Newspaper Page Text
SMITH, Publisher,
VOLUME IX.
LOFJB AND FLIRTATION,
Love is champagne:
It cheers one day, the next breeds pain and sor
row;
Flirtation, though as sparkling, leaves
No headache for to-morrow*
Love is a debt;
You spend to-day, and pay the piper after;
Flirtation*is a dcad-hcad pass—
A follow “ doesn’t liave ter.”
Love is a snare
With a pleasant bait to lure one to a.'prison;
Flirtation gives a man the cheese—
The rat-trap isn’t “hian.*
ove is a rope
■ hat serves to bind an ass and post together;
Flirtation lets one range the fields
Without the galling tether.
Love is, like faith—
The evidence of things unseen, and by it
Yeu’ro blinded so you’ll never see.
Flirtation ? Well, Just try it.
OUR MILLY.
Way down upon de Suwanee ribber,
Far, far away;
Dare whar my heart am turnin’ eber,
Dar's whar de ole folkß stay.
Clear as a bird song tlio voice floated
in through the open, vine-shaded win
dow, where sat Edith Morgan and her
aunt, Mrs. Hayward, who had just corae
from Massachusetts to visit at this com
fortable Western home.
“ Why, Edith 1 ” exclaimed the elder
of the two ladies, “havo you a little ne
gro here ? I thought old Hannah was
was all you took West.”
Edith flushed slightly, but smiled,
Baying: “No, auntie; your critical cars
deceived you this time. That was Uur
Milly.”
“Indeed I A voice like that in a white
child is worthy of cultivation. Does
she sing any other songs with equal pa
thos?”
“I must confess, auntie,” replied
Edith, “that her music is mostly con
lined to negro melodies, which she lias
learned from Hannah, but she sings
them all with great fervor. Really,
ami tie, I hardly know what to do with
Mill/. I havo hoped your coming might
help me out of tlio quandary. Since
mamma’s death she has been under no
control at all. Papa thinks whatever
she does is just right, and so, of course,
permits her to follow her own inclina
tions.”
Hero the conversation was interrupted
by the entrance of Milly herself. She
did not look at ail like a “Tom boy,”
for sho was a sweet-faced, demure little
maiden.
“ Milly,” said her sistor, “Aunt Hay
ward thought you were a little darky
when sho heard you sing. ” An irresisti
ble smile broke over the pretty face, and
the red lips parted, revealing two rows
of pearly teeth. She held out two little
sunburnod hands, saying: “Not quite
bo bad as that, auntie, though I *m
tanned 'most black enough, Edith says,
and my head is most woolly' enough.”
And she shook back her tangled curls.
“How would you like to go back to
Boston with me and hike lessons in sing
ing ?” asked Mrs. Hayward. Milly
opened her eyes with wide astonish
ment.
“Why, auntie, I don’t need to learn
to sing. lal ways knew liow. Ith ought
you heard me.”
“You see how she is,” said Edith.
“ When she makes up her mind to any
thing there is no changing her. She
never storms or acts naughty, like other
children, but she will say, with the air
of a sage: * No, Edith, I must! I ought
to !’ and there she will stay. Papa says
she is made of the same metal as heroes
and martyrs, and I don’t know but he is
right”
Mrs. Hayward remained in her broth
er’s home from early June until August,
and every day Milly grew more and more
into her heart, till the childless woman
felt that she must have the little West
ern flower to brighten her city home.
Put Milly was firm in her refusal.
“I cannot leave papal” she would
say. “He has the first claim on me.”
One day in the summer she had gone
some distance from home to pick ber
ries, when there arose ona of those ter
rible storms so common in some parts
of the West; lightning and rain, accom
panied by a furious wind. Wliile the
family were in great distress over Mil
ly’s absence, she came galloping home
on a pet cow. When questioned, she
answered :
“I heard Brin tile’s bell just before
the storm came on, and I know the cows
were all going down to the fork to drink,
and their path feads right through the
berry path. So I waited a minute or
two, till they came filing along, and then
jumped right on Brindle’s back. I knew
by the clouds that we were going to
have a blow, and I thought she was so
big the wind couldn’t carry her -off, and
I meant to hug her tight and lie low, so
I wouldn't blow away. And you see 1
succeeded, My beyries are risk*.
though,” she added, gayly. “I hid
them in an old hollow cottonwood tree,
and I’ll go and get them after the storm
is over.”
“Were you not frightened?” asked
Edith, as she helped Milly change the
drenched clothing.
“Yes, Edie, I was,” she answered,
soberly, “ and I prayed a little prayer ;
but I didn’t forget to cling tight.”
At length the time came for the Bos
ton aunt to go home. It was arranged
that Edith should accompany her father,
as he drove with his sister the thirty
miles to the city, where she was to tana
the eastern-bound train. They were to
remain a day in town for the purpose of
shopping, returning on the third. As
Mr. Morgan kissed his pet daughter good
by ho said playfully: “Now, Pussy,
you must take good care of things while
papa is gone.”
“I will, papa,” was the earnest reply.
“ I dislike to go away,” continued her
father. “Everything is very dry and
there have been fires west of us; but
Patrick and Hannah are faithful and
you are worth a half dozen any day.”
“Don’t worry, papa,'dear,” said Milly,
gyaly. “Just go and have a good time.
Wo shall be all right.”
The morning of the third day was clear
and pleasant. A breeze from the oppo
site direction during the night had blown
away the smoke, and with it went the
fear from tho heart of the poor old
black woman. Pat, too, was in good
sjnrits, though, in his way, lie had been as
lugubrious as Hannah. So they all went
to work with a good will. Pat was re
shingling a barn; Hannah was baking;
for she declared she must do “heaps of
cookin’ ” before “ Mars’ Morgan and
Miss Edith” should come ; and Milly
was acting as little maid of all work to
the sable cook. She washed dishes, but
tered pio plates and cake-tins, occasion
ally leaving her work to dart into the
sitting room, to assure herself that every
thing was in order for tlio home-coming
of her loved ones.
Gwiue to ride up in de chariot
Sooner in de mornin’
she sang. But hark ! What was that ?
A cry of terror or distress. She flew to
the door, followed by Hannah. They
saw Patrick crawling toward the house
on his hands and knees.
“ The prairie is on fire he shouted,
adding, immediately : “ liowly mother,
be merciful! for it’s helpless lam in
tirely. ”
The prairie was indeed on lire,
though at some distance. Pat, from his
perch on the barn, had spied it, and,
in his haste to get down and give the
alarm, had slipped on the ladder and
fallen to the ground, severely spraining
his ankle.
“You must burn a stlircak, Miss
Milly, and just as quick as ever ye can,
for the fire is a-cornin' like an express
thrain. ”
Milly understood—she had often
heard of it—and already the matches
and some bits of paper were in her
Land.
“ Where, Pat? ” she called,
“Outforninst yon wire fenoe. I’ll
dliraw water, aud Hannah must carry it
till ye, to shprinkle the ground this side
yerfire.” And Patrick dragged him
self painfully to the well.
Milly did as she was told and every
thing succeeded bravely. The fright
had a wonderful effect on Hannah’s
rheumatic limbs, and she carried water
on the double quick.
On came the great fire, nearer and
nearer. Milly could hear the roaring
and hissing of the flame, the trampling
and snorting of horses, and the bellow
ing of cattle, as they raced for life.
At the right and left of her fire they
passed, but the child scarcely noticed
them. She dimly saw, through the
smoke, several gaunt prairie wolves
dash by; but it seemed perfectly natural
and she had no thought of fear. She
was saving her home.
With wet blankets she whipped back
the fire, when it threatened to come
where it should not. At last she had
the satisfaction of seeing so wide a belt
of burnt land between her home and the
great fire that she felt sure they were
safe, and she started to seek a refuge
from the blinding smoke in the house
her efforts had saved; but, borne on the
wind, far up in mid-air, came sailing a
blazing mass of straw, and, to Milly’s
horror, it fell on the house roof. With
almost superhuman swiftness she ran
toward the new soene of danger. Up
the stairs she darted, catching, as she
ran, a broom. From a dormer window
she climbed out on the roof, and with
a broom shoved the flaming straw
to the ground, where it was quenched
by Pat.
Hannah was by this time at the open
I window with water for Milly to pour on
Dcvet<] to lad id trial lotenst, the IHffuxion ei Truth, the Establish rarnt of Justice, aud the Preservation of a * GiTtruwnt.
INDIAN SPRINGS, GEORGIA.
the now-blazing root She caught a pail
and dashed the contents on the flame,
unheeding that her own clothing was on
fire; but Hannah saw, and, seizing a
bed quilt, she climbed out of the window,
almost as quickly as Milly herself had,
done, and wrapped it about her pet to
smother the flame. Hannah had done
her best, but before she reached her the
calico dress was burned literally off, as
was nearly all her clothing. The blaze
was easily extinguished, but it had dona
its work.
With hearts clouded with terror and
forebodings, Mr. Morgan and Edith
drove toward home that afternoon over
the blackened desert that had been so
beautiful but two days before. The
shadow lifted as they came in sight of
the cozy farm-house, standing safe in an
oasis of green.
“Thank God !” said Mr. Morgan, and
Edith responded “ amen !”
But when they reached home they
found Sorrow enthroned awaiting them.
Milly—wise, gentle, brave Milly—
burned almost past recognition, lay upon
bed, her charred curls blackening
the pillow. The father and sister saw
i l was too late for remedies. Milly was
dying! She did not appear to suffer,
but lay unconscious, though at intervals
she murmured little snatches of the
hymns she loved best. Suddenly she
sang, and her voice was clear and strong
as ever:
De chariot! de chariot! its wheels roll in fire.
A long Silence followed, broken only
by the labored breathings of the little
martyr. Then she sang softly and
slowly:
Swing low, sweet chariot, cornin’—for to—carry—
The heart-broken watchers listened to
catch the remaining words ; but they
never were sung, unless, it may be, the
strain was finished in the upper home.
Unseen, the mystic chariot had swung
low, —lndepen dent.
THE GREAT PYRAMID,
Richard A. Proctor claims that the
structure was both a tomb and an as
tronomical observatory. When we re
member, he says, that the astronomy of
the time of Cheops was essentially as
trology, and astrology a most important
part of religion, we begin to see how the
erection of the mighty mass of masonry
for astronomical purposes may bo ex
plained—or, rather, we see how, being
certainly astronomical, it must be ex
plained. Inasmuch as it is an astro
nomical building, erected in a time when
astronomy was astrology 7 , it was erected
for astrological purposes. It was in this
sense a sort of temple, erected, indeed,
for the peculiar benefit of one man or of
a single dynasty ; but as lie was a King
in a time when being a King meant a
great deal, what benefited him he doubt
less regarded as a benefit also to his
people; in whatever sense tne Great
Pyramid, had a religious significance
with regard to him, it had also a national
religious significance.
There is no other theory of the Great
Pyramid which comes near to giving a
common-sense interpretati<fti of the com
bined astronomical and sepulchral char
acter of this wonderful structure. If it
is certain on the one hand that the
building was built astronomically 7 , and
was meant for astronomical observation,
it is equally certain that it was meant
for a tomb, that it was closed in very
soon after the King died for whom it was
built, that, in fine, its astronomical value
related to himself alone. As an astro
logical edifice, a gigantic horoscope for
him and him only, we can understand
its purport, much though we may marvel
at the vast expenditure of care, labor
and treasure at w hich it was erected.
Granted full faith in astrology (and we
know there was such a faith), it wa3
worth while to build such a structure as
the Great Pyramid, just as, granted the
ideas of the Egyptians about burial, we
can understand the erection of so mighty
a mass, and all save its special astronom
ical character. Of no other theory than
that which combines these two strange
but most marked eharacteristics.of the
Egyptian mind can this be said.
AX AUTHOR'S LUCK .
When Auerbach, the German novel
ist, was a young man lie was persuaded
to try his luck m a lottery. He dreamed
that 17,556 was the lucky number. He
discoverd that this had been in the pos
session of a rich family, who had played
with it for sixty years, and who, al
though it had drawn nothing, would not
part with it The agent offered him 17,-
585 and 17,587, which, in spite of a warn
ing that a refusal of tickets under such
circumstances was unlucky, Auerbach
refused, and from a package of tickets
drew No. 1. No. 1 won nothing; but
17,585 came out with th* capital prize
of 150,000 Prussian dollars. ‘ Auerbach,
never afterward permitted himself to
be tempted.
CROWNED HEADS.
TJtc Sad Fate of Many Kingly Rulers.
[From the Cincinnati Saturday Night.]
Did you ever stop, gentle reader, in
your evenly-baknced and unchecked
career as a peaceful freeman of our glo
rious Union, to consider how fortunate
It is for you that you were not alive 500
or 1,000 years ago? Because if you liad
been living then you might, and in all
probability would, have been King or
Queen of England, in which case your
wretched existence and miserable death
would have been assured.
There was King Edmund, who, while
feasting with all his nobles about him,
was attacked by a noted robber of the
day and stabbed to the heart. Without
pausing to inquire what the nobles were
about to permit this murder, we will
proceed to King Edred. Edred was
hounded into dissoluteness by a favorite,
St. Dunstan, an ambitious priest, who
was permitted to run the governmental
machine pretty much as he pleased. Ed
wy, the successor of Edred, inherited the
partisanship of Brother St. Dunstan, but,
choosing to marry against St. Dunstan’s
will, lie incurred the violent displeasure
of the man of God, who through the in
strumentality of Odo, then Archbishop
of Canterbury, caused the Queen’s face
to bo burned w ith liot irons, and then
carried her away to Ireland, and finally
killed her, tho shock breaking poor
King Edwv’s heart.
The next King, Edgar, reigned for
seventeen years, and, strange to say,
had no trouble at all, and finally died an
ordinary, every-day sort of death, at his
residence, No. so and so, such a street,
Edgar, King of England, age 37 years,
11 months and 18 days. Friends of the
family invited to attend. The next to
assume the crown was Edward, who,
very short time thereafter, was stabbed
in the back by a hireling of his mother,
Elfrida, whose own son, Ethelred, then
succeeded to the throne. King Edmund
was murdered by- one of his nobles;
King Harold died from the effects of a
shot in the eye; William of Normandy
got a bruise that* led to a wretched
death; William 11. was shot with an ar
row and killed; and so it went, the good
Kings and Queens being killed by tho
bad people, while the bad sovereigns
were put out of the way by the good
oeonle.
MONO LAKE, CALIFORNIA.
The density of the water is remarka
ble, being just the reverse of that of
Lake Tahoe, in which the body
of a drowned pergon never returns to
the surface. A paper says that for bit
terness and promiscuous meanness the
waters of Lake Mono surpass those of
the Dead Sea. They contain so much
alkali that on a windy day the lake is a
regular tub of soapsuds. The writer lias
Eeen a wall of lather live feet high along
the whole of that shore against which
the waves were beating. Occasionally
the wind would take up a bunch of
lather as big as a bushel basket and
carry it several hundred feet inland. So
buoyant are the waters of the lake that
quite a party of men may navigate them
on a raft made of four or five dry cot
tonwood poles. Out in the lake are
islands of rock (lava-like concretions),
through which streams of water boil up.
The water of these springs is like that
of the lake, but in one place is* a large
spring of fresh water. This is near the
northwest corner of the lake, and at a
point where there is a depth of eight
or ten feet of water. It ‘is a sort of
fountain. A column of- fresh water,
some three feet in diameter, is projected
upward with such force that it raises to
the height ef at least two feet above the
level of the lake in the form of a mound
or knoll, and makes a rippling noise that
can be heard a considerable distance.
But for the fact that this fountain has a
depth of eight or ten feet to contend
against, it would probably rise to a con
liderabje height in theair.
AX APT RETORT,
W. W. O’Brien, a well-known Chicago
attorney, while cross-examining a wit
ness, who had testified that he was a cab
inet-maker. asked : “ Are yon a physi
cian ?”
“ No; and I never claimed to be,” was
the reply.
“Oh, well,” said the attorney, “I
have seen a great many fools who were
physicians and a great many who were
not.”
“ And I have seen a great many law
yers who were gentlemen and a great
many who were not,” retorted the wit
ness- m
Thb five Northwestern States which
raise a surplus of com are the granary
of the world. And in the near future
they are destined to be the richest part
of the earth.
IRELAND, 184 7.
ONE Or TIIE EATS DKNIB FLORENCE M’OABTHI'S
FATItIOTIfI POEMS.
God of justice I God of power I
Do we dream? Can it be,
In this land, in this honr,
W T ith the blossom on the tree,
In the gladsome month of May,
When the young lambs play,
When the nature looks around
On her waking children nows,
The seed within (he ground,
The bud upon the bough ?
Is it right, is it fair,
That we perish of despair
In this land, on this soil
Where bur destiny is set,
Which we eultured with our toll
And watered with our sweat ?
We have plowed, we have sown.
But the crop was not our own;
We have reaped, but harpy hands
Swept the harvest from our lands
We were perishing for food,
When lo! in pitying mood
Our kindly rulers gave
The fat fluid of the slave,
Whilo our corn filled the manger
Of the war-horse of the stranger,
God of mercy! must this last?
Is this land preordained.
For the present, and the past,
And the future, to be chained—
To bo ravaged, to be drained,
To be robbed, to be spoiled.
To be hushed, to be whipt,
Its soaring pinions clipt,
And its every effort foiled?
Do our numbers multiply
But to periHh and to die?
Is this all our destiny below—
That our bodies as they rot
May fertilize the spot
Where the harvests of the strangers grow?
If this be indeed our fate.
Far, far better now, though late,
That we seek somo other land and try tome other
sone; SS
The coldest, bleakest shore
Will surely yield us more
Rhan the storehouse of the stranger that we dare not
eall our own.
A CURIOUS BUSINESS.
One of the most singular of all avoca
tions is described by an English journal
in a way to indicate that it has an es
tablished existence in London. It is
nothing more nor lees than the bringing
off of prize-fights, and the business gives
employment to a number of middlemen.
The middleman has hig regular beat and
calls on regular customers, He also has
his pairs of gladiators always at call.
Supposing that a set of men wish to see
a genuine combat, they simply subscribe
£2O or £3O or £SO, and place the money
in the middleman’s hands. A £2O “mill”
is not a very sanguinary affair, but £SO
will buy a good deal of bloodshed. When
the money is deposited the agent picks
out “two lads that want to have a turn.”
The “lads” are mostly lazy louts who
do not love work. They train for a week
on money supplied by the honest mer
chant who arranges the meeting. When
they are finally placed in the ring ihey
really do hurt each other a good deal,
and the spectators have the pleasure of
battle and conspiracy simultaneously.
There are half an hour of heavy hitting,
a few spirited rallies on the cords, a
large amount of bad language, and then
one man gives in. The middleman
pockets half the money, and the rest is
divided between the battered ruffians
who afforded the entertainment.
lIOW IIE BECAME SATISFIED.
A great many boys mistake their call
ing, but all such are not fortunate
enough to find it out in as good season
as did this one.
It is said that Rufus Choate, the great
lawyer, was once in New Hampshire,
making a plea, when a boy, the son of a
farmer, resolved to leave the plow and
become a lawyer like Rufus Choate. He
accordingly went to Boston, called upon
Mr. Choate, and said to him: “I heard
you plead in our town, and I have a great
desire to become a lawyer like you. Will
you teach me how ?”
“ As well as I can,” said the lawyer.
“ Come, sit down. ” Taking down a copy
of Blackstone he said: “ Read till I come
back, and I will see how you get on.”
The poor boy began. An hour passed,
his back ached, his head ached and his
legs ached. Every moment became a
torture. He wanted air. Another hour
passed, and Mr. Choate came in and
asked:
“ How did you get on ?”
“ Get on ? Why, do you have to read
•uch stuff as this ?”
“Yes.”
“ How much of it ?”
“ All there m on these shelves, and
more,” looking about the great library.
“ How long will it take ?”
“ Well, it has taken me more than
twenty-five years.”
“ How much do yon get ?”
“ My board and clothes.”
“ Is that all ?”
“ Well, that is about all that I have
gained as yet.”
Sat bat little, think much, and dc
more.
SUBSCRIPTIOM-i1.69.
NUMBER 45.
PLEASANTRIES.
A motto for young lovers— So-fa end
no father.
Calling for a division of the house—-
Filing a petition for divoroe.
A lawyer is about the only man that
ever made anything by opposing a wom
an’s will.
When at home, the Chinaman is a
Mongolian. When in the United States
he is a Mustgolian.
A Louisville belle has in her parlor
a beautiful embroidered motto, “E Plur
I bus, yum, yum.”
A young lady, not well versed in
music, wants to know if dance music is
written in foot notes.
The name of the Speaker of the Mas
sachusetts House is No-yes, and his
ability to decide a tie is doubted.
Sign on a gentleman’s house in Edin
burgh : “ Any person entering these in
closures will be shot and prosecuted.”
“Free of charge— an empty gun.”
There’s where you make a mistake. It’s
the empty guns that have added to the
angelio population.
When Patrick saw the announcement
in a shop window, “Great Slaughter
in Clothing,” he stepped in and inquired
for “wan of thim kilt suits.”
The great social mania if to haveone’i
hand photographed. But when a man
holds four and fails to get a bet he
doesn't want his hand photographed.
Hebe is one we thought of sending to
London Punch —Why is a small mor
sel of bread smaller in French than in
English ? Because it is a morceau (more
so). —Lowell Citizen.
“Yes,” said the country member, **l
went to that variety show because I felt
sure there’d be nobody there who knew
me ! Durned if pretty mudh the whole
Legislature wasn’t there 1 ”
“ Will the coming man drink wine ? w
asks the Boston Star. He will when he
can get some other man to pay for it.
When the expense falls upon his own
shoulders he will imbibe beer.— New
York Commercial Advertiser.
A tipsy Bostonian, who was arrested
while making vain efforts to clutch at m
barber’s pole, exclaimed, as the polios
man drifted him in the direction of the
station-house, “Stransb, I never saw*
'oora borealish s’near before.”
“Well, and what has become of our
old friend X?” “Turned stock broker.”
“Ah! did he make anything?”
did—he made 400,000 francs a customer
had deposited with him, and then he
made for America I” —Paris paper.
“Whebe are you going to at snoh e
gait ?” asked Jones, pere, as he met his
daughter’s young man. “What gate,
sir ?—there ain’t any gate—l mean— ”
and then he wrenched himself together
with a sickly smile and looked feeble
minded.
“Is the neighborhood mnoh both
ered with cats ?” asked a gentleman whe
was negotiating for the lease of a house,
“It used to be,” frankly answered the
landlord, “but since a French res
taurant was opened arormd the corner
ijiere hasn’t been one seen.”
A conceited man, noted for his lack
of good looks, pompously said : “ I have
three children who are the Tery image
of myself. ” “ How I pity the youngest 1”
exclaimed a person standing by. “Why
is that?” asked the conceited man.
“Because it is the one that will oroba*
bly have to resemble you tne longest.
Some charitable Harvard students
went and sawed up the wood pile of a
poor widow while she was away, and
when she returned she discovered that
they had destroyed a lot of timber she
had bought to build an ell to her cot
tage. Bold, bad men are not adapted
to sawing wood.
Pbofessob to classical student—“U
Atlas supported the world, who support
ed Atlas?” Studentj—“The question,
sir, has often been esked, but never, so
far as I am aware, satisfactorily an
swered. I have always been of the opin
ion that Atlas must have married a rich
wife and got his support from he*
father.”
_ —*■——► *
A FIFTH AVENUE PICTURE.
Trained pngs now sit at milady’s win
dow with a bow of bright-colored rib
bon at their necks, and it is easy to see
that they regard themselves as a very
superior kind of dog. While you gaze
at the petted beast you have also a
chance to admire the fine design of
milady’s lace curtains, which, as a mat
ter of course, originally belonged to the
Empress Eugenie, and “ were picked up
while we were in Europe last summer."
—New York