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VOLUME XIII.—NUMBER 631.
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY MOR
NIN% D£
CEMBER 17, 1887.
PRICE: $2.00 A YEAR IN ADVANCE.
Shaking Aorosa the Bloody Chasm.
Do You Want $100 in Gold
or a Gold Watch.
Read the yellow supplement
which you find in this paper or
which has already been sent to
you and give an hour’s work to
getting your name on a half doz
en tickets in the box. See the
2,000 presents and see how easy
it will be to get some one or
more of them.
THANKS.
We tender our sincere thanks to Mrs. J. C.
B., Sin Antonia, Texas, and a lady friend in
Salisbury, N. C., (no initials, even,) for con
tributing, in response to the request of a cor
respondent, copies of the following inspiring,
patriotic poem.—En. S. S.:
LAND OF THE SOUTH.
[Bjr Hon. A. B. Meek, of Alabama ]
I.
Land of the South!—imperial land! —
How proud thy mountains rlsel —
How sweet thy scenes on every hand!
How fair thy covering skies!
But not for this—oh, not for these,
I love thy Helds to roam;
Thou hast a dearer spell to me—
Thou art my native home!
II.
Tiv rivers roll their liquid wealth.
Unequalled to the sea;
Thy huts and valleys bloom with health,
And green wltn verdure be!
But. not for thy proud ocean streams,
Not for thine azure dome—
Sweet, sunny South !-I cling to thee—
Thou art my native home I
-HI.
. ..f.-tiu h.-iiCai!t IT—!—*., ell— ’J?-
B .loved of tale and song—
On Helvjn's hills, proud and sublime,
Where nature’s wonders throng;
By Tempo’s classic sunlit streams,
Where gods, ot old. did roam—
But ne’er have found so fair a land
As thou—my native home!
IV.
And thou bast prouder glories, too.
Than nature ever gave—
Peace sheds o’er thee her genial dew,
And Freedom’s pinions wave;
Pair Science flings her pearls around,
II -llglon lilts her dome—
Toese, these endear thee to my heart—
My own loved native home!
And “Heaven’s best gift to man” Is thine—
God bless thy rosy girls 1
Like sylvan 11 >wers, they sweetly shine—
Tbelr hearts are pure as pearlsl
And grace and goodnesB circle them
Where’er their footsteps roam;
How can I, then, whilst loving them,
Not love my native home?
VI.
Land of the South!—Imperial land!
Then here’s a health to thee:
Ling ss thy mountain barrters stand,
May’st thou be blest aud free!—
May dark dissension's banners ne’er
Wave o’er tbv fertile loam—
But should It come, there's one will die
To save bis native borne.
A New Anecdote About Lincoln.
So many stories, good and bad, are con
stantly being kept afloat on the strength of a
prefatory statement that “it is a story that
Lincoln used to tell,” that I almost hesitate,
says the Washington correspondent of the
New York Tribune, in putting down the fol
lowing as either new or authenticated. At
any rate it was told by the Ilev. Dr. Nourse,
of this city, at a dinner this week, and I re
produce it here in the hope that it is not an
old one. During the war Mr, Lincoln was
greatly annoyed by the persistency of a cer
tain member of Congress whom he called
Jerry Smith, a chronic oflice-hunter, who not
only went to the White House every day with
an application from some of his constituents,
but who even intercepted the President on the
street upon the same business A delegation
of clergymen called upon Mr. L’ncoln one day
to pay their respects, and one of them asked
him if he ever sought counsel and guidance
from the Lord during that time of his great
responsibility and a* xiety.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Lincoln, “I pray every
night before I retire. I think of the thous
ands of soldiers camped in the South, the boys
in blue as well as the boys in gray, and I pray
that the one mav bo supported in their efforts
to preserve the Union, and the other shown
the error of this unholy strife. I think of the
thousands of deserted homes in the North, of
the thousands of weeping women and father
less children, and I pray God to give them
strength to bear their bereavement, and the
wisdom to see that their husbands, sons and
fathers have died lighting for the right. I
think of my own responsibility and pray for
strength and wisdom. Then I look under the
bed and finding that Jerry Smith is not there
with an application for tffice, I thank the
Lord for it, turn out the light, lock tne door,
jump in between the sheets and go to sleep
instantly.”
Ex-President Davis’ Wound.
The wound which Mr. Davis suffers from is
a pecu'iar one. It was received at Buena Vis-
ta in saving Bragg’s battery from capture.
General Taylor’s message to the battery com
mander, “A little more grape, Captain
Bragg.” was sent during the same battle. At
a critical period the Mexicans advanced in
three line, upon the battery. "A little more
grape” failed to stop them, and they came on.
Then it was that Colonel Davis, having fought
all day with his Mississippi regiment, formed
them once more, charged on the fl ink of the
advancing lines, and saved .‘.he guns and the
day But in that charge a m&sket bah struck
Colonel Divi8 upon the front of the right foot.
It entered just about the centre of the arch
between the ankle and the toes, passed
through aud came out of the heel, tearing
through bones and cartilage.—St. Louis Globe-
Democrat.
A RICH REDSKIN.
An Indian Railroad Magnate and his
Wonderful Career.
Had any one predicted a quarter of a centu
ry ago, says a co respondent of the Kansas
City Journal, that an American Indian would
build a railroad tie would have been consid
ered a tit subject for a lunatic asylum. But to
day the people ot Newton county, Mo., acoun-
ty adjoining the Indian Territory have wit
nessed a scene such as man never before be
held. Matthias Splitlog, a half Cayuga and
half Wyandotte Indian, born in an Indian vil
lage in Canada, at Neosho drove the tirst spike
for the Kansas City, Fort Smith and Southern
Railway. The division of the Kansas City,
Fort Smith and Southern Railway was char
tered under the laws of the State of Missouri,
with a capital of §3,000,000.
Mr. Splitlog has furnished the “sinews of
war” out of his own ample fortune, and is
backed by heavy capitalists in the East, and
Matthias Splitlog, the millionaire Indian, who
is probably the richest man of his race, will
henceforth be known all over the country as
the only Indian railroad man (at least the
first) in the United States or in the whole
world.
The occasion of driving the first spike on
the main line of this new road was a matter of
more than ordinary interest to the people of
Neosho. At 3:15 there were about one thou
sand people assembled at the point where the
main line crosses the ’Frisco track. After
music by the Indian band from the Territory,
and selections by the Neosho band, Mr.
Charles W. Smith, Auditor of the construc
tion company, held the spike in position, and
in four bold strokes Mr. Splitlog drove the
spike home into a carefully se ected whiteoak
tie. Cheer after cheer was given for the road,
Matthias Splitlog, Neosho and the enterprise,
after which many came to the track to look
at the spike. Mr. Splitlog wielded the sledge
with a familiarity and precision which indi
cated that he had used his sledge with good
effect when he built his steamboat on the De
troit river.
Mr. Splitlog was bora in the year 1813, and
while a boy was apprenticed to a carpsntsr
and millwright, and, although his wages were
only §7 per month, young Splitlog thought he
was getting rich. He imbibed a love for ma
chinery and inventions, which has made his
life a useful and eventful one. In the year
1842 young Splitlog joined the Wyandottes,
who were the last of the Indian tribes then in
Ohio. In 1843 Splitlog came west with some
of the tribe, and found, after his arrival at
Wostport landing, (now Kansas City), that
he only had 50 cents in his pocket. He induc
ed an old Indian to go his security for the
price of an axe. With this axe he cut cord-
wood for the steamboats at 25 cents per cord,
and, after paying for the axe, which cost §2,
he soon saved eiicmh to buy a pony.
About the year 1864 he married Eliza Bar
nett, a grandniece of Harry Jacques, the old
Indian who went his security for the price of
the axe. Her father was head chief of the
Wyandottes when he died in 1838. Her moth
er was a part Wyandotte and part Seneca In
dian. They have a family of five children—
four sons and one daughter. Splitlog was
never idle, and in most of his undertakings
he v-as in'ijessful. At ar early day he built
a iuj’I Tpjaouo.lA,, ns-,A
by horse-power and afterwards by steam.
Splitlog’s mill was a success and was long an
old landmark near Wyandotte. He began to
speculate in real estate, and, althoug ho can
neither read nor write, he became one of the
most successful speculators in the neighbor
hood of Kansas City, and accumnlated a fort
une of more than §1,000,000. Many interest
ing incidents could bs written in connection
with his useful life.
The “Kingdom of Callaway.”
A correspondent of the New York Tribune
asked a Missourian about the origin of the
phrase "Kingdom of Callaway,” which is com
monly used in Missouri to designate Callaway
County. He said: “That county was a reg
ular hotbed of secession in 1860-’(il and was
represented in the State Legislature by Gener
al ‘Jeff’Jones, who had such absolute control of
county politics that he was called the ‘King of
Callaway.’ He was a rabid secessionist and de
clared in the Legislature that if Missouri did
not secede from the Union, Callaway County
would secede from the State and set up for
herself. He went home and ‘Claib’ Jackson,
the Governor, gave him a commission as Brig
adier-General. Jones went to work and rais
ed a large body of men to uphold the secession
cause. In the County of Fike lived John B.
Henderson, since then United States Senator.
He also raised a large force and proclaimed
his purpose to march into the ‘Kingdom of
Callaway’ and subdue Jotes. Then began a
series of strategic movements and manoeuvres
which occupied some six months and which, I
think, never had a parallel in military history.
During all that time Henderson was advanc
ing toward or retiring before the forces of
Jones, and during the same period Jones and
his men were chasing Henderson’s force or
running away from it. The peaceable inhabi
tants oi the ‘Kingdom of Callaway’ and of
Fike county dai y expected a bloody and de
cisive battle between the hostile forces, but
they never could get near enough to each other
to fight. If you heard of Henderson’s com
mand on the eastern or northern border of Cal
laway you might be sure that Jones was on the
western or southern border. Oh, It was grand
strategy!”
Senator Pugh, of Alabama.
A friend of Senator Pugh, speaking to us of
him a day or two since, said: “The man of
ballast and big brain in the United States Sen
ate from the South at present is Mr. rugb.
As deep waters move slowly, without the dash
and sparkle of the shallow stream, so does a
profound and big brain. Possessed of an in
exhaustible fund of common sense, with logi
cal and searcuing powers of analysis and al
ways deliberate and thoughtful, he is a states
man without cranks or crochets, and is there
fore always conservative in his views and is
safe in his conclusions. It is no surprise that
he exerts an influence with the present ad
ministration greater, probably, than that of
any other Southern Senator.”—Tuskaloosa
Gazette.
What the South Will Do.
Remarking upon the respect shown, ar.d the
enthusiasm the South manifests towards ex-
President Davis, the Chicago Tribune remarks:
“Jeff Davis can’t last forever. What will
the Sjuth do for exci'.ement when be is gone?”
To which.the New Orleans States answers, per
tinently, that “the South will do nothing for
excitement, but one thing it will do, and that
is erect over his grave one of the grandest
monuments this country has ever seen.”
ON THE ST.JOHNS, NEAR JACKSONVILLE, FLA.
The official record in the cases of the Chi
cago Anarchists contained about 2,000,000
words.
“Cavalier” Charles L. Webster.
Archbisaop Corrigan recently performed the
pleasant ceremony of conferring on Charits L.
Webster an order of Knighthood in pursuance
of instructions received from His Holiness
Leo XIII. Mr. Webster is the head of the
firm of Charles L Webster & Co., the New
York publishers of Dr. O'Reilly’s Life of the
Holy Father. The letter of Caidinal Lcdoch-
owski, Secretary of State, accompany ing the
official diploma, attests that the title is bestow
ed in appreciation of the services rendered in
the publication of the Pope’s biography, and
Mr. Webster now bears the rack of a “Cava-
l.er of the Order of l’jus.”
Tobacco Growing in Florida.
An unusual and increasing interest is being
manifested in the cultivation of tobacco in
Florida, and, within a few months past syndi
cates have been organized composed of large
capitalize, who propose engaging in its culti-
^ jA fewwek* ay#, Mr
Corry, General Manager for one of the Hugest
and wealthiest of these, was in New York,
where in an interview with a reporter of the
United States Tobacco Journal he communicat
ed the following interesting information:
“I suppose you are more interesied in the
prospects of the tobacco culture, in what we
are doing, and in our progress there, than in
climatology. To begin with, therefore, I have
been busy in getting the deeds of the land we
have bought there, and I have just sot through
paying off the purchase price of 10,000 acres.
Of these we are going to cultivate at first 1,000
acres. We have divided them into several
plantations and pnt each plantation under the
supervision of a manager and superintendent.
We are commencing to build nice substantial
houses for our men, curing sheds for the to
bacco and stable accommodations for horses,
mules, cows and steers, for we intend rais
ing our own live-stock in order to have some
thing very substantial to feed our working
force with as to produce the best natural ma
nure for our tobacco fields. Wo intend to use
nothing but stable manure for our tobacco
crops, and we have so far acquired all the sta
ble manure from Savannah and Jacksonville,
from the latter place alone all the manure from
a thousand houses. Besides, we have charter
ed several schooners here to bring us down
stable manure from this city. So you see we
have plenty of work before us; in fact we have
to provide everything except the soil. But
where there is a will there is a way.and we have
got the will and the means.”
“How about the scil, Mr. Corry?”
“The soil proper consists of a layer of hu
mus about 8 to 10 inches deep. The sub-soil
is r?d clay which has got the quality of almost
a water-reservoir. It soaks in the rain and re
tains it as it were as a nourishing source to
the humus. Thus it is that neither incessant
rain storms nor droughts can hurt the vegeta
tion. For the red clay of the sub soil absorbs
auy superfluity of moisture, while, on the
other hand, during any drought it furnishes
moisture to the humus.”
“What kind of tobacco do you intend to
grow mostly?”
“Well, we will grow partly Sumatra and
partly Havana seed. We have sent an expert
to Cuba to get us seed from the best districts,
and we have been supplied by the Agricultural
Department with about a thousand packages
of Sumatra seed. In future we shall use cur
own seed, as we have set aside 25 acres ex
clusively for seed beds. The trouoie thus far
with the Florida tobacco grower has been that
he did not understand the use of the seed.
He sent for White Burley, for Virginia, for
Connecticut, for Orinoco and some other kind
of seed and mixed them all up. Of course he
produced a mongrel growth. Nor did he un
derstand the needs and fashion of the trade.
Nor did he have a sled to cure his tobacco.
Those are the reasons why the Florida tobacco
has gradually disappeared from the market,
and why even this year’s product is no criter
ion of what the leaf can be if properly raised.
It is the product of impure seed, ill assorted,
and boxed up uncured. Of course, all th's
will be changed. We will grow oar tobacco
from pure seed, as pure and good as can be
obtained; we will fertilize it with natural
manure; we will have our curing-sheds of such
perfection as no other tobacco districts can
boast of, and we will assort it most conscien
tiously according to its size, color, and sound
ness. And we will pack it iu bales.”
“Is it true that an acre of Florida tobacco
land does not yield more than 250 to 300
pounds.”
“No, sir; the minimum is about 600 pounds
to ’.he acre.”
“What will be next season’s yield at your
estimation?”
“Well, as stated, we shall cultivate 1,000
acres. Figuring the minimum at 600 pounds
i per acre, we will have 600,000 pounds. But
there are in our country 160 tobacco farmers
who intend to put from 3,000 to 5,000 acres
I nnder cultivation; this wou.dmake from 1 800,-
| 000 pounds more. Besides, another New York
syndicate has brought 5 000 acres, and I suc-
p ite they will have some of it under cultiva-
! lion next year.”
We have already printed many items show
ing the success in cultivation, and the value of
this crop in Florida, and now, add the follow-
) ing which has just fa len under our eye as ad-
i di ioual evidence of what is possible. The
Quincy Herald, of a late date, says,
i Mr. Corry has, during the week, purchased
crops of tobacco from various parties, at prices
ranging from 10 to 30 cents per pound.
Mr. Archibald Nicholson ielivered his crop
to the Company this week, aad for the product
of 2 acres received a check for §461 00, equal
to §230 50 per acre, aud the crop was fine. If
there is any style of crop that can be planted
on a large scale by all the planters that will
surpass this, we have yet to learn of it.
land.
As soon as Mrs. Olcott was well rid of Mrs.
Hawley, she called her boys, and ba.jle them go
to the pine-woods and get the finest, handsom
est young hemlock-tree that they could find.
“Get one that is straight and tall, with well
houghed branches on it, and put it where you
can draw it under the wood-shed, after dark,”
she added.
The boys went to Pine Hill, and there they
picked out the finest young tree on all the hill,
and said, “We will take this one." So, with
their hatchets they hewed it down and brought
it safely home the next night when all was
dark. And when Roger was quietly sleeping
in the adjoining room, they dragged the tree
into the kitchen. It was too tall, so they took
it out again and cut off two or three feet at the
base. Then they propped it up, and the cur
tains being down over the windows, and blan
kets being fastened over the curtains to pre
vent any one looking in, and the door doubly
barred to prevent any one coming in, they all
went to bed.
Very early the nex! morning, while the stars
shone on the snow covered hills—the same
stars that shone sixteen hnndred years before
on the hills when Christ was born in Bethle
hem—the little Puritan mother in New England
arose very softly. She went out and lit the
kitchen fire anew from the ash-covered embers.
She fastened upon the twigs of the tree the
gifts she had bought in Boston for her boys
and girl. Then she took as many as twenty
pieces of candle and fixed them upon the
branches. After that, she gpftly called Rupert,
Robert, and Lucy, and tcld’tbem to get up and
dress and come into the kitchen.
Hurrying back, she began, with a bit of a
burning stick, to ligbtthe candles. Just as the
last one was set aflame, in trooped the three
children.
3efore they had time to say a word, they
were silenced by their mother’s warning.
“I wish to fetch Roger in and wake him up
before it,” she said. “Keep still until I come
back!”
The little lad, fast asleep, was lifted in a
blanket and gently carried by his mother into
the beautiful presence.
“See! Roger, my boy, see!” she said, amus
ing him. “It is Christmas morning now! In
England they only have Christmas-boughs,
but here in New England we have a whole
Christmas-tree.”
“O mother!” he cried. “O Lucy! Is it real
ly, really true, and no dream at all? Yes, I
see! I see! O Mother! it is so beautiful! Were
ail the trees on all the hills lighted up that way
when Christ was born? And, Mother,” he
added, clapping his little hands with joy at
the thought, “why yes, th9 stars did sing when
Christ was born! They must be glad, then,
and keep Christmas, too, in Heaven. I know
they must, and there will bs good times there.”
“Yes,” said his mother; “there will be good
times there. Roger.”
“Thee,” said the boy, “I shan’t mind going,
now that I’ve seen the Chrisimas-bough. I—
What is that, Mother?"
What was it that they heard? The little
Olcott home had never before seemed to trem
ble so. There were taps at the window, there
were knocks at the door—ar.d it was as yet
scarcely the break of day! There were voices
also, shouting something to somebody.
“Shail I put out the candles, Mother?”whis-
pered Robert.
“What will they do to ur for having the tree?
I wish we hadn’t it,” regrfsttod Ruper ; while
Lucy clung to her mother’s gown and shrieked
with ali h6r strength’ “It’s Indians!”
Pale and white and still, ready to meet her
fate, stood Mrs. Olcott, until, out of the knock
ing and the tapping at her door, her heart
caught a sound. Ii vs as a voice calling, “Rachel!
Rachel! Rachel! - ’
“Unbar the door! ’ she cried back to her
boys; “It’s your father calling!” Down came
the blankets; up went the curtains; open flew
the door, and rn walked Captain Olcott, fol
lowed by every man and woman in Plymouth
who had heard at break of day the glorious
news that the expected ship had arrived at
Boston, and, with it the long-lost Captain Ol
cott. For an instant nothing was thought of
except the jjyous welcoming of the captain in
his own home.
“What’s this? What is it? What does this
mean?” was asked again and again, when the
first excitement was' past, as the tall young
pine stood aloft, its candles ablaze, its gifts still
hanging.
“It’s welcome home to Father!” said Lucy,
her only thought to screen her mother.
"No, child, nol” sternly spoke Mrs. Olcott,
“Tell the truth!”
“It’s—a—Christmas-tree!” faltered poor
Luoy.
Puritans all, drew near with facias stern ana
forbidding, and gazed and gazed, until one and
another and yet another softened slowly into
a smile as little Roger’s piping voice sung out:
“She mide it for me, mother did. But you
may have it now, ai,d all the pretty things
that are on it, too, because you v’e brought my
father back again; if mother will let you,” he
added.
Neither Pilgrim nor Puritan frowned at the
gift. One man, the sternest there, broke off a
little twig and said:
“I’ll take it for the sake of the good old
times at home.”—From “The First Christmas
Tree in New England,'' by Sarah J. Pritchard,
in St. Nicholas for December.
Thanksgiving Sketches.
Editor Sunny South: It is Thanksgiving
day. The sky is quite overcast and gloomy;
and even the mellow church bells did not
soften the depressing effect of the chill atmos
phere.
Since early morning, however, the streets of
Athens have been unusually gay with bright
faced children, and happv-looking older peo
ple, hastening to joyous family re unions; has
tening to fill out the circle of dear ones that
gather around the hearthstone of home, to eat
the Thanksgiving turkey, and bask in the sun
shine of Thanksgiving hearts.
Whose heart does not turn fondly to home
on Thanksgiving morning? Mine, I must ac
knowledge, wandered there then, and as I
glance up now at the flush of the sunset sky,
my spirit hovers with loving tenderness over a
sad picture my mind paints of my dear little
Salem home-—
“In the glow of the Western window,
Amber and opaline air
Flooding her eyes wi.h beauty,
Fanning her lint-white hair,
My dear, dear mother is sitting
Watching the sunlight’s flight,
Alone, by the Western window—
For notxjdy's coming to night."
But this is no time or place for sadness—
this stately old Southern mansion is full of
gay young life. True the sweet girlish faces
looked a little pensive in the early morning,
and at church service, when their thoughts
wandered too, to the home gatherings and to
mother, but they had quite recovered their
spirits by the time the Tuanksgiving feast was
laid; and none bat rosy ficas, wreathed with
answering smiles, gathered around the board.
It is ast Hashing how much turkey and cran
berries healthy, happy girls can eat!
But th6 feast is over, and the house re
sounds with fralic and fun. Gay and ghost : y
figures flit along the shadowy corridors, for
maskers are holding high carnival. Amid the
laughter and fun, the mail arrives, and I am
much amused to see the eager crowding of
queer-looking figures, all anxious for Thanks
giving letters. And what a heap of white let
ters, plump, full, Thanksgiving letters! How
glad I am there are so many. How glad I am
the dear mothers found time to write them!
I lake my white winged messengers into the
pretty chapel, whose soft light and lovely fres
coed walls I have learned to love; but as I seat
myself I am startled by a girlish voice, and
the querry:
“Did you ever receive a love letter ?”
“Of course not,” was replied. “My desire
has, as yet, never been gratified ”
“My! O!’ laughed the first voice. “Mother
siys it is awful tackey to write love letters;”
then both the pretty neads turned toward me,
the soft cheeks flushed rosy red, for they were
unaware of my presence before, but the last
speaker continued: “What do you say, mad
am?”
“I quite agree with mother,” I answered
smiling; “it is quite foolish to write love let
ters. But of course you both will commit
that folly the first chance you get.”
“Oh! indeed no!” they say laughingly and
emphatically as they move away.
My mind reverts instantly to a package of
letters tied with a blue ribbon that lie in the
bottom, yes, the very bottom of my trunk.
They were written—ah, well, it seems to me
ages ago. I very much fear they would be
condemned by the laughter-loving school girls
as “tackey,” very “tackey,” if they could get
a glimpse of them. But these letters pleased
my girlish fancy; and even now, when I read
them over again, my pulses throb unwontedly
as I grasp with a woman’s earnestness the rev
erence and deep respect of the writer, as well
as the great love he bore me.
“’Twas morning’s winged dream;
6n liie’s dull stream !
O, ’twas a light that ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream!”
I have always thought true character was
displayed more in the love letter than in any
other style of writing. Love so intoxicates
that cautiousness is not on the alert to conceal
the ugly passions, and they thrust their insid
ious headB out in most unexpected places
sometimes.
The sweet, fair women of our dear South
land have a high standard indeed by which to
measure the chivalrous character of a lover.
Generous and warm- hearted themselves, they
expect all the noblest qualities to shine con
spicuously in those they love. Above all, our
fair ones expect their faith to be treated with
sacred honor. Like pure, white lilies they
stand, and they have no trust in him who says
“I will wear this flower on my breast”; but,
ere be plucks it, would soil its purity and bow
its fair head in bumiliation.
And we should keep a proper standard be
fore our dear Southern girls—that of a noble
manhood. He who really loves will never
bring aught of harm to his beloved. He who
really loves and hopes to make a certain fair
one his wife will be thoughtful of her; will re
gard her good name, her high honor as his ho
liest trust, and wifi be mindful that the influ
ence he exerts over her is for her temporal aud
spiritual good; so that, when the time shail
come and he makes her his own, that fike a
pure, white lily gathered in its purity, he may
wear her with all honor as the loveliest orna
ment and holiest treasure of his fife.
Nettie Loveless Kierulff.
Athens Female College, Athens, Ala.
“TOO MANY OF WE.”
“Mamma, Is there too many of we?”
Tbs little girl asked with a slab,
"Perbacs you wouldn’t be tired, you see,
II a few of your chiids could die?”
She was only three years old—tbe one
Who spoke la tbat strange, sad way,
As sbe saw her mother’s imoitlent frown
At tbe children's boisterous play.
There were half a dozen who round her stood.
Aod the mother was sick and p.,or,
Worn out with the eare of the noisy brood
And toe fight with the wolf at the door.
For a smile or a kiss, no time, no place j
For the little one, least or all;
Aim the shadow that darkened the mother’s face
O’er the youog life seemed to fall.
More thoughtful than any, she felt more care,
And pondered In childish way •
H‘>w to lighten the burden she could not share,
Growing heavier day by day.
Only a week, ard the little Claire
la her tiny white trundle bed
Lay with blue eyes closed, and the snnny hair
Cut close from the golden Uead.
‘ Dn’t cry,” she said—and the words were low,
Feeling tears tbai she cou’d not see—
“You won’t have to work and he tired so
When there ain’t so many of we.”
Bot the dear little daughter who went away
From the home tbat f ti once was stilled,
Showed the mother’s heart from that dreary day
What a place she had always filled.
Death! The Tomb! Then What ?
George D. Prentice once wrote: “It cannot
I be that the earth is man’s abiding place. It
j cannot be that fife is a mere bubble, cast np to
I eternity to float a moment on its waves and
then sink into nothingness. Else why is it
I that all the glorious aspirations which leap
i 1 ke angels from the temple of our hearts are
: forever wandering unsatisfied? Why is it that
all the stars that hold their festival around the
j midnight throne, are set above the grasp of
j our limited faculties, forever mocking ug with
j their unapproachable glory? And, finally,
why is it that the forms of human beauty pre
sented to our view are taken from us, leaving
the thousand streams of our affections to flow
back in Alpine torrents npon our hearts?
There is a realm where the rainbow never
fades; where the stars wi:l be spread out be
fore us like islands that slumber in the ocean;
and when the beings whicn now pass before
os fike shadows wifi stay in our presence for
ever.”
A frightened deer dashed through the main
street of Safina, Pa., the other day, and al
though all the sportsmen in town turned out
as soon as they saw it, the deer escaped.
Beauties and Celebrities.
American Life Under Eigh
teen Presidents.
Prominent Statesmen and Brilliant
Belles—Fashionable Styles, Enter
tainments, Aneodotes, Eto.
How President Monroe Left Office.
There is a marked contrast between the pe
cuniary condition of James Monroe, when he
left the Presidency, and the pecuniary condi
tion of those who retire from public position
now-a-days. The administration of Monroe
closed March 3d, 1825, and after laying down
the burden of State cares he retired to his
home at Oak Hill, Loudon county, Virginia,
He now commenced to reap the bitter fruits
of a fife devoted to the best interests of his
country, regardless of his own. As a private
citizen he emerged from all his successive pub
lic trusts with poverty as the emblem of his
purity and the badge of ail his public honors.
His enjoyment of the new-found bliss at his
old Virginia home was of short duration; for,
in the death of his beloved wife in September,
1830, all that was be3t and dearest to him in
this life was removed. He realized that the
cup of his earthly sorrow was full to the brim.
She had adorned every public position he had
ever held with enviable graces of person and
mind. She had nobly participated in all his
troubles, and with her sudden loss all the
hopes of his declining years faded rapidly.
The bereaved, widowed ex President went to
New York, where, with tender solicitude, he
was tenderly cared for during his declining
years.
Letter From La Fayette.
La Fayette wrote to Mr. Monroe in 1828,
when he was depressed by the failing health
of bis wife:
“The papers have confirmed my fears of
your pecuniary situation being still worse than
I had for a long time apprehended. Under
those circumstances, there is great need of her
and your fortitude. My feelings on every ac
count, it were superfluous to express. The
settlement of your claims has been left open.
May the actual session finish what the last one
has begun.
“In the meantime, my dear Monroe, permit
your earliest, your best, and your most obliged
friend to be plain with you. It is probable
that, to give you time and facilities for your
arrangement and mortgage, might be of some
use. The sale of one half of my Florida prop
erty is full enough to meet my family settle
ments and the wishes of my neighbors. There
may be occasion for a small retrocession of
acres, in case of some claims on the disposed-
of Louisiana lands—an object as yet uncer
tain, at all events inconsiderable; so that there
wifi remain ample security for a large loan;
for I understand those lands are very valua
ble, and will be to a large extent after the dis
posal of a part of them. You remember that
in a similar embarrassment I have formerly
accapted your intervention. It gives me the
right to reciprocity. Our friend, Mr. Graham,
has my full powers. Be pleased to paraas Iks
incited letter, ifS*i andJWPlitt’ttSppat-
tained your approbation. Yet, should it he
denied, I would feel much mortified. I hope,
I know you are too much my friend not to ac
cept what, in a similar case, I would not an
instant hesitate to ask.’’
The inclosed letter was a power-of-attorney
to Mr. Graham, to mortgage the lands men
tioned. Mr. Monroe declined accepting the
offer, and returned the power-of-atioraey to
General La Fayette.
Randolph of Roanoke.
We don’t know that the people wiil ever
tire of reading about the eloquent but eccen
tric Virginian; or that those who know him
will ever cease telling anecdotes. On one occa
sion Randolph resorted to a curious and novel
strategem to gain the attention of the House.
After midnight, when most of the members
had composed themselves to sleep as they best
might, Randolph began to utter a disconnected
foraga of long words, appropos to nothing in
the universe. Gradually the whole House
awoke, and looked with wondering eyes on
the Orator, supposing him mad. Ilis purpose
thus answered, he turned suddenly ou an
honest Dutch member from New York, who
never ventured anything beyond a zealous yea
or nay; pointed his slow unmoving finger at
him, and cried in his shrill, deliberate tone!
“And now, Mr. Speaker, the honorable gen
tleman from New York denies the truth of
what I have been saying.”
“Good gracious,” sputtered forth the mysti
fied Dutchman, I have done nothing of the
kind.”
The House, now thoroughly aroused, shook
with inextinguishable laughter.
The Armour Brothers’ Mission House
[Chicago Tribune.]
The late Joseph Armour had an idea that
poor people often need assistance, and he be
queathed §100,000 toward an institution where
suffering could be relieved. Mr. Philip D. Ar
mour, his brother, who had charge of the
bequest, concluded that the amount was not
sufficient to meet the necessities of Chicago
and added §300,000 to the sum. Mr Philip
D. Armour also became aware that even §400,-
000 could not be made to last long unless judi
ciously invested, so in addition to the big Ar
mour Mission at the corner of Thirty-third and
Butterfield Sts., he erected ninety flats from
which an income of §25.000 per annum is de
rivable, and which is ample to maintain the
mission.
Mr. Armour’s ilea of a mission was a place
where Christianity without sect is taught, and
where all deserving people can be melically
treated, where all children of the poor can be
taught, where poor and homeless babes can be
cared for, where the unclothed, the starving,
the diseased, the homeless and the oppressed
can apply for assistance and receive proper
attention. This idea has been carried out to
the letter at the Armour Mission, which reach
es annually nearly 10,000 of the poor. The
world is full of noble charities, but none ever
approached this in scope. Further, its charity is
conducted on a stric ly business basis, with
all the attention to detail aud exact principle
that prevails in all of Mr. Armour’s opera
tions.
A Great Publisher’s Card.
[New York Dry Goods Chronicle.]
Tbe great book publisher, the late James
Harper, related the following episode in his
life:
“I seived my apprenticeship on the spot oa
which I am sitting. I did die rough work of
the office. Rich mon lived in this locality;
their sons were idle and took pains to annoy
me. One would say, ‘Harper, who made your
boots?’ Another, ‘Jim, give me a card to
your tailor.’ A stout, ugly boy, whose father
was a rich lawyer, pushed me neany down.
1 turned, gave him a kick and said: ‘There,
take that—that is my card. When I am in
business and you are a poor, worthless fellow
in want, as you wifi be, call ou me and I will
give you work if you deserve it ’ Since I have
been on this spot, in Franklin square, that
man called on me. He was in actual want.
He reminded me of my card and solicited as
sistance. I gave it to h m.”
The first tianslation into E iglisuof a Hebr
novel will shortly appehr. France first disci
ered that there were Hebrew novels woi
translating, and has had them for some yea