About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 17, 1887)
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
