
A
To all who are suffering from the errors and
indiscretions of youth, nervous weakness, early
decay, loss of manhood, kc., I will send a recipe
that will cure you, FREE OF CHARGE. This great
remedy was discovered by a missionary in South
America. Send a self-addressed envelope to the
REV. Joseph T. I>iIAN', Station D, Xew Fork City.
Friendship, Emerson
gestion.
Dear Mother Hubbard; I have been remiss
in not making my acknowledgments to you be
fore, as an old and liege subject of the House
hold. Excases are poor apologies for neglect
of duties or pleasures; and though I could show
good and snfficient reasons for my silence, I
will only rise and explain on two points.
At first I could not reconcile the idea of
sovereignty and submission to a Mother Hub-
hard! I had all the masculine aversion to that
well-honored article of apparel—but lately, a
change has come over the spirit of my
thoughts.
I have been surrounded, and invested also,
for so many months by its voluminous folds,
and seen the comfortable safeguard it was for
any emergency during seismic disturbances,
and in long night-watches of a sick room, that
I now entertain a tender regard for its ample
proportions.
And while Sancho Panza invoked a blessing
on the man who “invented sleep,” I extend
the benefit to the originator of this means of
enduring enforced sleeplessness in ease and
comfort; and do reverence to you as a woman
of sense who, in these days of torrid discom
fort, “will take mine ease,” regardless of per
sonal appearances.
Then, I said once before, that only when the
spirit moved, or a congenial word roused me,
would I intrude upon the Household. Now,
Muda Metnur has touched a responsive cord,
and I want to endorse her words or disagree
with her, on the subjects of friendship and—
Emerson.
I do think that very few friendships are
truly disinterested and unselfish; congeniality,
sympathy and affinity, are often only bonds of
self gratification and mutual dependence,
broken and discarded by the slightest disap
pointment, or a false reliance placed in each
other. It might be best to indulge in spiritual
friendships only—sometimes we do care most
for absent friends and those we see least of—
distance lends enchantment to charms, and
hides faults and short-comiDgs. I know as a
correspondent, I enjoy, love, and invest with
every grace a friend, but, singularly, occa
sional personal meetings seem to develope a
lack of sympathy and congeniality between
us—and the feeling grows until I am convinced
that if we were long together, we would enter
tain a hearty disinclination for each other’s
society; but, lo! with the first interchange of
epistles, the ties of affinity and pleasant feel
ings, and appreciative intercourse, are re
stored!
Do you admire Emerson? He has a peculiar
attraction for me; I cannot always understand
or appreciate him. True, I have not drank
deep at the Pierian spring of his extreme phi
losophy, theology and doctrine; but his essay
on Sell Reliance, is a constant revelation to
me. Sometimes I agree with him, and
then again am domb-founded at the audacity
of his selfish egotism.
His self conscious insistence of his own
superiority is rather an adverse to the adage that
greatness, is modest—and I wonder if he prac
ticed his theories, and could enforce his own
words? for instance, when he says: “O father,
O mother, O wife, O brother, O friend, I have
lived with you after appearances hitherto.
Henceforward I am the truth’s; and obey no
law less than the eternal law. I will have no
covenants but proximities. I shall endeavor to
nourish my parents, to support my family, to
be the chaste husband of one wife, but these
relations I shall fill after a new and unprece
dented way. I appeal from your customs. I
must be myself. I catmot break myself any
longer for you. If you can love me for what I
am, we shall be the happier—I will not hide
my tastes or aversions. If you are noble I
will love yon; if you are not, I will not hurt
you and myself by hypocritical attentions. If
you are true, but not in the same truth with
me, cleave to your own companions; I will
seek my own. But so may you give these
friends pain,” could he really mean his an
swer?
“Yes, but I cannot sell my liberty and power
to save their sensibility.”
What a ruthless disregard of tenderness or
consideration for others!
Muda Hetnur has aho revived my inquiry,
and interest in the “Light of Asia;” and we
are indebted to Mother Hubbard for her judi
cious selection of its beauties, and happy ex
position of its virtues. I hone both of you
have read “India,” by Max Muller, if not re
member to do so at some convenient season.
Can I make a suggestion to the Household?
Suppose Mother Hubbard, you issue a man
date requesting that ail members old or new,
write a literal account of their whereabouts,and
of something occurring on the same day, say
the first of August, or any other date. Would
it not show truth stranger than faction? And
what a unique variety of bright scenes, eave-
ties, pleasures, sentimental episodes, common
place incidents, trivial and and dull routines,
monotonous work or labor, thrilling adventures
perhaps, tragedy, comedy, sorrow and sad
ness;
“For with each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.”
would he presented to us!
I do think if we all undertook to carry out
the idea conscientiously, it would be surpris
ing the varied and interesting letters that
would result, proving the tangled web of life
among us even for a single day.
Free Lance.
Old Dresses and Old Memories—The
Sublime and the Bidiculous.
Dear Mother Hubbard, (You who treat me
like a step-child): “There’s but one step from
the sublime to the ridiculous.” The quotation
brings a broad smile that becomes a laugh, as it
recurs to me while I sit doing a little “French
embroidery” to repair a well-worn garment.
In the happy days of my early girlhood,
when poverty was a very laughable matter
ndeed.Hud the foundation for innumerable light
hearted jokes—when a new dress was an event
and a complete new outfit something which
our fondest dreams never compassed—in those
days our best dress was termed “the sublime”
—our worst, “the ridiculous.”
Never do I hear the quotation above, but
think of our old-time norisense. It was while
doing my best to repiir the ravages of time
(and the laundry) on the present “ridiculous,”
that I went back over so many years—in mem
ory, and from that grew to wandering if any
one else possessed the same fondness for a
good serviceable “old” garment that I do.
There is something almost akin to tender
ness in my feeling for an old dress that per
sists in being becoming—just as long as there
is any of it—and that already has so much of
my time, in the way of stitches worn in the
broken places. As I take it up each time to
add a few more stitches—it is interesting to
try to recall the “thoughts I thinked” while
weaving the last dam.
In fact all that “broidery” represents me, a
part of me which was living, breathing thought
at the time, but which has now become a part
of the vast procession of dead thoughts, that
marshal their ghostly ranks at the Tomb of
Years.
I once knew a girl who had a habit of saving
a scrap of each dress—in which she remem
bered to have had many happy times. Often
she, in looking over her treasures, would ten
derly handle these reminders of vanished joy
—and together we would recall said “times,”
our conversation being largely made up of
“don’t you remember?” and “can you ever
forget?”
There is another reason for loving old or at
least elderly dresses. When one dons a new
dress for the first time, there is a peculiar feel
ing of having to get acquainted with it, a sense
of “I--don’t -feel-quite-sure-if-it-is-becoming”
about me.”
After it has been worn sometime, there is a
quiet feeling of assurance as to how that par
ticular dress appears—we have remedied the
defects, if any, and it has become a part of ns,
having a claim upon our consideration and
regard, (in proportion to its becomingness, of
course).
A Woman’s No.
S’’" had a parcel, small and round,
Oie lovely afternoon last summer;
I offered, as in duty b und.
To take It from her.
She thinked me with a gracious smile,
As sweet as rosy Ups could make It;
It was so small ’twas not worth while
To let me take it.
Again I offered as before
O! that slight burden to relieve her;
She'd rather not: “Fray say no more!”
’T would really grieve her.
I ceased to plead; she seemed content;
ThetniDg was small and neatly corded,
And so along our way we went
To where she boarded.
But when upon the stoop she stood.
And ere oar last adieus were uttered,
She eyed me In a roguish mood,
And scfby mattered.
As swung the door to let her through,
And left me there all unresisting:
“I don’t think very much of you
For not insisting.”
Discharged the Prisoner.
A constable recently brought a man before a
justice of the peace in a Dakota “no license"
county charged with selling liquor.
“Well, Jim,” said the justice addressing the
officer, “where’s the iicker he was selling?”
“They had just finished drinking the last of
it, your honor.”
“Hey?” thundered the court.
“I say it was all gone before I got there.”
“Ail gone before you got there! Great Scott,
where was you all the time? Do you think I
am going on with a case like this without some
Iicker put in as evidence for the court to sam
ple? Let the prisoner go and mebbe he’ll bring
some more to town. And you see that you get
around and make your arrest just before he be
gins to sell, and not after it’s all been swallered
by a lot of fellers that ain’t half as dry as the
court.
Tell me, father, who Is he
With cne mien of chieftain great,
At whose feet, like roaring sea,
Crowd the populace elate?
See, they throng to press his band,
Senators and judges old,
And the chosen of the land
Bring him wines and bays and gold!
Is ne ot the rank of king?
Led he armies to the fray?
Does bis fame as prophet ring.
That they honor him to-day?
Peace, my sonl and tbon shalt soon
See that famed hand clasped by mine,
’Tis the great third-base. Muldoon,
Who has saved the local nine!
rents our careless Angers
Have slighted, all onr thonshtless years.
Perhaps we’ll see the broken threads united,
The j agged edges ronnded smooth and fair,
Death’s finished task—the robe of life immortal,
The bright new garment we'll be glad to wear.
Chattanooga, Tenn. Pats.
A Fen Picture of Italie.
Mother Hubbard: This is the first time I
have attempted to visit the Household since
Kit Warren vacated, and if I am late in paying
my respects to our new “boss,” they are none
the less sincere. Right glad am I to find you
at the head of this craft, and if yon think I
don’t know who you are, you are just “obstre
perously” mistaken. Catch? I am one of
those ubiquitous drummers, and don’t have
much time to spend with the Household, ex
cept to read it. Am a Georgia boy, and there
fore feel an honest pride in such a paper as the
S. S.
1 know several members of the Household,
“in a sly way,” and I want to tell you and
them of a little adventure I had the other day.
Boys did you ever meet a badge (Household)
worn by a pretty young lady you had never
seen before? Then you can sympathize with
me, for that was my experience. I was guilty
of staring for once in my life, but could do
nothing but pass. I’ll not go into details, but
I didn’t leave that town until I had met, the
owner of the badge, and I found her to he, as
I had suppose!—a Householder. Don’t you
wish you knew which one?
As none of you will be any the wiser as to
her real name, I see no barm in giving her
nom. It is your friend Italie, and a House
holder that you may well be proud of. She
spoke enthusiastically of this department, and
has a warm admiration for many of its mem
bers, but has a decided penchant for Musa
Dunn.
Italie occupies a niche in the world of letters,
that is to say, she has written some for publi
cation; but as I had seen none of her writings
lately, asked about it. “What little scribbling
I have done,” she replied, “was mostly while
in my teens, and now that I am old enough to
see that they possess no literary merit, I have
turned my attention to better things. For, as
you krow, I am one of the “Bread Winners,”
and have no leisure for such pleasant pastime
as writing love stories.” She is secretary and
librarian of a certain large school in her state,
and gave me a short bnt graphic description of
this institution. “Our mutual friend” told me
that out of a feculty of twelve teachers, with
the exception of the two principals, she had no
equal as to practical knowledge and thorough
research. This is high praise, but richly de
served. “She could make an honored name in
the literary world,” said our mutual friend, “if
she could only be induced to think so.”
I had heard the young lady spoken of so fre
quently in such terms of praise, that I expected
to meet a very pompous somebody, one that
would make me feel I was in the presence of a
very superior being. On the contrary, I never
met a more unassuming lady in my life, and
must say that I never spent a more pleasant
evening than the one in her society. She has
an ease of manner that is perfectly irresistible,
and frank, earnest eves, that seem to look
right into your heart when you talk to her.
Excuse me Mother H., if I have talked too
long, but I hoped that it would be interesting
to you, and the H. too to have a pen sketch of
one of its members. With a host of good
wishes to all, I am the same old,
B. C. A.
Verona, Miss.
Citizen—Haven’t you got any relatives at all?
Tramp—Yes, sir; I have one, but he is a dis
tant relative.
“Who is that?”
“It’s a brother, sir.”
“Well you don’t call a brother a distant rela
tive, do you?”
“Why, yes, sir; yoi» see he’s dead sir.”
Young Author (to editor)—“Getting a pub
lisher, I have heard, is the most difficult thing
in authorship.”
Editor—“I don’t think so.”
Author—“Ah, you encourage me. What,
then, is the most difficult?”
Editor—Getting readers,”
Oh, sweet girl glad!
We thought we had
Outgrown our gradualolatry;
The fact- that yet
Os you’ll forget
Is not at all consolat’ry.
In ribbons bine,
Dress, dyeless hue.
Ton’ll read your valedictory;
(The man who’s sent
To represent
Os will be maledictory).
Your picture now—
We know not how—
Made by composltography,
We’ll bang en masque
Above onr desk,
Along with onr biography.
“Oh, Mr. Lighthead,” remarked MissOldgirl
with a simper, “I’ve seen just eighteen happy
summers to-day.” Only eighteen happy ones,”
replied he, with pity in his tone- “What an
unhappy life you must have had.”
“She did wrong to look back, didn’t she,
Bessie? “Yes, mamma.” “And what do you
think Lot did when he saw his poor wife turn
ed into a pillar of salt?” “I don’t know mam
ma; I’ spec he wondered where he could get a
fresh one.”
How long it took to bnlld the world,
And whence was bad the stock;
If Adam was the primal man.
How Moses smote the rock ;
Eow Eve was made or Cain was wed,
The ark’s true tonnage size—
To argus these won’t ope for ns
The gates of paradise.
And when we all are gathered round
St. Peter’s entrance gate.
D'ye think the stern old tyler’ll list
WhUe we onr creeds relate?
The trade mark onr religion Dore
He’ll never care to know,
But were we good Bamarltans
Down here m Jericho!
‘Good gracious, Jane! why didn’t you marry
a monkey and be done with it?”
“Oh,” smiled Jane, I thought you might want
to marry some time, and I wouldn’t take your
last chance.”
First Omaha Burglar—Say, Bill, here’s a
eminent citizen advertisin’ for a faithful watch
dog.
Second Burglar—Well, I hate to part with
my dog agin, but I guess I’ll have to.
‘Well, I’ll take him around and sell him to
him. Y’r sure he’s faithful, are you?”
“Every time. He’ll be faithfull to us every
time we want to climb in the winders.”
“I've lost my appetite,” he cried,
“And good digestion crowned It,”
“I sadly fear I’ve found 1
Two little girls of 7 and 8 are playing to
jether. “And your papa, what does do?” asked
one of them. “Whatever "lamma says.”
‘Nothing but trials and tribulations and dis
appointments. I am disgusted with it all!”
“And what are you going to do about it?” “i
am going to quit the earth.” (Horrified.) “You
don’t mean you are going to commit suicide?”
‘No, I am going to take a sea voyage.”
When a singer’s throat is raw, you can’t ex
pect her songs to be well done.
“O mother, what do you think,” remarked
the high-school girl, “our minister has an
amanuensis ”
“You don’t say!” replied the old lady, with
much concern. “Is he doctorin’ for it?”
She—Why, your friend George has crape on
his hat! Is he in mourning? He—Yes. His un
cle has just recovered.
He—“Dost then love me? Dost trust me dear?
Dist believe my promises sincere?”
She—“Dust quickly, sir, or not at all,
For fatner’s scudding down tbe ball.”
A certain manager of a menagerie died, and
word was sent to his native village that his
remains would be brought home for interment,
and that they would be accompanied by a
member of the troupe. When the box arrived,
however, the friends noticed that it was very
large—as large as a table, and exceedingly
heavy; so they thought an investigation ought to
be made, and they opened the box. Great was
their amazement to discover the carcass of a
huge lion. They called to the man having it
in charge, and asked: “How is this? We re
ceived word that the body of the manager was
coming, and instead of that we find the carcass
of this great lion.” He answered: “Well,
that’s just it. Him’s the feller what ate up the
manager. The manager’s inside.”
FAITHCUBEFMY ESkTfll.
Chaplain Hall Write?* the Following
markable Letter. ,
From the Albany X. Y., Fxpre**.
For many vears my wife had bees
the victim of nervous dyspepsia, of the
chronic, distressing and apparently in
curable type from which so many of her
sex suiier. languish and die. It was all
the worse because the tendency to it
was inherited. She had been under the
systematic treatment of many of the
best physicians in New York .uidBrook-
lyn and elsewhere for twenty years with
only temporary relief. In fact, there
were few, if any, kinds of food that did
not distress her, so diseased, sensitive
and torpid were all the organs of diges
tion. The usual symptoms of dyspep
sia, with its concomitant ailments, were
all present—bad taste in die mouth,
dull eyes, cold feet and hands, the sense
of a load upon the stomach, tenderness
on pressure, indigestion, giddiness,
great weakness and prostration, and fu
gitive pains in the sides, chest and back.
I have often risen in the night and ad
ministered stimulants merely for the
sake of the slight and transient rebel
they gave.
Intermittent malarial fever set in,
complicating the case and making
every symptom more pronounced and
intense. By this time the pneumo-
gastric nerves had become very seri
ously involved, and she had chronic
Gastritis, and also what 1 may be al
lowed to call chronic interim:tent ma
larial fever all at once. For the latter
the physicians prescribed the good, old-
fashioned. sheet-anchor remedy. Quin
ine gradually increasing the doses, until
—incredible as it may seem—she actu
ally took THIRTY GRAINS A DAY FOR
days IN succession. This could not
last. The effect of the quinine was,
if possible, almost as bad as the two
fold disease which was wearing away
her strength and her life. Quinine
poisoning was painfully evident, but
tbe fever was there still. Almost every
day there came on the characteristic
chill and racking headache, followed
by the usual weakness and collapse.
About this time I met socially my
friend Mr. Norton, a member of the
firm of Chauncey Titus N Company,
Lookers, of Albany, who, on hearing
from me these facts, said: “ Why, I
have been through a!mo
th in g, and have got over i:
tbe
cared you? ” In
kmc, ” lie said, “
1 had seen Ikaskia
no more fai::i m i:
dust, for sucl
same
“ What
ly. “ Kas-
'. our wife.”
-•d, but had
t than I had in saw-
case as hers. Mrs.
a..vc
Hall had no higher opinion, yet on the
strength of my friend’s recommenda
tion I got a bottle and began its use
as directed.
Now recall what I have already said
as to her then condition, and then read
what follows: Under the Kaskine
treatment all the dyspeptic symptoms
showed instant improvement, and the
daily fever grew less and soon ceased
altogether. Side by side these diseases
vanished, as side by side they had tort
ured their victim for ten years—the
dyspepsia alone having, as I have said,
existed for twenty years. Her appetite
improved from week to week until she
could eat and digest the average food
that any well person takes, without any
suffering or inconvenience. With re
newed assimilation of food came, of
course, a steady-increase in flesh, until
she now looks like her original self.
1 She still takes Kaskine occasionally,
but with no real need of it, for she is
well. I consider this result a scientific
miracle, and the “ New Quinine ’’ is en
titled to the credit of it, for from the
time she began with Kaskine she used
no other medicine whatever.
I If you think a recital of these facts
calculated to do good you are welcome
to make them public. "i\
i (Rev.) JAS. L. HALL,
Chaplain Albany, N. Y., Penitentiary.
( P. S.—Sometimes letters of this kind
are published without authority, and in
case any one is inclined to question
the genuineness of the above statement
I will cheerfully reply to any commu
nications addressedto me at the Peni
tentiary. Jas. I.. Hall.
( Other letters of a similar character
from prominent individuals, which
stamp Kaskine as a remedy of un
doubted merit, will he sent on appli
cation. Trice $i.oc, or six bottles,
$5.00. Sold by Druggists, or sent by
mail on receipt of price.
I The Kaskine Company, 54 Warren
St., New York, ana 35 Farnngdon
Road, London.
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