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W. F. SMITH, Publisher. VOLUME VIII. TO AH OLD COAT. Poor coat, well loved for many reasons, Since both of ns grow old, be true; This hand has brushed you for ten E’en Socrates no more could do. Whilst Time yonr thin and white-seamed stuff Keeps on attacking without end, Wisely, like me, his blows rebuff; And never let us part, old friend. That birthday flown, when Qrst I wore you, 1 mind well—memory yet is strong— My friends arouiM to honor bore you, And poured their welcome forth lu song. Your shabby plight—of which I’m vain— Hinder* them not an arm to lend, They’d freely feast us now again; So never let us part, old friend. You’re patched behind, an ancient rending; That, too, recalls a past delight; One night to run from Jane pretending, 1 felt her soft hand dutch me tight. Torn were you, and that frightful tear It look my Jane i wo days to mend, While I was held her captive there; So never let us i<art, old friend. Have you heen steeped in musk and amber, Which fops sniff footing in the glass? Or pushed along an ante-chamber, For swells to sneer at as we pass? Throughout all France by faction rent, ltihtK)os and stars fell strife can send— A field-flower is your ornament; So never let u part, old friend. Fear no more days of idle ranging, W hen our two fates become as onat Of pleasure with plain interchanging, Of intermingled rain and sun. For the last time I soon shall doft My clothes, just wait! and we will we Together, gently going off; ho never let us part, old friend. From IJerangn . THE YANivtt atnooLMACTCR On “Miller’s Hill” a farm-house; a lowland structure built of wood; whose clap boards, weather-worn and gray, were falling into slow decay; whose mossy wooden lane-troughs swung from rusty Irons rudely hung; whose curling shin gles here and there betrayed the need of good repair; whose ancient chimney, capped with stone, with lichens partly overgrown above the sagging roof, looked down upon the spires of Brandon town. An old gray barn was built near by, with heavy girths and scaffolds high, and solid sills and massive beams, and through the cracks and open seams the slanting sunshine used to play in golden gleams upon the hay, where oft, with many a snout, the children jumped and played about at hide and seek, or looked with care for hidden nests in there. Where oft at morn they used L o hear the caekling hen and chanticleer, where, by the broad floor ’neath the mows, were cribs and staneliions for the cows, and strong plank stalls where horses stood to eat their hay from racks of wood, and, in a corner stowed away, a farming-mill and old red sleigh. Where jolly farm-boys husked at night the gold en corn by candle-light, and hung their lanterns by the bay on pitchforks thrust into the hay, where, sheltered from the autumn rain, with thundering flails they threshed the grain. iliac u roar tno Hum ot Honey-l>eos was heard amid the apple tree, the lilacs bloomed, tho locusts fair with their sweet fragrance tilled the air; tho stubble Helds were plowed and sown; the warm rain fell; tho bright sun shone; the robins sang; tho green grass grew; the roses blossomed in the dew; the hall red holly hock once moro bloomed brightly by the farm-house door; the sun-flower bent its gaudy head; the cattle in the pasture fed, the crickets chirped in meadows ucar, sounds were wafted to tho ear o’er waving fields of tasseled corn, of clatter ing scythe and dinner horn. Tho reapers reaped their golden sheaves; the swallows left the stuccoed eaves; the apples in the autumn breeze grew ripe and mellow on the trees; the leaves were swept about tho air; tho lields were brown, the wood lands bare; the snow-flakes fell; the air grew chill; the sleigh-bells rang on “Mil lers HilL” * The winter sky was overcast, the snow and sleet were falling fast. ’Twas Christmas eve; the air was cool; the children hurried home from school, with laughter loud and outcries shrill they reached the farm-house on the hill, they came across the kitchen floor, nor stopped to shut the entry door, all striving first the news to tell, exclaimed, in concert, with a yell: “ The teacher’s cornin’ here to stay; he’s up the road a little way; he stopped to talk with Susan Stow, an’ we ran home to let you know.” The mother stopped her spinning wheel, and put away her creaking reel, swept up the dasty hearth with ©are. rolled down her sleeves and brushed her hair, smoothed out her rumpled gingham gown, and in her rocking-chair sat down; then, striving hard to look her best, she calmly waited for her guest. Her ruddy, round, and fleshy face was bordered by a cap of lace; her nose was nearly hid from view by her plump cheeks of healthy hue; her eyes were bright, her hair was thin, she had a heavy double chin; her husband’s arms, when both embraced, could barely cir cumscribe her waist Of all large women nine in ten will most admire the little men, and little men—why none may tell—wifi love large women quite as well. They woo, they wed, the man through life is quite o’er- Bliadowed by the wife. Soon, parting from his rustic flame, the tardy young schoolmaster came. His eves were blue, his features fair, his chin o ergrown with downy hair; behind his ears his locks of brown were smoothly brushed and plastered down; his bony limbs were large and long; bis well trained muscles firm and strong; the tall, stout boys that years before had thrown their master through the d<Kr his rod regarded with dismay, and seldom dared to disobey. The pride and liojieof Hub bardton was tall Lyeurgus Littlejohn, who had, his fellow-townsmen said: “A heap o' lamin’ in his head.” <Three terms in Midblebury College had given bim his “heap” of knowledge.) He often used to sit between the fair young girls u f sweet sixteen and kindly ■ Bewttd to Industrial Intonst, the Diffusion of Troth, the Establishment of Jostiee, aad the Preservation of a People’s (toverunont. help them “do their sums.” They brought him fruit and sugar plums; they had their girlhood hopes and fears; his words were music in their ears; each smile he gave them had a charm; each frown would till them with alarm. What envious looks at Susan Stow, his favorite scholar they would throw. Her eyes and hair were dark as night, her skin was soft, and smooth, and white; a peach-like bloom her cheeks overspread; her lips like cherries, ripe and red. What wonder he could not conceal the glad, sweet thrill he use to feel through all his palpitating frame w'lien to his desk she coyly came and, looking up with eyes of love, like some sly, timid little dove, would softly ask him to expound some knotty problem she had found? What being in the world Oelow seemed halt as sweet as Susan Stow? Her eyes would flash and, in re turn, his face would flush and strangely burn, and, when ho tried to calculate so me long, hard “sum” upon her slate, the figures danced before his sight like little gobblins. gay and white, and, when at night, with cheerful face, he started for his boarding place, what wonder that he came so slow in walking homo with Susan Stow? The woman crossed the kitchen floor to meet Lycurgus at the door, and, with a scrutinizing star,e she said: “Walk in an’ take a chair, an’ lie to home while you are here. Gome, Busby, take his things, my deffr.” -T <>l til ia, t 'in l>y llm Tn vo, husband came at her desire. His head was bald, save here and there, stray lit tle tufts of grizzled hair; his shoulders stooped, his form was thin, his knees were bent, his toes turned in; he wore a long blue flannel frock, gray trousers, and a satin stock; a cotton collar, tall and queer, was rudely rumpled around each ear; his face was mild, liis smile w as bland, its forth he put his ponderous hand, and said: “I think Iseevouwell. I hope you’ll stay a leetle spell; we’re plain folks here I’d have you know, and don’t go in for pride nor show.” Then, after stepping on the cat, he took the teacher’s coat and hat; he hung them on a rusty nail, and, picking up his milking pail, he slowly shuffled out of doors and went to do the evening chores. Close by the firelight’s cheerful glare Lyeqrgus drew the easy-ehair. The savory aJteam of chickens slain came from the black pot on the crane. The ketilcy 'merry song lie heard; upon the hearts the gray cat purred; while, by the clpmney-oorner snug, the house doc dozed v upon the rug. Among the chim ney-piece of wood an idle row of flat irons stood, two candlesticks in bright array, a pair of snuffers and a tray. The time-worn clock ticked slowly on; it struck > the hours forever gone. “Forever gone,” it seems to say—“ Forever gone,” from day to day, in its tall case oi sombre hue—’twas flfty years since it was new. Between the windows, small and high, the looking-glass was hung, near by; a brazen bird with wings out spread, perched on the scroll-work over head; beneath, a shelf, the common home of family Bible, brush, and comb; above, from iron hooks were htmg long frames, w ith apples thickly strung, and, fixed upon the wall to dry, were wreaths of pumpkin kept for pie. Forth from the buttry, to the fire, came Aunt Kebecca Mclntyre, a swallow spinster, somewhat old, whose mellow age was seldom told; her hair was gray, her nose was thin, it nearly touched her toothk'S3 chin. Life’s weary work and constant care had worn a face that once was fair. Each Sabbath mom, from spring to spring, within the choir she used to sing, in ancient bonnet, cloak, and gown, the oldest relics in the town; beside the chorister she stood, and always did the best she could, and, while with tuning fork, he led, she marked his movements with her head, her nasal voice rose sharp and queer above the deep-toned viol near. She took the black pot from the crane, removed the kettle from the chain, and made the tea and chickeu-brotli, drew out the table, spread the cloth; then, from the table, bright and new, brought the best china edged with blue. The chores were- dose, the feast -was- Spread; all took their seats and grace was said. They ate the savory chicken stew, so juicy and so well cooked through; before them, rich round dump lings swam, ou steaming plates, with cold boiled bam, with feathery biscuit, warm and light, with currant jam and honey, white and crowning all a good supply of yellow, meatly pump kin-pie. Where such a bounteous feast is found, who would not teach and “board around?” The supper done, the father took from off its shelf, the sacred Book, and read of one who stilled the sea one stormy night in Galilee; then, kneeling down before his chair, he asked the heavenly Shep herd’s care. Soon from the group, with drowsy heads, the children started for their beds; took off the little shoes they wore, and left them on the kitchen floor; then, bidding all a fond “good night,” with pattering feet, they passed from sight. Bear little feet, how soon they stray from the old farm-house far away; how soon they leave the family fold to walk the shining streets of gold, w here every hope is real and sure; where every heart is kind and pure; where every dream is bright %nd fair, —O! may we meet our loved ones there! The farmer left his cozy seat, with clattering slippers on his feet, wrent to the cellar where he drew’ a mug of cider, sweet and new, and from his broad bins brought the l>est and ripest apples for his guest. Then, by the warm fire’s rud dy light, they lingered until late at night, strange legends told, and tales that made them all feel nervous and afraid. INDIAN SPRINGS, GEORGIA. But “Aunt Rebecca ” watched in vain the curling smoke above the crane ; she nodded, dozed, began to snore, she dropped her knitting on the floor, awoke, her eyelids heavier grew, arose and si lently withdrew. Along the creaking stairs she crept, to the lone chamber where she slept, and close the window-curtains drew, to screen herself from outward view. She stopped the key-hole of the door, she set the candle on the floor, looked ’neath the valance—half afraid to find a man in ambuscade; then sitting down, aside with care she laid her garments on a chair, slipped on her ghostly robe of white, took off her shoes, blew out the light, then, in the darkness, from her head removed her wig and went to bed, curled up, with chilly sobs and sighs, and quivering shut her drowsy eyes. Poor single souls who sleep alone, the night wind hath a dismal tone to your lone ears —you start with fear at every midnight sound you hear, when late "at night with weary heads you creep into your weary beds. The nights seem long, your lips turn blue, your feet grow cold.—you know they do ! She slept at last; she heard once more the ripple break upon the shore ; again she sat upon the strand, and someone clasped her fair young hand, and words were whispered in her ear that long ago she loved to hear, and, starting up, she cried in glee : “I knew you would come back to me.” Shg woke. Alas! no lova was fltere Her thin ofius clasped the vacant air. ’Twas but a dream. BKo lived alone. Without she heard the night wind moan, while on the window-panes the snow was wildly beating. From be low the smothered sound of voices came when still with Busby’s social dame. Their guest sat by the fading fire and watched its fleeting flame expire while she listened, but no word they uttered could be clearly heard ; but soon a recol lection came that sent a shudder through her frame—the sausage to be fried at morn, the breaksast table to adorn, was In the bedroom where their guest would 50011 betake himself to rest. The clock Btruck ten, she softly said, “ I'll get it ere lie goes to bed.” The spare bed stood within a room as ?hill and humid as a tomb ; ’twas never lired, ’twas seldom swept; in its damp corners spiders crept; they built their bridges through the air, and no rude broom disturbed them there. The rain, shat fell on roof decayed, dripped through the chinks that time had made, and ou the whitewashed walls ran doWn m woti- Irous frescoes tinged with brown ; the window-panes, with frost o’erspread, were warmer than that icy bed. Cold was the matting on the floor ; cold blew the breeze beneath the door; cold were the straight-backed chairs of wood ; cold was the oaken stand that stood on spind ling legs that looked as chill as lone, bare pines on some bleak hill; high rose that tied o’er things below, like some tall ice berg capped with snow. Here every highly honored guest, when bedtime came, retired to “rest.” Within its large and moldy press hung Mrs. Busby’s best silk dress: her Sunday bonnet, shoes, and shawl, on rusty nails against the wall, by Mr. Busby’s suit of blue, that at his wedding had been new. Here on a peg his best cravat reposed within his old fur hat; here, shut from sight of human eyes, were rows of mince and apple pies, with rolls of sausage and head-cheese, stored on the shelves and left to freeze. From out her cot the maiden crept, slipped on her shoes and softly stepped along the hall and through the gloom un til she reached the chilly room. Unseen she crossed the icy floor, unheard un locked tlxe closet door, snatched from the shelf, in a firm hold, a bag of saus age, stiff ana cold, then turning quickly, sought to beat a sudden, safe, and sure retreat. Too late! A light gleamed on the wall, and sound of footsteps filled the hall, then to the room came boldly on the stalwart form of Littlejohn! She backward stepped and stood aghast, then closed the door and held it fast. With chattering teeth and trembling frame across the floor Lyeurgus came. He placed the candle in his hand upon the spindling oaken stand. Then closed the door, and, with a frown, within a cold chair settled dowm. He threw his boots upon the floor, and, rising, tried the closet door; but Aunt Rebecca, in affright, clung to the latch with all her might. To look within Lyeurgus failed, he turned away and thought it nailed! Then, pulling down the snowy spread, he put liis warm brick in the bed, took off liis clothes, and slipped between the sheets of ice, so white and clean, blew out the light, and, with a sneeze, close to his chin he brought his knees, be neath the clothes he drew his nose, and tried in vain to find repose; while “Aunt Rebecca,” from the wall, took down the Sunday gown and shawl, she wrapped them round her freezing form, and blushed, to keep her visage warm. The paper curtains, loosely hung upon the windows, rustling swung, while through each quivering, narrow frame of frosty panes a dim light came that made the furniture appear like dusky phantoms crouching near. Lyeurgus listened in the storm and hugged his brick to keep him warm, but colder grew the humid bed, the clothes con gealed around his head; to feel at ease in vain he tried; he tossed and turned from side to side; each time he moved, be neath his weight the bedstead creaked like some farm-gate. His brick grew cold, he could not sleep, a strange sen sation seemed to creep upon him, while across the floor he closely watched the closet-door. Was he but dreaming? No! his eyes beheld, with wonder and surprise, what man had never seen before—there was a movement at the door. It slowly turned and to his sight came, through the dim, uncertain light a hideous hand, that in its clasp some awful object seemed so grasp, a ©Touching form, with fright ful head, seemed slowly coming towards the bed. He heard the rusty hinges creak, he could not stir, lie could not speak, he could not thru his head away; he shut his eyes and tried to pray; upon his brow of palid hue the cold sweat stood like drops of dew; at last he shrieked, aloud and shrill—the door swung back and all was still. That midnight cry, from room to room, resounded loudly through the gloom, ’"'he farmer and his wife at rest, within tlitfir warm and cozy nest, awoke and sprung, in strange attire, forth from their bed loud shouting—“fire!” But nncling neitner smoke nor name, soon stumbling up the stairs they came. In cotton bedquilts quaintly dressed, they heard a deep groan from their guest, and, full of wonder and affright, pushed in the door and struck a light. Deep down within the feather bed Lycurgns had withdrawn his head, and, out of sight, lay quaking there, with throbbing breast and bristling hair. They questioned him, but he was still; he shook as if he had a chill, the cour age was completely gone from tall Ly curgus Littlejohn. What human language can express, the modest maiden’s dire distress, while standing still behind the soreen, a sad spectator of the scene ? What pen or pencil can portray her mute despair and deep efismay ? A while she stood, and through the door she peeped across the bed-room floor; the way was clear, and like a vise she grasped the sausage, cold a.l ice, sprang from the closet, and from sight she glided like a gleam of light, away without a look or word, she flew like an affrighted bird; without a moment of delay, the mystery cleared itself away! i Again the snow gleams on the ground, again the sleigh-bells gayly sound, again on “Miller’s Hill” we hear the shouts of children loud and clear; but in the barn is heard no more the flapping flail upon the floor. The house is down, its iu mates gone, and tall Lycurgus Little john is now an old man, worn with care, with stooping form and silver hair. He married dark-eyed Susan Stow, and they wero happy, years ago. When, in the merry winter-time, theii children’s children round him climb, he tells them of his fearful fright, on that far distant winter night: and. after thev are put to bed, when by the fire with noddiqg head he sits and sinks to slum bers fafSp, and quakes'and shivers in liis sleep, ;ths! he is but dreaming still oi that spare bed on “Miller’s Hill.”— Eugene J. Hall , in Chicago Tribune. White Horse Shares. A New Yorker was seated in an office n Gunnison City, Col., one day, when i grizzly looking old chap entered and isked if that was the place where they sold shares of the White Horse Silver Mine. Being assured he was in the of ace of the company he observed: ‘‘l have heard the White Hore spoken of as being a likely mine. ” “It certainly is. We took SIO,OOO worth of ore out in one day.” “Phew! She must be just old richness! How many men have ye got to work. ” “Oh, about three hundred.” “Have ye, though? Are the sheers go ing off purty lively?” ‘ ‘Shares are selling like hot cakes, and we have only a few left. Everybody says the White Horse is a big invest- OICKt.” “What are sheers worth to-day ?” “I will sell you at ninety-five, though [ know they will be worth face value to morrow.” “No! You don’t really mean ninety- Sve?” “I do.” “Well, that’s better; there’s a hundred sheers which you sold my pard yester day for twenty dollars. I went over U the mine, found nothing but a Hole and a dead mule, and I told him I’d come up and get his money back, or do som< shooting! I’m tarnal glad to find then sheers has riz from twenty to ninety-five. That will give my pard his money back and buy me a winter outfit b-sides Here’s the sheers, and now let me se> the color of your money!” “But, sir, we—” “Pass out the cash!” said the old man. as he rested the end of Lis shooter on the tdge of the counter. The company had left his revolver in his overcoat outside, and he didn’t be lieve the New Yorker would shoot foi him. After a look around, he began counting out the money with a bland imile, and as he made the exchange Ik said: “Certainly, sir—greatest of pleasure, lir. Sorry you didn’t hold them one day more, and get the full face value!’ Lilies. Everybody is delighted with the fra grance and delicacy of the white water lily, and we buy them at the railroad stations in summer as good genii, which will dispel largely the lassitude, the de pression and disgust of a hot day’s ride in the sultry and cindery cars. Very few but have, at one time or another, wished that they might be able to propagate so sweet a flower. The following mode has proved successful: The roots, procured in the fall, are kept damp during the en- Buing winter in flower-pots. In the spring a half-barrel, with the hoops well secured, is procured; if painted, so much the better, and set on bricks in the garden, and one-third filled with a mixt ure of garden earth, sand, and well rotted manure. The roots are set in this and covered. Water is added gently, and a little at a time, every day or two (so as not to disturb the earth) till the tub is tilled, In the fall the water is al lowed to dry off, and the tub is placed in the cellar watered at long intervals. NEWS GLEANINGS. There are more than 200,000 Gormans iu Texas. 4 Col. Fred Grant is to reside at Hous ton, Tex., it is said. In Lafourche, parish, La., there are 318 citizens named Williams. The frontier battalion <of Texas now consists of five companies numbering 120 officers and men. The Louisiana Sugar Bowl does not hope for a large crop this year, for it is at least a month late. The Austin (Tex.) Statesman says that the increase of the sheep flocks about Uvalde this year averages ninety per cent., the largest known for a long time. The Charlotte Observer reports the purchase of land near that city for the purpose of smelting works. Ores will be purchased from the owner of mines and smelted and rerfined at the works. Chattanooga Times: A terrible dis ease prevails among the cattle in the Seventeenth district of Bartow county, Ga. It proves fatal in nine out of ten cases. Not less than twenty milch cows have died within a mile of Euharlee in the past ten days. Mobile (Ala,) Register: The resigna tion of Dr. Stuart Robinson retires from active service in the Presbyterian church, one of the ablest divines in the country. Many of our readers will remember hear ing Dr. Robinson preach whefl the Gen eral Assembly of the Presbyterian church South met here a few years after the war. Austin (Tex.) Statesman : Galveston having deprived herself of her natural barrier against the encroachments of the gulf waves by removing the sand hills that had formed along the beach, is re placing them, or aiding nature to do so by planting hedges of salt cedars, against which the sands drift and form natural levees or break-waters. The South Florida Journal states that Dr. A. C. Caldwell, of Sanford, has an orange tree that is a curiosity worth go ing to see. It is a large, fine tree, stand ing just at his front gate. It has a good ly number of ripe oranges on it, and about 1,000 green ones half grown, the tree having blossomed after the storm of last August, and is now full of blooms for another crop. The Pulaski (Tenn.) Citizen says that Dr. Leftwich, assisted by the Christians of Pulaski, held a prayer meeting in the court-house in that town before a very large audience of couiltry people, and the editor states that it was one of the 9 most serious and effective meetings he ever witnessed. Two neighbors, come to town to law each other, stepped into the room where the meeting was being held, and they soon had each other by the hand and differences were forgotten in embraces. The Macon (Ga.) Telegraph says tha on Friday last Mr. W. H. Turner, a brother-in-law of Mr. Nelms, went down to Butler to get ’{Squire Bryant, a negro, under sentence of ten years in the peni tentiary. ’Squire saw that he wai in for a decade of labor, and, rather than en dure it, he took a pocket-knife and cut out both his eyes. He afterward claimed that the deed was done by his having run against some splintery in a wall, but marks of blood upon his knife and other circumstances disprove this, and prove the first statement. Mr. Turner returned without his man. New Orleans States: Telephonic com munication has already been established between Vicksburg and Jackson, Miss., and verbal messages are sent over this wire daily. Yesterday the exchange in this city placed the telephonic attach ments to a Western Union wire and yelled ‘ ‘Helloa” at Vicksburg. The lat ter answered back, “What do you want?” just as natural as you please. This interchange of salutations placed the two cities on speaking terms, as it were, and business began at once. Every body who had anything to say said it, and those who had nothing to say said it just to be sociable. Mr. G. W. Irby, of Vicksburg, sent an older to Justin Langles for several boxes of ginger-snaps and crackers. The experimental con nection was a decided success. It costs but little to make a child glad ; it costs but little to secure the grateful remembrance of a child; but if it cost a hundred-fold more than it does, it would be a profitable investment. It pays well to have a monument erected to ourselves in a child’s memory and affections. And this we may have by a little thoughtful ness and attention. SUBB6RIPTION"tIiSI. NUMBEB 37 USEFUL HINTS. To take fresh paint off a woolen gar* ment rub the spots with stale bread un til removed. Lemons can be kept sweat and fresh for months by putting them in a dean, tight cask or jar, and cover with cold water. The water must be changed as often as once every other day, and the cask kept in a cool place. To Destroy Ants. —Take carbolic acid diluted with water—take one part acid to ten parts water — and with a syringe throw this liquid into all the cracks and holes where they nest, and ants will soon vanish. Cockroaches are also driven away by it. When sewing buttons on children’s clothes where there will be much strain oil the button, the danger from tearing the cloth out will be greatly lessened by putting a small button directly under the larger outside button. TJiis applies of course, only to buttons With holes through them. An exchange says : “For worms and flies infesting house plants, several read ers reoommend watering them with lime water. Close the opening at the bottom of the pot, till with lime water and let it stand for an hour or twG, then remow the plug at the bottom and drain it off. If one application is. insufficient, try a second. ” To give a beautiful gloss to shirt bosoms, procure two ounces of fine white gum arabic and pound it to pow der, put it into a pitcher and pour on to it a pint or more of boiling water, ac cording to the degree of strength you desire, and then, having covered it,* let it set all night. In the morning pour it carefully from the dregs into a clean bottle, cork it, and keep it for further use. A table-spoonful of gum-water stirred into a pint of starch that has been made in the usual manner will give a beautiful gloss to Blurt-bosoms, and to lawns (either white or printed) a look of newness to which nothing else can restore them after washing. It is also good for thin white muslin and all kinds of laces. To Clean Mirrors. —Take a news paper or part of one, according to the size of the glass. Fold it small and dip it into a basin of clean cold water ; when thoroughly wet squeeze it out in your hand as you would a sponge, and then mb it bard all over the face of the glass, takingj care that it is not so wet as to run dorwn in streams. In fact, the paper must only be completely moistened or damped all through. After the glass has be a well rubbed with wet paper, let it rest for a few minutes, and thou go over it with a fresh dry newspaper (folded small in your hand) till it looks clear and bright, which it will almost immediately and with no further trouble. This method, simple as it is, is the best and most expeditious for cleaning mirrors, and it will be found so on trial —giving a cleanness and polish that can be produced by no other process. The Homes ot America. It is not a mere accident that the homes of America are the most comfort able and comforting on earth. Nor are these homo comforts due simply to me chanical skill or economic judgment. * country which has limited the powers of its government stimulates society, and highly moral society produces the most perfect homes which human eyes or poetic visions can behold. No one knows the American system well who does not know the American home. Our political system is publicity itself; American so ciety has never yet been fully charac terized; while the best result of both, the perfect home, has been praised in gen eral terms,’ but not described and ex plained in its true fullness. The novel writers, from whom such descriptions might be expected, have failed ignomiu iously in their attempts at showing tbt maturest results of our social system. Yet this system is unique, and it is a marked advance upon all European models. The English home approaches the American home, while the German home approaches the English; but ths ideal American home, not rarely realized, has a comfort, a character and a dignity all its own. It may seem to be wanting in the graces, traditions and responsi bilities peculiar to the best English homes; it surpasses them in moral dig nity; it differs from all the others in be ing the result of a highly-refined.civiiiza* tion; it is the best and purest outcome of onr ethical system. There has been much pleasant banter about the great American novel that is to pome. Let it not dwell too much on politics; British politics are larger than ours. Let it not tell too much of busy people; the French are as industrious and industrial as we are. Let it not confine itself to analysis of character pr sentiment; other nations have both in abundance. Let it describe the purest and sweetest of American homes and let it describe, not an ideal, but that reality which distinguishes the American home from all othere, and shows it to be the host outcome of our history, our political institution and our lociai system.— Advertiser . Vanity op Highwaymen.—A Galves veston lady was reading a newspaper ao count of a stage robbery that recently took place west of San Antonio and was very indignant on reading that besides robbing the passengers they had opened the mail and read the letters, among them, possibly, a letter the lady herself had written to a friend. “Yon needn’t be alarmed,” remarked the lady’s hus band “I dare say they did not read a word in any of those letters, as those fel lows don’t know B. from bull’s foot.” “Why, then, did they make out that they read them ?” “Oh, they mads out they could read so as to make a favorable impression on the passengers.”—Q&l --1 vesion News,