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■ .*r-‘ s w -'t -1+ <TKe Crflartott'ti fUmtiscr. nsiiinu asiisa^. Office, WAREHOUSE STKJjg^^^ . On, Door north of Cotton ttalMoMP <Y' The Cedartown Advertiser. Job^Printing > THE ADVERTISER JOB OFFICE Advertisement# inserted at the rate of Si per square tor first insertion, and 50 cents j>er square for each subsequent insertion. The space of oneinch is reckoned as a square. Special rates given on advertisements to run lor a longer ]>eriod than one month. D. B. FREEMAN, Publisher. LABORING FOR THE COMMON WEAL. TERMS: $1 50 Per Annum, in Advance. IS EQUIPPED WITH GOOD Press and Sew Material, OLD SERIES—YOL. X- NO. 24. CEDARTOWN. GA.. THURSDAY, JULY 12. 1883. NEW SERIES—VOL. Y-NO. 31. Type, Border, Ornaments, &e„ Of the very latest designs, and all orders for Job \Y ork will be executed neatly cheaply and promptly. BLASTED BOFE. He softly whispered In her ear “Shall we to-the cafe Meander now my Uttle dear?” She never spoke him nay. hen did he gently quoth; “Wilt thou have cream or lemonade?” She simply answered “both.” The smiles that erstwhile wreathed hi s cheek Now simply faded thence, For tho’ each pocket he did seek, He found hut twenty cents. He said, “My dear, a man I see Who owes me dollars seven,” Then from the room he swift did flee To breathe the air of Heaven. The maiden she did sit and wait Her nice young man’s returning, But ne’er a waiter brought the plate Of cream her heart was yearning. And still she sits with ashen lip. And neither sound nor motion, As silent as a chromo ship On a lithographic ocean. CARKADINE’S LOVE. Carradine sat alone at Ins easel paint, ing; and as he painted lie thouglit- Eight years before, when he was a poor, struggling boy, just entering on that race which must be run by every aspir ant to art and its honors, there happened to him something which neither time nor toil had ever been able to efface from his memory. As he was passing along the streets a wreath of fragrant roses suddenly fell on his head, and look ing up in wonder he beheld, reaching out from the embroidered draperies of an overhanging window, a child, with fairy-like proportions, with great dark eyes and long, curling black locks, who stood smiling and throwing him kisses from her curved lips, colored like a pomegranate. When she still gazed, a nurse had come forward and drawn the child away; the curtains were closed, and he saw the little creature no more. Such was the vision that the artist had carried so long in his memory; in his memory only, for he had no second glimpse of the child. That very day an accident occured which kept him a prisoner in his room for several weeks, and when next he went out the house was empty, and a placard with greatflar- ing letters announcing it for sale stared him in the face, from the same window- in which the little, white-robed elf had stood waving her hand and smiling to him. In course of time other faces ap peared there, but they were strange faces, and among them was never ti one for which he looked. Now, as Carradine sat painting alone, he thought of all this: of the struggle that had ended at length in success, of his hard, unfriended boyhood, and of the beautiful child with her fragrant rose crown, which had seemed almost like a prophecy. That rose wreath, diy and withered now, was all that was left to him of the fair vision; but when that morning in turning over an old port folio, he had come upon it by chance it spoke to him of that by-gone day just as eloquently as when its blossoms were fresh and full. “Eight years ago,” he said, thought fully, letting the shriveled circles slip through his fingers slowly. “She must be 16 now—if she lives. If? No, I do not doubt her living presence—some where. I wonder where she is now,and what she is like at 16?” With that he placed the wreath beside his easel and began to paint. The face, as it grew on lus canvas, presented a young girl in the dewy morning blush of first youth, with shadows in the great dark eyes and a half-smile about the bright curled lips, like an embodied summer sun-shower. It was thus that the artist pictured his idea of the child- woman, whose infantile look and smile for eight long years had been his own dream of love. Carradine had not had an easy life. An orphan from his earliest years, poor and unfriended, he had studied hard for the means to gratify that inherent idola try for art which was always clamoring to find expression in form and coloring, lie had fought and he had won; but now, at 26, he stood in the place which he had gained for himself almost as much alone at the very heart as he had been eight years before, when the cliild’s gift came to him as a prophecy. It was not that he was friendless. There were men who liked and sought him, women who would gladly have taught him to forget his loneliness in their affection. But though his nature responded rapidly to any kindness, there was one chord, deeper than all, that re mained untouched, and from the sweet est glances his thoughts went back to the unknown child that had smiled down to him so long ago. Tne ideal head became his great source of enjoyment, and a dreamy softness shaded his dark-grey eyes, as line by line and tint by tint took him back into the past, which all lifeless as it was, seemed to him, in those moments, more real than the busy present. Yet now, in reviewing that one bright vision of his memory, it was not so much the lovely child that he saw- In fancy as the beau tiful girl whose face, with fuller depth and sweetness, looked out at him from his own canvas. Instinctively, he hardly knew why, he disliked to work on this picture iu any other presence, and he devoted to it only his hours of solitude. So it happened that it was nearly finished when by some chance a friend dis covered him bending over it, too ab sorbed to hear any approach. As the door opened Carradine rose hastily, turning his easel to the wall, so as to conceal the face upon it. This little stratagem, however, was destined to be of no avail. Having been marked by the intruder, one of those cordial, well- meaning people, good-natured to a de gree, but with little delicacy of precep- tion—the action at once aroused his' curiosity. “ Aha, master painter,” he said, with a laugh, “ let. us see what it is that you work at by yourself till it steals away your eyes and ears. Only one peep!” With that, he laid his hand on the frame, and receiving no forbidding word from Carradine, turned it round. The next moment he was loud in praise. “But who is it, Carradme? If it is a portrait, tell me where to find the original, and I will, if it is a seven days’ journey!” Carradine smiled. “If I myself kn?w where to find such an original I should not be here to tell you, my good friend.” he answered, evasively. “ Oh, a fancy sketch,” said the other: misled, as the artist had desired. “ I might have saved diyself the trouble of asking. No real flesh and blood face ever looked like that—more shame to nature, I say. Of course you will ex hibit it. Carradme?” “ No!” answered the painter, quietly.. : “No!” repeated the other, in snr.' prise. “ But my dear fellow, you iuust, or I shall betray your secret, and you will have a swarm of visitors, worse than a plague in Egypt, let in upon you.” Carradine hesitated. A chance w r ord in his friend’s speech had suggested a possibility that made his heart leap in spite of sober reason. “ You are right,” he said. “ I shall send the picture for exhibition. It will be better so.” After his visitor had left him alone again, Carradine bent low over liis easel, gazing into the lovely, upturned face, until it began to fade into the gather ing twilight. “ It—it!” he murmured to himself, half unconsciously. “ But it cannot he. Yet I will send it—and perhaps—” And so the picture was sent, in due time; and it seemed almost as if Carra- dine’s soul had gone with it and drawn him to follow. Hour after hour, and day after day, he sat in the gallery scru tinizing eagerly every face and the visitors whom. taste and fashion had brought to look at the now celebrated artist’s latest success. Every night he went away unsatisfied, and every mom- ning he returned with hope springing afresh in his heart. Still, toe object of Ills search, what ever it nSf have been, does not appear; and one day, discouraged at last, he re solved to go no more on so fruitless an errand. Shutting him-elf in his studio, he began to paint, but strive as he would he could command neither hand nor fancy. Finally, tired of repeated failure, he abandoned work, and yielded to an impulse which drew his steps in the customary direction. When he entered the small side room in which his picture hung he found but two persons within, a young man and a girl. Carradine could not see the faces of these two, but; with an earnestness for which he was at a loss to account, he followed their retreating figures as they moved slowly toward his picture. But the next moment an exclamation of astonishment burst from the lips of the young man. Why, here is your portrait, Leilia! What does it mean? Who can the painter Ire?” With that he hurried out to purchase a catalogue. Carradine advanced quick ly to the girl. “ I am the painter,” he said. She turned and looked at him with one steady gaze from those glorious eyes that had haunted his-visions for so many years. Then she spoke: “You painted that picture? and how?” “From remembrance,” he answered. “ It was my only tribute to the little unknown princess who crowned me once with roses. Does she, too, re member it?” For a moment doubt was in her face; but as he looked at her it vanished in certainty.- A smile touched her bright lips. It was you, then, on whom I forced my roses? A princess who gave away honors unmasked. How often I have wondered since ” She stopped, turned to the canvass, and added, abruptly,” -‘But I was a child then, and here ” “Here you are a woman,” said Carra dine, completing the unspoken sentence. “It is so hard to understand. The same power that kept the child in my heart showed me into what she would ripen.” She did not look at him now, but at the picture, as she asked him in a low voice, “ And whom am I to thank for such an honor?” “My name is Hubert Carradine,” he answered, and saw at once that it was no unfamiliar word to her. “And yours? Through all these years your face has haunted me always, but your name I never knew.” She hesitated a moment, then turned to him. You never knew my name? Then think of me still as you have thought of me through all these years,” she said, a half smile lingering about her mouth, but never lighting the great dark that was shaded by some subtle sadness. The look, the tone, trans ported Carradine beyond all remem brance of place or circumstance into the unreal realm of imagination in which his wish was supreme ruler. I have thought of you always as my life and my love,” he said, half con sciously, his dreamy, deep gray eyas glowing upon her face. She blushed suddenly, and then paled in an instant. Just then her former companion entered the room. I am Leilia Auveraay,” she said, hastily, “and this is Cecil Wyndham— my betrothed husband.” Not another word was said. As the young man approached, Carradine fell hack a step and looked at the two. His was a fair, handsome face, so little marked as yet by time, that it would be hard for an unpracticed eye to conjec ture with what lines the shaping char acter would yet stamp it. Neverthe less, with one keen gaze Carradine esti mated both present and future. She said a few, low-spoken words to her companion, who presently moved toward Carradine, and addressed him: “ I have the honor of speaking to Mr. Carradme, the painter of this pic ture?” Carradine bowed without speaking. “ Will you pardon me for asking if it a fancy sketch?” continued Mr. Wyndham. ‘ Partly so, hut suggested by the face of a little girl,” answered the artist. “But the likeness is so very strik ing,” muttered the young gentleman. I must have it at any rate. Of course you will part with it—at your own price?” The picture is not for sale,” said Carradine, quietly, still regarding the young man with that cool, steady gaze which had already caused him to be tray » hesitation, almost confusion, very unlike his usual easy confidence. He seemed to have an instinctive knowl edge that the artist was measuring him, and to shrink from that measurement withunconscious dread. Carradine saw Leilia Auvernay once mow before she returned to her home in 4 distant town. Then he took his piewre from the Academy walls and huig it in his studio, where his eyes cold find it whenever he looked away fron his work, For he did not give up wrfk; yet among themselves, his friends pnbounced him an altered man, and mjrveled what had caused so subtle a djterence. Always silent, be now turned to live in an ideal world of his tin; and whatever he might occupy gmself with, there was that in his flanner which appeared to imply that ft was only a temporary diversion until he coming of some event tor which he waiting. So fussed half a year, at the end of which there came a letter to Carradine. It was very brief, but it was enough to assure him of that which he had been almost unconsciously expecting. The letter was from Leilia Auvernay. He went to her at once. She met him with a laughing light in her eyes such as he had not seen there when she stood in the gallery beside her betrothed husband—a light which recalled the merry child who had smiled down on him so long ago. “Mr. Carradine,” she said, “ I told you tliat my fortune was gone, but I did not tell you how utterly it had been swept away. I am nothing better than a beggar. Will you take me as one of your students, for charity’s sake?” He looked searchingly into her smil ing face. “And Mr. Wyndlmm?” lie asked, in a low voice. She replied without so much as a -flush of emotion: “ Mr. Wyndham has gone with the rest of my worldly possessions. Did I not say that I had lost everything? You see, Mr. Carradine, that I am not of as much worth no\v as my picture.” The words as she said them did not seem bitter. He took her hands. “Leilia,” he said, “does your loss make you unhappy?” “Do I look so?” she asked, gaily. ‘: As for the marriage, it was my father’s wish, and to gratify his dying request I consented—before I knew my own heart .” Here a quick vivid color shot into her cheek, but she went There never was love on my side, and on Iris—well, money is more than love, with some natures. I do not wish to blame him.” Carradine’s grasp tightened on her hands. ‘ Leilia, ” he said, “once your answer put a bar between us when I spoke words that were surprised out of my heart. Would it be so now if I should say them once more? My love, my life, will you come to me?” Will I come?” she repeated, look ing up in his eyes and drawing nearer, until his arms silently folded about her. And so Carradine found his love at last. Hulwer Lytton'a Home. Crook’s Success. Ceil Crook seems to have finished very thoroughly the work ot crushing the Apaches, which he began some years ago. By his former campaign they were all subdued except a parcel of Chiricahuas, and the work would doubt less have been completed had not Gen. Howard arrived on the ground, stopped the lighting, and made a treaty with the savages which proved very unfortu nate. By its terms the Indians merely undertook to keep the peace, and in re turn government gave them the use of a large tract of laud in Arizona, on the Mexican line, with absolute freedom upon it. Situated in this way, the In dians broke their promise at the first opportunity, almost as a matter of course, and have since kept up a con stant succession of bloody raids. They could go-into Mexico, kill and burn and rob until pursued, then return across the line and scatter so as to make their capture and identification practically impossible, or commit depredations in Arizona and New Mexico and flee to the Sierra Mad re mountains in Mexico, adjoining their reservation. Finally the band was ordered to go to the San Carlos reservation, which lies in Ari zona further north, but only a few obeyed. The others merely pretended to move into Mexico, and have since doged back and forth aitd carried on their murdering and pillage with more ferocity than ever The war so fortunately ended began with the murder of Judge McCoinas and wife and the capture of their eight- years-old son at Thompson’s Canon, March 27. A pursuit at the time was mnsuccessful, and Gen. Crook went to tlie Mexican states of Sonora and Chi huahua, consulted with the military and civil authorities there, and then organized a force to follow the savages into the mountains, the Mexican troops co-operating. The terms of oui treaty with Mexico do not permit a crossing of the line by troops except in actual hot pursuit of Indians, of course Crook’s expedition plainly overstepped this, and there was consequently some worrying by overanxious souls in both countries, but it is no secret t hat both governments knew all about the operation and were glad to do the necessary winking. Al though at last reports Juh, the most mischievous of all the murdering horde, was still at large with some of his band, the capture then made was so large as to be conclusive, and doubtless the others will yet come in or be brought Just what will be done with them remains to be seen, but of course they will hereafter be kept under some sort of restraint. Merely as a matter of money, the government could better affort to keep the whole lot at first- class hotels than to have them roving at will again. The statistics of Paris just published establish the claims of the city to be the most cosmopolitan in Europe. Whether it be a thing to be proud of or not, Parts is chiefly inhabited by a po pulation who are not Parisians. Out of one hundred residents only thirty are horn within the limits of the town; the remaining seventy are provincials and foreigners, People come and make their money or come and spend then- money in the capital, or those who have made it leave Paris and settle in the country. True-born Parisians are the exception, not the rule. The classifica tion of the foreigners is unexpectedly misleading. Neither political import ance nor commercial prosperity seems to regulate it. We might think the English, as being neighoors, a trading people, and a people fond of colonizing, would be the best represented. But they come rather near the end: much after the Swiss and very much after the Belgians. Only ten per cent, of the strangers are English, while the sub jects of King Leopold are nearly fifty per cent. But it is in the ease of the Germans that we meet the most sur prising of the Parisian statistics. They have always been very strong in Paris, much stronger than the English and the Americans combined. In numbers they form thirty-one per cent, of the strangers. But the curious incident of their occupation of the city is that it has been steadily on the increase, and has taken a decided impulse since the Franco-German war. In 1876 they were only nineteen per cent, and now they are more than thirty-one. On the whole, it appears from the census re turns that though the population of Paris has increased since the last sta tistics were published, the increase has chiefly consisted in the foreign resi dents. The house itselt, picturesque enough even at a distance, is doubly so when seen close at hand, though the painted cupolas and gilded spires suggest a Rus sian church rather than an English manor house, and the incongruous wing lately run out from one end of it im presses one like the half transformed figures in Ovid, witli the horns of stags or the claws of spiders projecting from a human body. But the sternest critic could find no fault in the ivy-wreathed arch of the gateway, the vast cathedral like windows, the clustering pinnacles and the quaint semi-ecclesiastical archi tecture, which gives it the look of some grand old historical college in Oxford or Cambridge.. Nor could Sir Walter Scott himself have wished a finer stage for one of his “striking situations” than the great hall with its oak panels and its stained glass windows, filled with the “dim religious light” that Milton loved, and hung with banners of every shape and color, from the pennon bearing the name of that Sir Turold who fought at Hastings down to the Delhi Standard whicli was borne in state before his hist descendant as Viceroy of India. In such a sanctuary of the past the intrusion of the present seems almost a sacrilege. You would hardly wonder to see the two figures in armor that flank the great fire-place spring up and extend their spears to bar your way. A bold man would be he who should watch here alone till midnight on the last night of the year, with the gloomy moon-light turning the shadows of the banners into threatening phantoms and bodying forth weird, unearthly sliapes from the balus trades of the vast oaken gallery which overshadow s a .full third of the entire hall. In such circumstances he might, indeed, like an adventurous Irish friend of mine who kept watch in a haunted house, “expect every moment the ap pearance of an invisible spirit.” But amid all these ghostly associations, the hearty, hospitable cheeriness oi “Merry England” breaks forth unmistakably iu the inscription which encircles tlie whole chamber like a garland, in white letters on a blue ground: ‘‘Read the rede of this old roof-tree : Here be trout fast, opinion free, Knightly right hand and Christiuu kuei Worth in all, wit in some Laughter open, slander dumb. Hearth where rooted friendships grow. Safe as altar, even to foe; And the sparks that upward go When the hearth flame dies below, If thy sap in them may be, Fear no Winter, old roof-tree I” Even more interesting, though less gloomily impressive, is the adjoining chamber, with its projecting mantel piece, its curved oak cabinets, and the quaint mediaeval portraits that watch us from tlie wall with sombre, unchang ing eyes. Here shines Edward IV., brightest and basest of English sover eigns, in all the fullness of his sleek, tiger-like beauty, a marked contrast indeed to the quiet, commanding face of Henry V., (no longer bearing any trace of the wild Prince Hal of Shakespeare,) who looks down upon us with the same stenreatmness werewilli he watched the armed thousands of France surging up around his little handful of starving men through the cold white mist of Agincourt. And at the far end of the room stands a small glass case, brimful of historical relics that would have excited the envy of Horace Walpole him self, foremost among which appear the antique inkstand that figured in the debates of the loug Parliament, ere Cromwell came to “purge the floor,” and a lock of hair clipped from Nelson’s corpse on the night of that famous bat- tle-Sabbath in Trafalgar Bay 78 years ago. The Library contains one curiosity, a clock made at the Industrial School of Jeypur, the capital of one of the native States of Western India. It is a queer affair altogether, to all appearance en tirely without works, and looking very much like a lamp chimney surmounted by an eye-glass. Passing the foot of the great staircase—which is sentineled by a life-like oil painting of Lord Beacons- field—we enter the portrait gallery, now flooded with a series of glory by the sun light which is streaming through the crimson curtains, and giving added color and beauty to the grand procession of historical faces along either waff. Here, belying her masculine dress by the vol uptuous softness of the features that enthralled Charles II., appears “wild Lucy Walters,” mother of that ill-fated Duke of Monmouth whose rash clutch at a crown to which he had no claim, brought down upon Western England horrors worse than those of Cawnpore. Here looks out from beneath his massive forehead, the large, thoughtful, earnest eye of Sir Thomas Moore, the noblest man of his day in England, and, there fore as a matter of course, sent out of England and the world by tlie heads man’s axe as speedily as possible. Here stands Anne of Austria, Louis XIII’s unfaithful Queen, imprisoned in a tight- waisted scarlet dress, and showing little of the beauty which captivated the vola tile Duke of Buckingham, but much of the haughtiness which she bequeathed to her son Louis XIV. Here, in the commanding attitude which dismayed the fiercest Revolutionists of France, towers the colossal ugliness of Mira beau, half redeemed by the stem, daring, dauntless spirit that looks through it. And here, last and greatest of all, stands brave Robert Blake, on the stem and solemn beauty of whose noble face rests the same look of calm and fearless self- reliance with which he confronted the pikes of Goring and the cannon of Van Tromp, or sailed foremost into tlie heil- fire of the Tunis corsairs at Goletta. Beyond the portrait gallery Ues the study where the late Lord Lytton used to write, which is as simple as the im mediate surroundings of famous men should always be. A small room, a plain central table, a bust of the Khedive, and a cast of Michael Angelo’s Moses on the mantel-piece—nothing more. But the fine oriel window and the beautiful view which it commands are a sufficient orna ment in themselves. Light, airy, cheer ful, this little sanctuary of art contrasts very pleasantly with the gloomy grand eur of the antique chambers and dim corridors overhead. Had any one wished to confer a priceless benefit upon the late Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, it should certainly have taken the form of a month’s residence in one of these rooms of state. How that truly great man would have reveled in such an unexpect ed supply of recesses, hangings, cabinets and presses of carved oak, for the con venience of the ghosts, demons, corpses and other festive personages in which he delighted. Heme, the Hunter, him self would have found ample scope here for that troublesome'gift of popping up through the floor or coming flying down the chimney with which he made him self such a nuisance in Windsor Castle in the days of jHenry VIII. What material, too, would any adventurous novelist find in the Latin inscription which surmounts the fire-place in one of the ghostliest of the upper rooms: “In this chamber slept Queen Elizabeth, after the defeat of the Armaria by English amis in 1588.” It is true that there is still reason to doubt whether good Queen Bess ever visited Knebworth at all; but this is a trifle to all true be lievers iu the romantic, who may console themselves with the assurance that this is the chamber in which she would have slept if she had. In one of the ante-rooms a little fur ther on is another relic which might furnish Mr. Wilkie Collins with the plot of a new “Moonstone.” Just in front of the window stands a minature throne curiously carved, all of solid silver. It is flanked on either side by a flight of steps of the same metal, guarded by a group of silver figures in Eastern dress, and is surmounted by a canopy, on which sits a large binl, holding in its beak a splendid emerald. Sucn an or nament might Warren Hastings have placed in the vestibule of Dalesford, or Clive in the hall of his stately house at Claremont; but its presence here is equally appropriate, for it is the gift of one of the Hindoo Princes to the man who lately ruled them in the name of the;Empress of India. Such souvenirs are precious not merely from their in trinsic worth but from the associations entwined with them; and this throne might fitly be placed beside the tattered banner in tlie hall below, (to bear which up the fatal hill-side of the Alma three brave men died in succession,) as a token that the race which holds Knebworth has proved its mettle on other fields be sides those of literature. As we turn to depart the western sun, now fast sinking and gathering clouds, casts one pale and momentary gleam upon the square, massive gray tower of the ancient church of Knebworth as it stands facing the hall. Such a back ground is the fit adjunct to such a pic ture. An old village church in England is a striking and suggestive object at all tunes, but doubly and trebly so when filled with the silent eloquence of a con trast like this. On one side all the dig nity of rank, wealth, renown, • the grandeur of an aucient name, the glory of a world wide reputation; on the other tills mute symbol of that power to which all the might of man is nothing, and of that grave in whicli man liimself lies as low as the beasts tliat perish. Like the skeleton at the Egyptian banquet, like the black robe over the throne of Sala- din, stands this sombre memento amid the leafless woods opposing its stem simplicity to the pomp and glitter of tlie ancient mansion. Here must all the paths of life, however diverse, meet at last. To this goal tend alike the Nor man noble whose bauner floated by Duke William’s side at Hastings and the hob nailed clown who hardly known his own grandfather. But when the dread siiadow has fallen which makes all men equal, the deeds that shine brightest through its gloom are not always those which poets have sunt and nations vaunted. Were Ull exploit? of Walter -Scott's mighty genius forgotten to-day, his memory would still be held sacred in every Anglo- Saxon heart on either side of the Atlan tic as the simple, kindly, true-hearted man who so warmly held out the right hand of friendship to young Washington Irving when the latter was still but a private in the great literary army which he was one day to command. More precious by far than all the noisy praises which rewarded Voltaire’s long war against God and man were the unheard blessings of the poor Swiss peasants whom he saved from the tax that was crushing them. The alms houses built in Knebworth village by the late Lord Lytton’s mother are a higher tribute to her memory than even the graceful monument and touching epitaph raised to it by her famous son beneath the shade of his ancestral woods. By these tilings men live when the hollow ap plauses of drawing rooms and the lying eulogies of critics have returned to con genial nothingness. Lite At tlie Springfield Armory. Two Venerable Women. The people of San Gabriel, Texas, go far towards immortality, and two ve nerable ladies, aged one hundred and two and one hundred and seventeen years, as is proved by the church re cords, are celebrities to whom the stranger pays his respects and his silver pieces. Driving in besides an adobe hut, a buxom and swarthy lady smiled at us from over her washtub, and ad vanced with the sweet “Interns dins" of these people. Crossing under her clothes-lines, we found the ancient Laura sitting on the ground, with a faded bed quilt wrapped about her shoulders. With all her one hundred and two years, Senora Laura lias not learned the ways of neatness, and sat abjectly in the dirt, with more dirt and dust on her straggling black locks. Se nora Beujamina, who owns to one hun dred and seventeen years, lay inside her miserable hut, with a tattered bed quilt wrapped about her, and her head sunken in another dirty quilt. Chick ens scratched and pecked the ground beside her, hopped on her prostrate form, and made the hut ring with their clucking and crowing. At the sug gestion of strangers and silver the poor old wreck of humanity turned her wrinkled face towards us, and the skinny hands were stretched out for coin. A more revolting and saddening spectacle cannot he imagined than these two forlorn and trembling old crea tures, shriveled, wrinkled, and withered as mummies, with bleared eyes, hooked claws, and thin, trembling voices. The soldier’s life in these piping times of peace is not so full of excite ment as he might wish, but is by no means as unpleasant as has been pictured. Many young men who enlist are fascinated by the uniforms, tales of the rebellion and a life of ease, as it seems to them; and when they find that they are expected to work nine hours a day the enthusiasm is dampened, and they want to get out. From the dis satisfaction of this class has doubless arisen the prejudice against peaceful army life. But there is another side to the question. The average soldier is uneducated, has uo trade and would have to work as a common laborer if discharged. It is said, however, that he would get more pay, and so it seems at a glance, but there it really very little difference between the remuner ation of the soldier and laborer. The former receives from the government his board, clothes and from $13 to $25 a month. The average is not far from $18, or $216 a year. The day laborer working 300 days a year at $2 a day re ceives $600. As good board and lodg ing as the soldier has will cost at least $5 a week, or $260 a year. Deducting this and $100 for clothes from his full pay, he has left $240, or $24 dollars a year more than the soldier. But the men are not all uneducated. One or two iu the service here have been through college and many are well-read. Some men enlist to receive the restraint which the soldier is necessarily held under. And this is one way in which army life does good, A man whose l»assion for liquor is irresistible, cannot devise a safer protection than that of the army. The lives of many men have unquestionably been prolonged by the restriction under which they have been placed. This restraint Is, of course, irksome and disagreeable, but it is some men’s only salvation. Dissatisfied sol diers resort to all sorts of exiiedieuts to get away. One German said tliat he got “so drunk ash never vas” iu tlie hope tliat he would be discharged, but the scheme was too transparent. De sertions have become so frequent tliat Gen. Sherman argues that it would be advisable to lessen the soldier's work; but it is a strange fact that quite a large percentage of deserters afterward give themselves up. It is seldom that any two give the same reason for coming back. One could not overcome the fas cination which had increased while he served, another repented from consci entious motives, and still another found that his lot as a soldier wasn’t so very’ hard after all. But the prejudice against army life has become so strong that there are very few enlistments nowadays, and men will probably have to be transferred from line service to till five places soon to be vacated here by soldiers who liave served their time. It is often wondered what mode of life is chosen after five years in tlie army, hut there is very seldom any difficulty in a discharged soldier’s obtaining a place. Some of them make the most of their time wiien iu tlie service and come out fitted for positions, which Monongahels Shanty-Boats. Along the shores of the Monongahela where the hills of Soho cast a shadow reaching across the river nearly to tho sloping streets that run down from Car- son street, Pittsburg, to the water’s edge may be seen a style of habitation here and there closely resembling the domicile that so delighted David Copperfield at Yarmouth. They are'of a nondescript character, these shanty-boats that settle heavily in the sludgy soil, or rock lazily in the swell that sets them afloat as an occasional steamer snorts noisily by. They are boats that might almost be called houses, and houses tliat might he boats, and yet they have peculiarities of their own that belong to neither class. Sometimes there has been an attempt to beautify them by daubing on coarse red paint, picked out with dirty white. The effect, while possibly satisfactory to the inmates, has a rather dispiriting effect upon the casual observer with a preten sion to artistic taste. He is apt to won der whether the crude pigments laid on so lavishly have not a tendency to engen der colicky troubles among the children who revel in dirt and semi-nakedness in and around tiiese amphibious dwellings, For there are children, scores of them, as it appears, who call these places home, and doubtless could gaze without envy upon the finest lawn-surrounded mansion In the East End. Have they not free access to water aud mud at all hours of the day and night? Can any thing lie more delightful than running along the gangplanks to the coal barges that are always being unloaded with a great expenditure of labor, gruutuigs and perspiration on the part of muscular men who, lxith Caucasian and Ethiopian, are all of the same grimy hue? What if the sharp fragments of coal do sting the little bare feet? It gives them a dainty, tripping gait that is at once graceful and unique, and may at somr future time be useful if they liave to act as nurses in a smallpox hospital, where clumsy footsteps would disturb the patients. “What kind of people live in these shanty-boats?” asked a Pittsburg re- jHirter of a resident of Twenty-sixth street. Tlie resident gave an odd twist to his features, whicli included the gentle clos ing of one eye, and said, with a slight smile: “All kinds. Just around here you can bet they are pretty quiet, be cause they liave to be. That one,” pointing to an sosthetie-looking craft, the cloudy windows of whicli were still further obscured by crimson curtains, while what was apparently tlie week’s washing hung carelessly in the sun from various projections, “is occupied by a man who works in a mill. The family are decent people, but poor, and they live there rent free. Those on the opposite side of tlie river, right opposite, are also tlie homes of laborers. They are well-behaved folks, because the erryman leasing the wharf would not let them stay ir they were not. But in those a little lower down there are some high old times occasionally. Men and women are all huddled in together. Their regular drink is old rye, and such they were wholly unable to fill when , old rye. It costs about $1 a gallon, and they enlisted. Many become police- there are a dozen fights in every pint of men; aud almost invariably make good it, with mote quarrels and bad language Anno I.’’ 11 Ilir nnn L.l 1 f fIw, lirnnLG.r# 1L __.11 i 1 ® “ . ones. Fully one-half of the Washing ton police force is composed of dis charged soldiers, and one of Spring field’s best officers lived 10 years within tlie iron fence. A Serpent in a Shaft. Order on the f arm. Many farmers fail in making tne farms profitable for want of order. Whether cn email farm where the work is all done by the owner, or ou a large farm where several hands are employed, there must be an early and regular boor lor ruing In the morning. Each band or man should know the evening previous Just what he is to do the morning, and if possible for the en ure day. If chorea are his first employ ment, then he can go at them without waiting for orders. If he is to use a team, then he can have it fed, curried and har nessed ready. The wagon or implement is to use can be oiled and in place ready bitch ta The proprietor must make stories abort to common callers, and yet be courteous. He can also by a judicious system and study of the situation encour age any superior cr ambitious help to ex- ' in their labors. cel laborer and employer. Have Mated times ' rigidly enforce them, for milking, fur mencugthe regular work and for re tiring bam the field. Hake the farm pro crops and rate the best Stock of all kinds. At this time of the year dangerous rep tiles are mist frequently seen m New Mexico, soil are most aggressive. Recent ly two proepestors came into Socorro who relate a strange experience they had with a rattlesnake the-week before. The par ticulars are downright “snakev,” and but for the reputation these men bear for ver acity, we would not publish them. Ir prospecting about fifteen miles east of La Joys they found copper float, and separa ted to trace It to the lead. One of them, Ed. Bennett, on reaching a small hill, dis covered an old shaft. He fired a shot to notify his partner and began explora tions. The shaft looked to be about forty feet deep, and about feet distant there was an incline connecting with it He pre pared to descend by this. When nearly at the bottom the loose wash gave way, anil he was precipitated downward. He shouted out to his partner, and was pre paring to look around, when to uis horror he discovered that his descent had stirred up a rattlesnake. The blood-curdling warning was rattling hoiribly in the silent hole and caused cold sweat to ooze from the prospector’s forehead. The glistening eyes of tue reptile shone upon him in the gloom, but he was too unused to the piace to distinguish further. He retreated to a corner, and as the shaft was a large one— about eight feet square—he had time to seize a rock and prepare himself. The serpent followed, and springing at him struck its fangs into the top of his large prospecting boots, and coiled about his legs. At this rime he could see his sur roundings, and with a desperation equal to the occasion, and before tbe reptile had time to withdraw its fangs, he grasped its scaly neck and closed his hand with a vise- like grasp. Then ensued a contest between man and reptile, desperation and fury. The huge serpent alternately tightened its enemy’s leg till the blood ceased to circu late, and shook itself in the vain endeavor to wriggle from the iron grasp. Its horrid rattling denoted its furious straggles. The prospector heard tha hisses, could see the bright greenish eyes flashing fire and feel the wigglmg of the scales as he held the snake, but whether standing or thrown to the ground or lashed by the tail of his ag gressor, he held his grip. He would occa sionally yell in the hope ot reaching the ears of his partner. For at least a quarter of an hour the struggle continued, the prospector the while growing weaker, keeping th&ianga from his body, but feel ing that his enemy was slowly choking to death.* Its lashing became alow, it writhed less, and finally, after one last struggle, was dead. Tbe prospector continued bis yells until his partner came, being too weak to rise. After some trouble he was raised to the surface, still grasping the serpert with his widely distended mouth and protruding fangs. It was a long time before be could renew circulation in lus leg. and he is limping yet. Tbe snake measured twelve feet, and had eighteen rattles. than could be measured. Do any of them work? Oh, yes, they work. Th men are roustabouts and deckhands on steamers. They work up and down the river, and at the end of a trip tliey come home for a good time, and 1 guess they have it. At night you can hear then- voices echoing over the water in ribald songs to the accompaniment of a mouth organ or accoideon, with an occasional yell thrown in for a chorus. Why, they even liave dances m those stifling little places sometimes. I don’t know whether they liave the fashionable waltzes or whether one of them leads the others in tlie ‘German,’ but I do know tliat they shuffle through some kind of saltatory exercise that seems as if it would shake NEWS IN BRIEF. —Padlocks are said to have been in vented by Beecher of N nremburg, in 1540. —Mre. General Rosecrans, who was seriously ill two weeks ago, is now out of danger. It is estimated that Nebraska’s crop of com for this year will reach 100,000 - 000 bushels. —Gold coinage has just been resumed m the English mint, after two years without any. —The jewelry presented to the Duch ess of Genoa on her recent marriage is valued at $59,200. --With a bonded debt of over $8,000,- 000, Louisville has voted to expend $1 - o00,000 on its streets, —The late John Richard Green, the English historian, only left a personal estate of about $15,000. —Among Atlanta’s latest industries are two large knitting factories, both of which are doing well. — Tlie ra nge of all estimations of the Penobscot River lumber cut is 140 000 - 000 to 160,000,000 feet. ’ —It is estimated that 160,000,000 pounds of wire fence were made in the United States last year. The first obelisk mentioned in his- tory is that of Ramises, which was erected about 1485 B. C. -In Berlin the street cars do not stop at the beck of would-be passengers, but only at certain places along the line. —Fitz-Stephen, a chronicler of the time of Henry II., mentions the delight which the English took in horse races. —Captain James B. Eads and his daughter, Mrs. Hazzan, will be among this year’s cottage residents of Lon® Branch. 6 the timbers of the shanty apart. Once in a while the police make a raid when An Old Composer. Charles Gounoa, the composer, is sixty-five years old. He is a man of full medium size, stout and vigorous. Be always at borne to His face is pale, his eyes large and direct, aid aod counsel in ail departments luminous, his hair gray and the top of Ducourage all csreles* and looee practices, his head entirely bald, as it has been Strive to cultivate a good feeling between for many years. His broad forehead is furrowed with many wrinkles, his eye brows are heavy but well formed, bis gray beard thick and long, and his lips pale but heavy and sensual. He lives in .the Palace Malesherbes, Paris, close to the home of Bernhardt. they get too bad, hut as a rule no one interferes with them. Theyare isolated from the rest of the world, and except when an actual murder takes place, as in the case of MeSteen, who killed his wife in a riverside shanty at Hazelwood, they are allowed to enjoy themselves in their own way.” “Who are the owners of the boats?” asked the reporter. ■‘That would he hard to say. Some of them belong to the parties who live in them. Whon an old tug boat gets all stove up, so that it is no more use on the river, the machinery is taken out, with everything else of any value, and the shell Is sold for a mere song. Then two or three will club together and raise the few’ dollars required, thereby getting a house rent free for the rest of their lives. They have to get permission from the wharf owner to squat on his territory, and in return they keep an eye on his loose property and prevent chains aud sucli like being carried off by sneak thieves. Tliey keep an eye on the coal, too. There is a great deal of coal stolen from the barges, as it is, but not so much as there would be if these slnuity- boat guardians did not exercise squatter sovereignty over the flats. I guess they help themselves to a lump of coal occas ionally to keep their stoves going. It d.iesn’t take much to warm up one of those shanties, and the coal men can stand the loss of what little they lose. Yes, it seems a funny life to people ac customed to a comfortable house on dry land, but there are many of these folks who couldn’t be paid to live any where but in a shanty-boat. Sofia Fact*. A farmer came into a grocery store in Chicago the other day aud exhibited to the eyes of an admiring crowd an enormous egg, about six inches long, which he avowed to have been laid by one of his own hens. He had it packed in cotton and wouldn’t allow anyone to handle it for fear of breaking the phe nomenon. The grocery man examined it with the rest, and, intending to chaff the countryman, said: ■Pshaw! I’ve got something in the egg line that will beat that.” “I’ll bet you five dollars youhavn’t!” said the countryman, getting excited. “Take it up,” replied thegroceryman, aud going behind the counter he brought out a wire egg-beater. ‘ ‘There is some thing in the egg line that will beat it, I guess,” said he, reaching out for the stakes. “Hold on there,” said the farmer: “let’s see you beat it,” and he handed it to the grocer. The latter held out his hand for it, but dropped it in sur prise on the counter, where it broke two soup plates and a platter. It was of solid iron, painted white. “Some, folks think they’re damation cute,” murmured the termer as he pock eted the stakes and lit out, “but ’taint f» use buckin’ against,the solid facts. Tlie Egyptians of to-day commence the building of a house by tracing an outline plan on the ground with the aid of a sack of plaster. — Tli e first work favoring the use of Saturday as the Christian Sabbath was published in 1628 by Theopliilus Bra- boume, a clergyman. —The studio occupied in Boston dur ing the winter by Mr. Hubert Herkomer has been taken for the summer by Mr. Thomas Ball, the sculptor. —The fashion of carrying fans was brought from Italy in the time of Henrv VIII., and the young men used them in the 16th aud 17tb century. ,T. 1 ! 0 tabernacle was constructed 1491, B. C. Tiiat set up at Shiloh by Joshua, 1444, B. C., was replaced bv Solomon’s Temple, 1904, B. C. —Tlie power of the town of Halifax to put to death all criminals who stole any thing wortli more than thirteen pence halfpenny was used as late as 1650. —The amount of paid notes of the bank of England reaches the enormous sum of £94,000,000, or 470,000,000. If placed m a pile it would be eight mile" high. —Abdalla, the father of Mahomet was a i>oor camel driver, but so hand some that when he married, two hun dred despairing maidens died broken hearted. —The leaves of the sunflower are em ployed by the Chinese as a substitute for, or for mixing with, tobacco. Its fibre they use to adulterate and dye their silken fabric*. —The, Common Council of Hartford has passed an ordinance forbidding tlie sale of any cartridge, pistol, gun or other explosive contrivance to any child under 16 years of age. —It was said of the Prince of Wales recently, by an Australian, that he never makes any one remember his high rank, although somehow he contrives not to let any one forget it. —The battle of Naseby was fought Juue 14, 1645. King Charles, who com manded the reserve, fled at the close of the fight; losing his cannon, baggage and nearly 5000 prisoners. —Runrig is a term applied to a kind of cultivation once common throughout Scotland, in which the alternate patches or ridges of a field belonged to different proprietors or tenants. —Rams of choice breed fetch from $1,000 to $2,000 in Australia, while first- class mutton sells in Adelaide and Syd ney for thirty-seven cents the stout— fourteen pounds. —Mr. G. F. A. Healy, the American artist, sends a fine portrait of M. de- Lesseps to the Paris Salon, where it hangs close by a portrait of Professor Huxley by John Collier. —Europe is beginning to recognize the excellent quality of Indian wheat. In 1881-82 the Punjab sent to France six million cwt., and to Antwerp about two-thirds of tliat quantity. —The sword presented to General Andrew Jackson by the General Assem bly of Tennessee, in honor of his victory at New Ooleans, is to be placed in trust with the Tennessee Historical Society. ■ —The production of hooks and map* in Germany, including new editions during 1882 reached 14,794, as against 15,191 in 1881. Natural science, law, and theology are all more weakly rep resented. Mathematics, philosophy, and modem languages increase. —The ladies of Amite City, La., who have gone into the silk-worm business, instead of selling the cocoons, propose to spin and sell their own silk, aud will have woven fabrics on exhibition at the New Orleans Exposition next year. —Mr. Thomas Beaver, of Danville Penn., has given to Dickinson College, through its president, $30,000 for the increase of its permanent endowment. The fund will bear the name of his father, in whose memory it is given. —Stone mortars, throwing a missile weighing twelve pounds are mentioned as being employed in 757 A. D., and in 1232 A. D., it is incontestable that the Chinese beseiged in Caifongfu used cannon against their Mongol enemies. —A pair of reins, bought at auction for fifty cents gave rise to a replevin suit in Massachusetts, in which over one hundred witnesses were examined, and the unsuccessful litigant, one Martin, had a heavy bill of costs—about $500— saddled upon him. —Rapid as has been the increase of the population of the United States, the increase of the deal, dumb, blind, and insane has been more rapid still The number of all these thus afflicted is said - to have risen from 68,151 in 1860 to 96,- 484 in 1870, and from that at a bound to »*i «oq. 1880. —The population of Mexico at the present time is said to be 12,000,000, as compared with 7,829,000 in 1856 and 6.- 000,000 in 1808. The hugest proportion of the inhabitants are of the native race Mexican Indian*. Although the national language is Castilian, the natives still speak the languages or dialects of their ancestors.