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About The Enterprise. (Carnesville, GA.) 1890-1??? | View Entire Issue (Sept. 12, 1890)
VOL. I. Kissing the Rod. Oh, heart of mine, we shouldn't Worry sol What we've missed of calm we couldn’t Have, you know! What we’ve met of stormy puin, And of sorrow’s driving rain, We can better meet again If it blow. We have erred in that dark hour We have known, When our tears fell with the shower, All alone— Were not shine and shadow blent As the gracious Master meant 'i I<et us temper our content With Ilis own. For, we know, not every morrow Can be sad J So, forgetting all the sotoW We have had, Let us fold away our fears And put by our foolish tears, And through all the coming years Just be glad. —[James Whitcomb Itiley. THE DOCTOR'S BOY. “Mother, it’s awful cold to-night! Can I put a little more wood on the lire—only one more log?” Mrs. Netley glanced grudgingly to¬ ward the wood-box in the corner—a receptacle which, by the way, was not too well filled. “I suppose so,” said she. “But be careful John ; wood gets away so fast, and tho price always goes up toward winter.” And kneeling on the braided rug in front of the fire, John Netley amused himself with building up the founda¬ tions of a cheery sheet of flame, while on one side of the table his mother made buttonholes on vests, and on the other Aunt Eunice stitched busily away at shirt finishing for a factory near hv. • Mrs. Netley was a pale, hollow-eyed little widow. Eunice White was ten or twelve years younger, and although not in the first bloom of youth, might have been pretty if her cheeks had been a little rounder and her eyes less mournful in their expression. The room, although furnished with a pitiful plainness, was neat and clean. A very old blackbird gave an occa¬ sional-spasmodic chirp in its cage near the ceiling, and a lean cat watched in¬ tently at an infinitesimal mouse-hole behind the bureau. “Well, mother,” said John, who was the only real young creature in the room, “why don’t you ask what luck I had?” I 1 “Because,” sighed Mrs. Netley, bit¬ ing oft’tiie thread to save the trouble of reaching for her scissors, “you never do have any luck. Folks don’t seem to want a boy.” “The new doctor does, though,” said John, chuckling, as he reviewed the result of iiis architectural dealings with the fire. “And lie’s engaged me to look after iiis horses and cow. There!” Mrs. Netley paused, with her needle suspended in mid-air. “AV'ell, that is luck,” said she. “The new doctor! I suppose lie’s a very grand gentleman, eh?” “He’s very nice and pleasant,” said John; “that’s all I know. And he’s going to give me two dollars a week. And lie says I mustn’t be discouraged, because he was a poor hoy once, with emptv pockets and never a shoe to liis feet.” “And now,” said Mrs. Netley, “he’s bought that big stone house and grounds. It’s well to be lucky.” “But,” cried John, “he says it isn’t luck. Ho says it’s nothing hut hard work and push. And I mean to work hard too, and buy a nice house, some day, for you and Aunt Eunice to live in.” “What’s liis name, Johnny?” list¬ lessly asked Miss White. “Dexter,” the boy answered— “Doctor David Dexter.” “Mercy on us, Eunice!” cried Mrs. Netley, “what possessed you to give such a start?” “I—I pricked my finger!” mur- mured Eunice, “Can’t wc have another lamp, Mary? This sort of thing is ruinous to the eyesight.” Mrs. Netley rose to bring another starved-lookriig little lamp. Johu sat aud stared at the fire, with speculative eyes. “I’m only to feed the horses, and carry wood and water to the kitchen, and look after the fancy Brahmas and Leghorn fowls,” said he. “Doctor Dexter has a man to drive around witli him. So you see I can study at homo evenings, just the same as if I went to school; and I'm sure Aunt Eunice is as good as any school-teacher going, to keep me up with my geography and arithmetic.” “Two dollars a week will he a great help to us,” said Mrs. Netley. And then she coughed that dry,hard, rattling little cough that John disliked to hear so much, “It seems strange, don’t it.” said she, after John had gone to bed, and two' sjsten* were putting THE ENTERPRISE. 1 their wearisome work preparatory to seeking their own pillows, “the idea of a new doctor settling here, after old Doctor Plympton had resigned for forty years? Mbw times do change, to-be-sure!” “Yes,” said Eunice, almost inaudi- bly. Mrs. Netley looked sharply at her. “Eunice,” said she, “what does ail you tonight? You ain’t sick, are you?” “Yes,” said Eunice. “Sick of liv¬ ing-sick of drudging—sick of this endless fight for daily bread! Oh, Mary, Mary! what a fool I have been I If I could only undo the past!” “Eunice, what do you mean?” “Do you remember when I taught school at Milford, Mary, when John was a baby, and you were living over at Dawson's before Albert died? Well, I iiad a lover then, a lover that really loved me— for I was tolerably good looking in those days. But lie was plain and quiet and not very well-to-do. I thought I could do better, and I found it great fun to tease the poor fellow as I’ve seen boys play a trout in that lit¬ tle crooked stream up the hills. And I ended by refusing him, and he went away.” “I’ve heard all this before, haven’t I?” said Mrs. Netley, with a puzzled countenance. “Yes; but you never heard lii s name. It was David Dexter.” “Goodness me!” ejaculated Mrs. Netley. “Hush!” said Eunice, “Don’t wake John. Oh, yes, l know I’m rightly served; hut it don’t make the dose any the less hitter to swallow. Doctor Dexter is a rich man now, and I hope—ves, I do really hope—that he has a good wife, one worthy of him, by this time. But I can’t help think¬ ing what a dreadful mistake 1 made in those old days, lie was so good and true.” “Well,” said Mrs. Netley, slowly, “it’s done and it can’t he undone. So far as I can see, folks are always making mistakes in this world. Don’t fret, Eunice. It’s small good crying after spilt milk. And it’s past ten, and the fire’s clean burned out, and we’d better go to hod, I guess.” John Netley went to his new place the next day, and any hov who has been thrown on his own resources can easily imagine the delight he felt when Doctor Dexter placed two big, round silver dollars in his little brown palm at the cud of the first week, with the pleasant words: “You have well earned them, my hoy.” It was a dreary November evening, with the windy air full of flying dead leaves, when Alison, the old cook, came to the office door in Doctor Dexter’s fine stone house. “Please, doctor,” said she to her master, who had just seated himself with a book before the red light of the fire, “do you know what’s come of little John? I’ve called and called, and he isn’t there.” “Not there?" repeated Doctor Dex- ter. “Aud I let Collins go home to spend Sunday. Call again; the boy must he there.” “He isn’t, doctor. It’s the first night he has failed us since you hired him. And now I come to think of it, he had an awful hoarse cold this morn¬ ing, when he came in for the chicken feed. Perhaps lie’s sick.” Doctor Dexter laid down liis book. “I’ll go down and take the horse out of the traces myself,” said he. “Where does Johnny live?” Alison did not know; neither did tiie doc:or. But as Dexter opened the stable- door, outside of which the patient horse stood waiting, his mane and tail drooping before the knifelike wind, the flash of a lantern greeted his eyes with unexpected lig'h*. “So you are there, after all, John?’’ said he. But it was not John Netley. It was the tall, slight figure of a woman that shrank hack from its task of throwing hay into the manager of General, the big iron-gray horse. “Why,” cried Doctor Dexter, in amazement, “who arc you?’ “Iam John’s aunt,” faltered alow voice. “He’s sick, and he fretted so much about tiie horses’ supper that I told him I would come and put hay into their mangers and water them. I am not timid with cattle,” she added, “and I did not suppose any one would know.” “John’s aunt!” repeated Doctor Dexter. “Let me take that lantern a minute, p ease! Why do you turn vour face away from me? Is it true? You are Eunice White, then?” “Yes,” she cried out, passionately, “I am Eunice White. But I neverin- (ended you to know it, David Dexter, Fortune has dealt very differently with ipe from wJtat it bw ifjtb yffib °P? n CARNESVILLE, GA., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER W. 1890. the door; let me go back homo. I’m sorry I ever came here.” “You arc cold,Eunice," said he gent¬ ly ; you shiver. Come to tiro house and let me give you a cup of tea.” “No,” she said, resolutely, “I will go home!" “Then I will go with you, Eunice. I must see Johnny. Do you know, even without being aware that ho waa any kin to you, I have got fond of that boy ? I shall be fonder still now. 1 have wondered this many a day, Eu¬ nice, where you were and what had become of you?” “Have you?” Eunice’s heart had begun to boat strangely now; her cheeks glowed deeper than any dam¬ ask rose. “Well, tiiat is a question easily answered. . I am living here with my widowed sister—John’s mother—and I am sewing for a liv¬ ing.” t It cost her something to make that confession, for Eunice White was a proud woman yet. But she scorned to dissemble. “Eunice,” he said, looking wist¬ fully down upon her, as be walked by her side, “I could have done better than that by you. I’ll clo it still, Eu¬ nice, if you will let me. I’m not one of those that vary and shift with every change of the moon. I loved you then, and I love you now. And as for these twelve years that have sepa¬ rated us, I’ve loved you steadily all ilie time. I’ve remained single for your sake. Now you can decide. Is it yes, or is it no?" Was not loyalty like this worthy oi a return? Eunice White thought so. She put out her cold hand and let il rest in David Dexter’s warm grasp. “it is yes,” said she. Old Alison was quite out of patience that night when the doctor did not re¬ turn to the dinner of clear soup, salmon-steak and roast grouse which she had cooked with so much care, until it was all spoiled with standing. But when at last he came in with a bright face, and told lier tiie cause of his delay, she did not so much blame him. “I’ve always said,” declared she, in her quaint Scotch way, “that the one tiling you wanted, doctor, dear, was a wife to rule the house. And if she's as douce and as braw as you tell me, why, I’ll he contented to call her missus.” “I’m sure you will like her, Ali¬ son,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands. “Isn’t it nice, mother?” said John. “1 told you how good Doctor Dexter was. And now lie’s to be niy real uncle, and I can go out and hold his horse every day; and you are to live there, mother, and rest from all this dreadful sewing that’s wearing your heart and eyes out. Oh, Aunt Eunice, I’m so glad you found your old lover again!” “John, you are a goose!” said Aunt Eunice. But she laughed and blushed as she spoke the words, and John knew very well that she was not angry with him. Vegetable Immigrants. Naturalists familiar with tiie habits of the English sparrow seem to doubt the possibility of preventing its enor¬ mous increase at the expense of our indigenous birds, and a similar result may follow the introduction of a tree which in the course of the last twenty years has effected at least a thousand¬ fold extension of its North American habitat. It is the ailantns tree, im¬ ported originally from the Moluccas, but now found in almost every shel¬ tered river-valley from Pittsburg to Southern Alabama. Its fecundity and rapidity of growth exceed that of the Canada thistle. In less than five years a small plan¬ tation of the vegetable colonists will cover a dozen square miles of river- bottoms with their pale green sprouts, and in five years more any one of those sprouts is capable, upon the slightest encouragement, to develop imo a tall and really beautiful tree. None of onr native arboreal plants seem capable of competing with the vegetative energy of the hardy stran¬ ger, which prospers in the poorest, cal¬ careous soils, and appears to flourish equally well in Southern China and Northern Ohio. Along the line of the Miami Canal, north and east of Cin¬ cinnati, it has superseded sumachs and willows; near Huntsville, Ala., its thickets are smothering both weeds and forest trees, and within the last five years it lias extended its conquests even to the rocky uplands of Western North Carolina.—[New York Voice. A Seveu-I’ound Gent. The largest cat’s-eye of which there is any record was recently found by a digger of Galle, Ceylon. It weighed nearly seven pounds. The finder was a Moor man who had been very poor, lie has been offered $100,000 by a 8yn» flicste of local dnnloyg, SUN WORSHIPERS. A. Wonderful Relic of their Handiwork in Mexico. A Stone Roadway Up a Mound 1200 Feet High. Chariot J. Wimple, one of tho wealthiest miners of .Mexico, is a re¬ cent arrival in the city. To a repre¬ sentative of tho Call ho told tho fol¬ lowing wonderful story: “You have asked me to give an ac¬ count of tho interesting mountain my friend, Jcsso 1). Grant, and myself saw during our trip through Mexico en route to tin’s city. Well, that mountain is at once one of the most gigantic exhibitions of man’s handi¬ work, and something almost beyond credence wore we not already familiar with the works of the Aztecs. “Just imagine a valley forty by thirty miles in area, and from its centre rising a mound over 1,200 feet feet in height. Then you can realize the first effect created upon our minds when we came before the hill l am to describe. My foreman was with us, and had partly prepared us for the surprise, hut we had treated his story with incredulous remarks, and had by no means suspected lie had but given a modest description of the mound. “We gazed to the top and allowed our eyes to follow the windings of a road down to tho base. Wc went . around the base and conjectured it was about one and a half,miles in cir¬ cumference. Then we started for the summit. The roadway was built of solid rock clear to the pinnacle, and was from thirty to forty feet in width. A wall of solid rock formed a founda¬ tion and art inside Wall at the same time. The outer edge of the road was unguarded. These stones weigh all tiie way up to a ton each, and are not cemented. The roadway is as leyel as a floor, and is covered with broken pieces of earthenware water vessels. “Half way up the mountain is an altar cut in solid rock; in tho niche is a boulder which must weigh at least six tons. Tho boulder is of different stone from that used iu the walls. The rocks iu the walls arc dressed by skilled workmen, hut are not polished. We saw no inscriptions; in fact we had no time to spare in making a searching investigation. We did look for arrow heads or other warlike instruments to satisfy ourselves that the mound had not been used for defensive or offen¬ sive purposes. Nor was there any evidence to prove that the roadway had been built for the purpose of wit¬ nessing hull lights and other sports in the valley. “I could only conclude the Aztec suu worshipers expended years of labor on the hill in order that they might have an appropriate place to celebrate their imposing festivals, in¬ asmuch as the roadway was strewn with broken earthenware, and those scions of a bygone and notable race were known to carry at sunrise largo quantities of water in earthenware jars to an eminence, and there pour out the liquid and smash the vessels. “When we descended wo brought with us a number of small sea shells which had petrified, and if you look at these on my table you will see how they have been perforated by the In¬ dians. We again took a long look at the mountain and saw it was oblong in shape, and that the upward road com¬ menced on the eastern side, I have traveled on both sides of the moun¬ tains from British Columbia to Central America, and on either side of the Sierra Madres where Hie cliff-dwellers have left such remarkablo mementos of their skill and customs, but I have never witnessed anything so wonderful and magnificent as tho mound which I have been telling you about. “The valley is about six hundred feet above tho sea level, and is about seventy miles from tho coast. It is situated in Sonora, between tho cities of Altar and Magdalena and near the Magdalena River, We called tiie curiosity Palisade Mountain, and it is well named.— [San Francisco Call. A Novel Fog Horn. A fog horn operated entirely by steam and compressed air has been established at tiie light station at Sea Bird point, which is the eastern ex¬ tremity of Discovery Island, The horn will sound blasts of eight seconds’ duration, with intervals of one minute between blasts. The fog-alarm budd¬ ing is situated about 300 feet south¬ westerly from the lighthouse aud is of wood, painted xvliite, with brown roofing. The horn is elevated about forty-live feet above high water mark. —[San Francisco California. The stenographer doesn’t live from hand to month, although liis business is from Tpouih to liapd. An Arab Foundling’s Carper. The public has been reading lately a great many dispatches from Franco and Africa, giving (lie progress of the war which the French government Iui9 been waging in Dahomey. Lieu¬ tenant Colonel Arcliinard was the officer mentioned as being in common I of the French troops, who, although merely a handful of some four or live hundred cavalry, have inflicted great slaughter on their opponents, killing as many as a thousand in one engage¬ ment. There recently arrived in this city a young French officer who is an inti¬ mate friend of Colonel Arcliinard, and who rolatos the following strange history of the dashing young colonel’s life: “About twenty-six years ago, at the time France was engaged in a series of petty wars against the noma 1 tribes in Algeria, and after ono of these en¬ gagements a certain Gaston Arcliinard, then a captain in a cavalry regiment, was attending to the removal of the wounded, when quo of his men dis¬ covered a little Arab child, who had evidently been abandoned by its par¬ ents in their flight. Being a bachelor, and, liking the bright, intelligent look in the little fel¬ low’s face, the captain determined to adopt him and give him his name, lie, therefore,sent him toaiyceo or French school in Bordeaux, where tho lad was educated, and later, in 1875, the cap¬ tain having risen to the rank of briga¬ dier general, lie caused him to bo en¬ listed as a private in tho Seventh Hus¬ sars,under liis own name of Arcliinard. Gaining rapid promotion he was soon sent to the Cavalry School at Saumar, from whence lie graduated in 1880, only ten years ago, as a sub-lieutenant of calvary. He was then sent to Tunis, and fought through the campaign of 1882, and the following year saw him com¬ manding a battalion in Touquin. In 1887 he was sent to Senegal as a major ill the,famous regiment of Spaliis Sen- egalais, which he commanded, as lieu¬ tenant colonel, in liis late successful campaign in Dahomey. Although a pure-blooded Arab, with a thorough French military education, Colonel Archinard, it is whispered in promi¬ nent Parisian military circles, is next on tho list for promotion to the covet¬ ed rank of general of a division of tho French army.— [New York Star. What a Prison Association is Doing. Tiie convict’s career is no longer blighted forever by his term of im¬ prisonment, avers tho New York Press. Provided that lie sincerely 're¬ grets his period of crime and shows evidence of his intention fo lead a bet¬ ter life, iie can now get a job ami start afresh. There are several thousand ex-convicts who are now employed in reputable business houses in this city aud who can, in caso of change, get mighty good recommendations both as to conduct and ability from their employers. This condition of affairs is brought about by the Prison Asso¬ ciation of New York. The association is a branch of tho National Prison Association, which lias its branches in nearly all the lead¬ ing Slates of tiie Union. The New York association, however, has done more good and accomplished more no¬ ticeable and far-reaching results than any of the other brandies in the coun¬ try. It secured positions for no less than 1300 men last year, all of whom had at some time occupied a cell in one of the prisons of this Empire State. Missionary Boals. A novel craft is in course of con¬ struction at the Benicia shipyards. It is no less than a missionary packet, which is built to tiie order of tho American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. Iler dimensions are as follows: Length over all, 56 feet; on the water line, 52 feet; breadth, 16 feet 11 inches; depth of hold, 8 feet; draught, 8 feet 3 inches. When completed she will tako on board a missionary outfit consisting of Bibles and devotional tracts, and will take an evangelical cruise to tiie south¬ ern seas. The Seventh Day Adventists are also having a craft built, to be de¬ voted to a similar purpose. She will be of about 120 tons register and will be completed by August of the present year.— [San Francisco Chronicle. Wild Camels in California. As proof that the camels brought to Arizona a number of years ago are not extinct and are breeding rapidly, tiie following from the Yuma (Cal.) Sentinel is reproduced: A large band of camels, numbering 35, were seen within a few miles of Harrisburg last week. Jim Doten caught one with a lariat, and after bringing it into the camp was forced to shoot it, as all tho horses around became badly fright- eued the sight of the ungainly boast. CHILDREN’S COLUMN. tommy's CHOICE. A boy Hint doesn't like apples Is very bard to please; A 1:11 peaches are the nicest things That ever grew on trees; Rut of all the fruit, the sort to suit And (tie finest every way Is a jolly, juicy melon On a sultry, summer day! — [Youth's Companion. THICKS OF THE lllltOS. “1 was much amused one afternoon," says an observant friend, “by a little family scene on a twig of an elm tree, whore a fly-catcher had her tiny brood of live, just out of tho nest, all perched in a row. 8ho was feeding them, and tho little dots took their rations with great content as often as tho mother caught an insect and flow back with the morsel to each open beak iir turn. The regularity with which she kept account, feeding one after another, in exact order, from top to bottom of the row, was very intcrc tiiig. iToscidly one small chap grew inpa¬ tient, and while the mother was away 11 uttered over and crowded himself into the place next to (lie bird last fed —exactly as if he had planned to get the next fly. IIo sat there, looking very sober and innocent when tho mother returned, hut she saw tho trick at once, and gave the fly to the l ight bird, whisking the interloper (as 1 fancied) with her wing as site passed him, by way of cuffing his cars. Probably ho was the rogue of tho fam¬ ily and she knew him too well.—[Bos¬ ton Transcript. a cunning bear. The coyote, you must know, is very stupid about some things, and in al¬ most all Pueblo fairy stories is the vic¬ tim of one joke or another. The hear, on tho other hand, is pno of the wis¬ est of animals. Once upon a lime the Ko-id-deh (the hear) and Too-wliay-deh (the coyote) chanced to meet at a certain spot and sat down to talk. After a while the hear said: “Friend Coyote, do you see what good land this is here? What do you say if wo farm it together, sharing our labor and the crop?” The Coyote thought well of it, (jnul said so; and after talking they agreed to plant potatoes in partnership. “Now,” said the Bear, “I think of a good way to divide the crop. 1 will take all that grows below the ground and you take all that grows abovo it. Then each can take away his share when he is ready, and there will he no trouble to measure.” The Coyote agreed, and when tho time came they ploughed the place with a sharp stick and planted their potatoes. All summer they worked together in tho field, hoeing down the weeds with stone hoes and letting in water now and then from Hie irrigat¬ ing ditch. When harvest timo came the Coyote went and cut off all the potato tops at the ground and carried them home, and afterwards the Bear scratched out the potatoes from the tho ground with liis big claws and took tliom to iiis house. When the Coyote saw this liis eyes were opened and lie said; But this is not fair. You have those round tilings, which are good to eat, hut wlmt I look home we cannot eat at all, neither my wife nor I.” “But, friend Coyote,” answered the Bear, gravely, “diel wc not make an agreement? Then we must stick to it like men.” The Coyote could not answer and went home, hut lie was not satisfied.” The next Spring, as they met ono day, tiie Bear said: “Come, f. iend Coyote, I think wo ought to plant this good land again, and this time let us plant it in corn. But last year you were dissatisfied with your share, so this year we will change. You take what is below tho ground for your share, and I will take only what grows above.” This seemed very fair to the Coyote, and he agreed. They ploughed and planted and tended the corn; and when it came harvest time the Bear gathered all the stalks and ears and carried them homo. When tiie Coy¬ ote came to dig his share he found nothing hut roots like threads, which were good for nothing. He was very much dissatisfied, but the bear remind¬ ed him of their agreement and ho could say nothing-. — [New York World. One Tiling He Did Not Want. “The trouble with Boodteton is that lie wants the earth.” “You wrong him,” said the book agent. “There are some things lie does not want. I labored with him two hours the other night trying to get him to buy a copy of your poems, and he wouldn’t have ’em.”—[Bazar. The first steamboat waa built mi E ngland in 1816. NO. 36. Evening. The sun goes out behind the purple sea; The gray clouds swim along the yello-# west. Shadowless, shapeless, and in the slow un¬ rest, Along the west, all dark and silently. The night with solemn state and majesty Is throned behind the eastern ocean's breast, Wrapped, like the eagle in her see.ret nest. Waiting the hour when her broad wings are free. The evening smiles a smile of fear and hope; The peace of starlight may come with the night, Or all the thunders of the sky may ope To smite the sleeping earth to waking fright. Which shall it be? What prophet lias the HCOpC To read the warnings in yon waning light? — [W. II. Henderson in New York Times. HUMOROUS. A road race—Tramps. How soon tho crying baby in the house grows to be a girl with a piano! Charles—Miss Ella—Ella—may I hope to win you? Ella—Why, Charlie, do you think I’m to he rallied? Merchant (in want of a hoy, to ap¬ plicant)—Can you spell correctly? Boy—Yes, sir. C-o-r-r-c-o-t-l-y. Kaiser Wilhelm now calls himself “tho man of rock and iron.” A little sarsaparilla added will make a fine bitters. Barber—Does the razor hurt you, sir? Victim—Are you sure it’s a razor? I had an idea it was a piece of barrel hoop. The man best qualified to enjoy tho honeymoon is the one who had all the romance kicked out of him before ho reached that period. Mendicant—Can’t you give me a few pennies for my poor family at home, sir? Merchant—No, no, man; I don’t want to buy any poor family. “I am sober and steady. I was ton years in my last place and five in the one before that.” “But where was the last piaeo you worked?” “In the state’s prison.” Time, One a. m. —“1 know I have my short comings, Miss Edith,” began the young man depreciatingly. “Yes, George,” site replied, “but they don’t hold a candle to your long goings.” High-priced doctor—You are now convalescent, and all you need is ex¬ ercise. You should walk ten miles a day, sir, but your walking should have an object. Patient—All right, doctor, I’ll travel around trying to borrow enough to pay your bill. Her Picture On Every Silver Dollar. The figure stamped on the face of our Bland silver dollar is an exact likeness of Miss Anna W. Williams, a young lady of Philadelphia, Tiie profile is the work of a young Briton named Morgan. When Mr. Morgan came to this country, in 1876, to devise a stamp for the coinage of our stand¬ ard dollar, lie at onoe entered the Academy of Fine Arts at Philadelphia, that lie might more thoroughly Ameri¬ canize liis work. Here lie remained for several months, then spent several days trying to sketcli the head of tiie fanciful Goddess of Liberty. Finally, he concluded to abandon the idea of making a fanciful design, and, in its stead, use the profile of an American girl. Aided by a friend, ho began searching for one whose beauty would entitle her to tiie honor of tiie position. For weeks lie continued his search without success, until lie was introduced to Miss Williams, then a resident of 1023 Spring Garden street, Philadelphia. With great difficulty ho persuaded her to sit for a skelch. After four trying sittings Mr. Mor¬ gan succeeded in obtaining sufficient tracings to enable him to proceed with his work. With what degree of success ho met may be seen by an examination of the silver dollar. As to the beauty of her figure, Mr. Morgan declares her profile to be the most perfect he has ever seen either in this country or England. For two years the identity of the figure was kept a profound se¬ cret, aud the original picture is still carefully preserved.—[New Orleans Times-Democrat. Sharing on Sunday. The Supreme Court of Pennsylvania is to be called upon to determine whether shaving in barber shops on Sunday is a necessity and therefore lawful. The question lias been passed upon by the courts in several States, and tiie general conclusion has been, states the New York Herald, that opeu barber shops are in violation of tiie |aw.” In one ease the Court remarked that “if men want to get shaved ou that day they must bo their own barbers or appeal to the Legislature to change tho law. The latest tribunal heard from on the subject is the Supreme Court of Indianna. Jt holds that tiie question is oqo fqv a jury to decide. J
