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„ \ cf* f>7 » .JOURNAL AND MESSENGER. THE FAMILY JOURNAL—NEWS-POLITICS- LITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS, Etc.—PRICE $2.00 PER ANNUM. mm GEORGIA TEL’ APH BUILDING STABLISHED 1826. MACON, FRIDAY, APRIL 1#, 1882. VOLUME LVI-NO 13 JENNIE JUNE cives nan ideas ox me a ah it i 0X8* An Art Reboot tor Keeked Dre****-- Practical Amul- can DrtMM—^allictlc DrfMjaud Ideas, # What we need now is an ait school for dress that will truly express art in dress, and.malntain as absolute a standard as the Art Decorative Societies do in needle work and decorative painting. Few wo men know what words mean, and art terms and aesthetic terms and the .Test of It are constantly used to express the most commonplace, not to say opposite ideas. A newspaper editor the other day raved, over^what be called “modern aesthetism,' making it responsible forthe conventional furnace used in heating our houses, the water-pipes and low-necked dresses. Now if the aesthetics, headed by Ruskiu and Morris have tried to anything, it is to get I prin^ranT'wsw "inado^f "pure~olive hands and the tnnlc with fringe. Battons and clasps were of silver. For an evening dress Miss Morgan wore lecentiy a tonic of white silk mull over an underdress of white satin, the un derdress richly embroidered, the' tnuic finished with bands ana fringe of old gold. ■?here are two other genuine styles of aesthetic dress. One is the full, short waist, with wide belt; short, straight, much-ruffied skirt; puffed or small leg of mutton sleeve; the other ss tee deep Moy- euage bodice, cat square, the skirt slightly gored in front and upon the sides, and gathered to the edge of the bodice. The sleeves are full and divided into two puffs by wide bands, one at the top, the other over the elbow, the lower part terminat ing in a deep ruff, shaped to accommo date the arm. An aesthetic-looking costume worn at a recent evening reception, consisted of a long Gabrielle or Princesse dress of white, soft, Rumchnnder silk—a genuine artistic silk—cut sleeveless and square, hut trimmed as a border upon the square neck, around the arm-holes, around the bottom with swan’s down. Another handsome dress was also rid of tho cast iron furnace, or at least prevent its adoption by tho English peo* pie. It is essentially an American me chanical contrivance, one of the many expensive methods of getting ild of small ills and bring larger ones in their place. Such aesthetic families as can afford it in New York have had the heaters taken out of their bouses, and their places filled by large hall stoves or beaters and open grate fires in the rooms, to the man ifest improvement of their health, com fort and the picturesque character of their surroundings. LOW-HKCKED D BESSES are abominations which no artist with a true sense of art could stand for a mo ment in the universal seLse in which the mode wat once understood and accepted. There are Greek character costumes and historical dresses in which men as well as women must lravetbe neck uncovered. But, while historical continuity and ac curacy may demand, and perfection of form excuse, a departure from the ordin ary rules in the interests of art, uo true artist but would shudder at an exhibition of gaunt surprises or the uncovering ot mere masses of reddening or goose-qnill flesh. However, their nerves are not likely to be pat to the test. If American women are not all artists, they are not all idiots, and most of them are Intelligent as well as modest. Thus the announcement that “low-necked dresses have entirely superceded high-necked dresses JVmust be taken with many grains of allowance. The proportion of women who have pur chased or bad dresses made low in the neck—that is, not square or Y-shaped, but leaving the shoulders and back ex posed—to the whole number who have purchased or had dresses made, is less than 5 percent., exclusive of actresses; and of those who own these dresses, the number of times when they have been or cau be worn is exceedingly limited These results are based upon a broad sur vey of ground, aud take in others than the merely exclusive and strictly fashionable or blgb pressed dressmakers. It refers to ascason also during which more low- necked dresses have been worn than for any season previously. Iu fact, there is too little individuality, tc^lttle differentiation, in the ordinary aSss of American women. Their dresses, satin, the cool shade, with train of moire antibue, brocaded in a very largo flower and leaf pattern, in cream tint, mixed with olive. The satin front was cat up to the knee in three different places, and knife-piaited gores of cream satin insert ed; and the deep low square at the neck was filled in with silk mull, shirred and finished with a ruche of the same, em broidered with gold on the edge. The sleeves of the dress were long, and they werr edged with gold-embroidered silk mull. At a recent festivity, tho young ladies wore early “English” or “Patience” dresses—the former meaning the straight, ruffled skirt, the “baby” waist and pufled or short sleeves; the lattei, a very short, striped or kilted skirt, a fish-wife tunic, and square, pointed bodice, with a long, Wl puff for sleeves, and opera-trimmea strSw bonnet, faced with daisies or small sunflowers. One Greek dress was pale bine, painted with Jacque roses, and one aress repre sented the “Psyche,” in “Cinderalla.”. A lovely dress of pale biae silk was painted and trimmed with autumn leaves, and one of black satine was almost covered with blossoming asteria. Esthetic ideas are a boon for indoor dress, informal little parties, the summer dress of girls and such times and occa sions as do not demand formal or conven- ventional dress. No cotton velvet, or linen-backed satin, or mixed and linen, or silk and wool should be used for dresses made in this style. The material must be pure—cot ton, wool or silk, no matter which—but not seeming to be what it is not, for the very esseeces of such a style ts its truth fulness. qu, gene' aeasoi a certai oaks and jackets are alike as peas, or mold candles. They are practical as their lives and made to put to many uses. They are good in their way—sometimes, when not spoiled by Ignorance—but es sentially and necessarily commonplace. They are made iu dozens or by the gross, and stacked in plies of different sizes. A oll-kuown house sold this spring nine k “ 'ffd costumes in three different styles, .one combination, one plain all “medium” in sty!e and were ail dark and useful for Sr, and they went off between i the greatest rapidity, because _.Tnount of thinking had been done upon them; because they were un obtrusive and could be worn any time and anywhere. The range of prices was from $25 to $05, the first for plain wool suits, tho latter for silks, or silks combined with satin or a small quantity of plash. The “made-up” dresses which are sold in large quantities are necessarily indis tinctive—they most follow a model and strike an average. If a dress is to be made to suit an individual, it mnst be designed by the individual, and made by some oue capable of carrying oat a design which she bad not seen, and that requires skill; aud this involves still higher ex pense. Tho average American woman, there fore, takes the best she can find within the limit of her means, and is thankful it is not worse. There was n time, not so long ago, when a dress ready for wear could not be had for love or money. Now the regnlation article can be procured of any description, from the cheap and untidy cotton wrap for $1 or $2 to the trained and draped and pauiered and friDged and overlaid party and ball costumes from $150 to $500. What one cannot get is anything oat of tho regulation style. We talk about aesthetic dress, but in society there is but the dimmest idea of what aesthetic dress is. Tho caricatures in “Patience” have furnished the only definite conception of wbat it truly means aud of these Mr. Gilbert, who supplied Lbe designs, has said that he had never seen an “aeslnetic” dress, and that these were only big idea of the sort of thing it ought to be. In reality, the dress of the rapturous maidens is an uuwearable costume in every day life, and no girl or woman who was sane would think of adopting such costume. The classic dress, as worn by a beauti ful young harpist of New York, Miss Maud Morgan, is, on the contrary, not -only graceful, but wearable. It consists of an uuderdress, with straight skirt, “baby” waist, with the sleeves gathered lengthwise on the under part of the aria; the outer edges beir.g clasped or buttoned ou the upper arm ■Over this a long tunic is held into the waist, under a box plait, by a belt, which fastens under the tunic at the back also The shoulders are simply clasped to gether, the length forming an opeu flow ing sleeve. The cut is exceedingly aim pie, but very graceful on a tall, slender young girl, with a beautiful figure. Cash- mere is nearly always selected lor these costumes, because it is the most suitable for easy flowing draperies. One exhibits an underdress of cream color, with a turtle of old gold trimmed with gold embroidery and fringe. Another was of salmou pink over cream, and a third of shrimp pink over ■cieam, the cashmere trimmed with silver haven’t got one, but I swear it all the same. Bring me a bottle of Riordan’s Ready Belief.” The medicine was brongbt and the sick man quafled it. Two minutea later be was well. “You have saved him, my darling!’ said Lillian, kissing Aristides fondly, “and I will redeem my promise. Bat tell me, sweetie, what ailed the old man?” “Colic,” was the reply, and with a wild and mocking laugh Aristides fled into tho darkness. At the Great Battle-field. After looking over the battlefield of Chancellorsville, I went back to the brick house for dinner. DnriDg my absence a little red-headed man had arrived, and he was introduced by the woman as her brother-in-law. As soon as I came in ho began on me: “Vhas yon under Sheneral Jackson in dis fight?” “No.” “I tell yon dot was an awful fight, my frienflt. Blood poured oat shast like it vhas raining. Maybe you vas under Sheneral Lee up der road ? ” “No.” “Not under Lee! But dot Sheneral Lee vhas an awful fighter. Maybe you vas mlt Early up at Fredericksburg ?” “No.” “So? Vhell, dat Early be vhas a splendid sheneral, und he like to fight all der time. I feels sbure you vhas mit. Early. Maybe you vhas mit Hooker, eh?” “No.” “Not mit Hooker down here! Den you vas mlt Sedgevick along up der road.” “No.” “Vhell, by golly! Not mid Shackson nor Lee—not mit Hooker nor Sedgvick! Vhell, vhell! dot bears me all oafer,” ■aid he. Both of us fell to and began eating, and nothing further was said until tho meal was finished and we had gone out to look at some old cannon wheeis in lbe yard. Then my friend put his hand ou my shoulder, lowered li's voice and gently re marked: “My frlendt, if you vhas not mlt Lee, norSbackson, nor Hooker In dis fight maybe you und me vhas in der same place.” “Maybe so. Where were you ? ” “Jn Canada l ” he whispered. He called good-bye after me as I rode away, but I wouldn’t have answered him for a hundred dollars. JACKS OX'S D a A TU- IV O VXD. Lillian McGuire. Chicago Tribune. “Can you save him, Doctor ? ” “Damfino.” Winsome Lillian McGuire looked up with her rare blue eyes full of tears into the face of the young physician, who had been summoned in not b&te from the restful quiet of a poker game to the pala tial residence of Stuyvesant McGuire, in order that his skill and knowledge—the fruit of years of study and toil—might if possible bring back to health the gray- haired old mau who uow lay tossing in mortal agony. Lillian McGuire had known Aristides W. Hennessey since the days when they were both little children together, and not six months before she bad stood be fore him in all her regal beauty, her vel vety eyes draped with tears, and while the soil, pearly flesh of her beautiful arms touched his neck with a pulsing warmth, that would make your head swim, had said she could never love him except as a brother. As Aristides had three sisters and had passed the greater portion of his life spar ring with them, ttiis answer did not strike him favorably, and he went away with a dull, dead feeling in his young, blithe some heart, and a large chunk of plug tobacco in his merry spring pants. And now he was back again in that house—that bouse from which he had erstwhile so often stolen silently and sad ly atolen away when the proprietor was unexpectedly ft>und at home, and which he had left, as he supposed, for good m the balmy days of June, when the sweet- scented breath of early summer was kiss ing into life the myriad forms of floral beauty that lie with such silent sweet ness upon the verdure-clad bosom of the earth. These thoughts bad snrged through his mind as he mounted the • front steps in obedience to the hasty summons of a liv eried servant. He saw the old familiar door-mat with tho word “Welcome” worked in its cen- tre—that fateful word that had gleamed up at him in all its lurid distinctness and mockery one night when old Mr. Mc Guire opened the door in response to Ar istides’ timid yauk at the bell, and said, in the cold, County Antrim tones he kuew so well hoV to use, that Miss Lil lian was not at home and would not be for seven or eight years. In the hall stood the hat rack beside whose gaunt frame with its spectre-like arms he had so often lingered in toe mel low half-light of turned-down gas, with Lillian’s head resting trustingly above his liver pad and her coraline corset pulsing gontly against ids suspender. All these scenes came back to him with vivid distinctness, as he stood bv the bed side of tbe sick man, and looked tenderly down at Lillian, who, with pale face and rumpled bang, had knelt by her father’s side and buried her nose in tbe pillow which supported his head. Prestly she looked up at Aristides with a weary, yearning, St. Louis look, that would have melted Charles Francis Adams. The young man bent quickly for ward. “Lillian, my love,” he said, “can It be possible that—” “Kneel by my side,” said tbe girl, in tender, porter-house steak tones that thrilled his very blood. Unmindful .of the bagginess In tbe knees of his pants that such action would certainly produce, unmindful of every thing but the fact that he loved Lillian McGuire with a wild, passionate, Dear born avenue love, that recked not of mat inee tickets or ice cream, Aristides knelt by tbe girl’s side, and placing his stiong right arm around her taper waist, he kissed her tenderly just abaft her star board ear. It wasn’t a very easy job to rattle this young man. “Do you still love me, A ristides ?,” said Lillian, making a bluff to blush as she spoke. . ... “You know I ds,” was the reply, “and that I would risk my very existence to gain your love in return.” Tbe girl smtled a glad, six-button smile. “I believe you,” she said, “and I will tell you now—here in the presence ot sickness, perhaps death—that if you save my faLber’s life, my darling, idolized, g our-mash papa, I wilt marry you e*e tbe c rocus sprouts.” •’ “Euough,” replied Aristides, rising to bis feet, “your lather shall be saved, swear it by my halidom. I don’t kno what halidom means, and like enough A Statement Indication: that He was Killed hy Pennsylvania In fantry. Major A, iV. Self ridge, in Via Philadelphia Weekly Timet. It bad now grown nearly dark. Gen. Kuiperode up aiono and wanted to know why I was not where I had been ordered. I gave him the excellent reasons so well kuown to us who had been there, when he raved as he was wont to do somo- tirnes, and in language more forcible than polite said he kuew better aud then he went iu. He did not have far to go, nor did he stay long wbeu ho got there. We heard a volley and tbe balls whistle and then we beheld him come out faster then be went in. He was minus his hat, nor did ho stop to explain or apologize as he hurried by. I then told my men—some fifteen of them only at the time—that we could de ploy and crawl cautiously in and get tbe Major out, if possible, as I did not be lieve tbe enemy had moved this side of the works. We did tills successfully in the dark ness, and heard them distinctly. We then fell back on a lino with tbe shanty, a little to our front, and I made my way down the plank road to see how things looked in our rear. At tbe edge oi the wood on tbe road were two pieces of artillery and a heavy line of battle, Goneral Berry’s command. An officer of tbe staff heard my report and ordered me to feel forward a little on the the plank road to discover the location ot their pickets, if possible. This I proceed ed to do. We advanced a few yards hearing voices in our front, and saw the dim out- iue of horsemen riding about. One of my men, who afterwards said it was too good a chance to let slip to shoot at a staff oi officers, fired. The rest instantly blazed away at them. Then followed quite a volley from beyond tbe horsomea and from tbe line of our works formerly held by us, now on our left flank, besides an unpleasant firing from some of our own men in tbe rear. We dropped and hugged the ground until the firing ceased, in this melee my second sergeant, Charles N. Barrett, was wounded. As we lay there we heard unusual com motion near by in lbe direction of tbe shanty, and we knew tbit tbe horsemen were yet there, but we dared fire no more, as it brought upon us a fire from the front, left flank and rear. It was in this first fire that we believe General Jackson to have been mortally wounded. My men always maintained that they dropped some of tho officers off their horses among the first shots fired. The fire from their own troops to the rear which followed ours may have done it; the fire over us from our troops at the rear may have done it, but not likely, as they were almost too far off. As my little band of isolated skirmish ers opened the affair so near the spot des ignated by those who wero with General Jackson at tbe time be fell, and as we heard and saw as plainly as the darknsss and circumstances would permit, what we had done, and as we baa, long before we knew of Jackson’s wounding, talked of the “big guns” we brought down in tbe woods near tbe shanty, we think that among others that we put hors du combat was “Stonewall" Jackson. “Sire,” he said, ’*1 have visited most of teh principal towns, and I find no walls reared for defense. ' Why is this ?’ “Indeed, sir ambassador,” rephed An- gesliens, “thou cans', not have looked carefully. Co-ue with me to-morrow morning, andJL will show you tbe walls of Sparta.” Accordingly, on the followlnn morning, tho king led his guest out upon the plains where bis army waa drawn up in foil bat tle array, and pointing proudly to the ser ried horses, he said: ‘There, thou beholdest the walls ot Sparta—10,000 men and every man a bride.” What Are You Giving Me.—'This oft- repeated expression—indicative of disbe lief—which has been added to the vocab ulary of slang, bas no less a source than in tbe Bible. It may be found in the tbirty-eigbth chapter of Genesis. There’s Millions in It.—From Mark Twain’s novel, “The Gilded Age.” Hot/or Joe.—The refrain of a London concert song, which was very popnlar ten or a dozen years ago. There's Mang a Slip, etc.—The ancient Greeks had the following story as to the origin of the proverb: There’s many a slip ’Tween the cup ana the lip; A king of Thrace had planted a vineyard when one of bis slaves, whom be had much oppressed in that very work, proph esied that he should never taste of the wine produced in it. The monarch disre garded the prediction, and when at an en tertainment be held a glassful of bis own wine, made from the grapes of that vine yard, ha sent for the slave and asked him wliat be thought of his prochecy uow, to which tho slave replied, “Many things fal out between the cup and the lip,” aud he had scareiy delivered this singular re sponse before tho nows was brought that a monstrous boar was laying waste the favorite vineyard. The king, In a rage; E ut down the cup which he held in his and, andhuiried out wtth his people to attack tbe boar, but beiDg too eager tbe boar rushed upon him and killed him without ills having tasted of the wine. Flirtation.—It is now generally said and generally believey that this com pound word was introduced into the lan guage by the beautiftil Lady Frances Shirley, and that it is said that Lord Ches terfield was present on the occasion when she first used it. There is but little evi dence, however, of the truth of this state ment. The word was clearly in use in niO, and was repeatedly used by Miss Sophie Howe, Maid of Honor to Queen Caroline, while Princess of Wales. She was the daughter of Gen. Howe, and died in 1720, with a blemished reputation and a broken heart. Miss Howe is said to have been in 1710 with Lord Stanhope, who did not become Earl of Chesterfield until tbe death ot his father, 1720, and the first of a sene3 of letters written by her before that event begins with “I have had no flirtation since,” and ends with, “Tell Stanhope I have lost the ring he S ave me.” Lady Frances wai the fourth aughter ot Robert Shirley, first Earl Fer rers, by his second wife, Selina Finch. They were married in 1699. Frandes was the seventh child, and was born in 1706. She was accordingly only twelve years of age iu 1710, and could hardly then have been tbe object of Lord Stanhope’s ad miration ; it seems, therefore, improbable that she bad previously to that introduced the word flirtation. xirjs.vrr rorxDs steblixg. Origin ol Popular Fbruci. The Globe-Democrat. Hurrah.—This word, which is so fre quently shouted,in this country especially, originated among tbe Eastern nations, where it was used as a war cry from the belief that every man who died in battle for his country went to heaven. It is de rived from the Slavonic word JIurraj, which means “to Paradise.” Commencement Day.—In the United Stales commencement denotes the occa sion which degrees are conferred by col leges and universities upon their gradu ates. Tb s takes place generally in June or July, and closes the scholastic year, so that the name in this respect appears to be a misnomer. It refers, however, to the beginning of the student’s independ ent career after being released from tute lage. !‘The life of school ends, but the school of life commences.” Regular Brick.—This quaint and fa miliar expression had its origin in the fol lowing: On a certain occasion an ambas sador from Epims, on a diplomatic mis sion, was shown by tbe king over bis cap ital. The ambassador knew of tbe mon arch’s tame—kiiew him that, only nomi ral King of Sparta, he was yet ruler of Greece—aud he had looked to see mas- alve walls rearing aloft their embattled towers for tho defense of tho town; but he found nothing or tho kind. He mar- veled much at this, aud spoke of it to the I ^klng. There never was such a man to bet as. Staining. He was always so sure he was right. Uur mutual friend Marxwell ought to have sailed for Brazil, but I felt confident I bad seen him in the street, but Staining said it was nonsense, and he bet me twenty pounds to one shilling I was wrong. He bad hardly finished speaking when Marxwell came in. Staining pulled out a twenty pound note and handed it to me. “fhere you are, old fellow. *A fool and his money, etc.’ Another Illustra tion of the old adage.” “Not exactly, for you don’t expect I shall take your money ? ” “Yes, I do; and shall be annoyed ex' tremely if you refuse.” I protested, but presently he said in considerable irritation: “Then be my almoner,. and give tho money away in charity,” lie left presently, and as there are ob jections to standing on tbe public high ways with a bank-note in your hand aud a puzzled expression on your counten ance,tbe note was transferred to my pock et and I went on my way wondering, when I was met full tilt by a clergyman I knew. “Hulloa! ” he cried, “you and I seem to have our minda so much occupied that we cannot take care of our bodies.” “No grave matter of mine,” I said, “but you looksad. Nothing wrong with you and yours ? " “No, thank you; but I have jusf left a depressing scene. A young couple, mar ried in haste, have come to grief. The wife and child are ill. Relatives and friends have receded into the background! and worse than all, tbe husband—” “Has become intemperate or has gone mad.” “Nei.her one nor the other.” “Something worse ? ” “Yes, for to be dishonest is worse than goiug mad. And it is snch a mere trifle that is needed, apparently, to put all straight, that I groan at my inability to find iu” “What’s wanted ? ” “Well, it’s oujy twenty pounds." “There’s the money you require. Haste away and do all the good you can with it.” My friend looked astonished. He even hesitated a moment. ‘Itis7ery good of you,” he said, ner- vouily, “but, really—” “I havo she power to give this away. Good-bye.” And I hurried off. Then I hastened back to him. “May I request that you will on no ac count mention my name? ” “As you wish it, I won’t, but you should know the objects of your generos ity.” Then he told me, and wo parted. I bad only gone a few yards, when there passed me a young man with a flushed face and n frightened, anxious look in his eyes. He caught up to my triend, and spoke to him. “That is the man,” I said to myseii whose proceedings have been dubious,am who will, I trust, be rescued by Stalningy money. Well, if tbe wheel should turn, and this poor man should ever be iu a po oitionto deliver a fellow-creature from such trouble as he himself is now in, by surrendering twenty pounds, I wonder whether he’ll do it ? Smith, you surely know human nature well enough to an swer your own foolish question. Not he, not a bit of it.” This incident was soon swept from ms mind by a sudden call abroad, even to tbe place that Marxwell did not go—Brazil. Nothing hampered me then. I was i young bachelor, and coaid start for the antipodes at two days’ notice. Now when I take my wire and children—I for got tbe number—for our autumnal trip, ’ require weeks’ preparation. Away, tben v to Brazil; away to now life, new companions, new hopes and new fears; away to fortune and the yellow fever. Here occurs an interval of twenty years in my tale (my story deals in.tweu ties). I doubt whether I should have come back'had not a youug English lady one night suug iu my nearing an old- home ballad, so well remembered in con nection with some loved ones in this world, who will sing no more, that a crav ing for my native land crawled into my heart at once, and iu a very abort time I was on my retain home. On the way I bad one night a frightful dream. I fancied a terrible enemy had me down aud clutched my throat. Tighter grew bis grasp and fainter my breath. My star ing eyes scanned everyfeature of my mur derer. Slowly and painfully did I call to mind tbe face above me. It was Stain ing—but he was reckless, desperate. I gasped an entreaty for mercy. “Give it to me, I want it; I must have it, instantly—instantly! ” was the hoarse reply. “What—what can he mean! ” “What! ” he shrieked, in maniacal frenzy. “My twenty-pounds.” I had quite forgotten about the bet and the twenty pounds; but the dream set me thinking of what rumors I had heard res pecting Staining since I left England— that his money had wasted, that he had Ullan in position and even into poverty. ‘■Poor iellow i ” ihaught, “there may be something iu that dream. It his pride will accep it, he shall have that money back, and glad shall 1 be to reatore it.” Back in England, settled down in tbl old country. Main matters disposed of, e began to think of minor ones, and among tbe latter tbe discovery of Staining. He was not in his former haunts, and I failed so long to find him thas I was beginning to deipair, when I met him one night in the street. The brilliant light of the ball-room may increase the lustre of a woman’s eyes, but if you want to see a broken-down man in his worst aspect, survey him standing dis consolately under a street lamp, a driz zling rain descending upon him, and he with folded arms presenting a picture of mute despair. 7 So did 1 behold Staining. I put my hand upon bis sooutder. He sprang from me as though I wore a wild beast.. : “I did not want to run away,” he said, hoarsely; “they knew that. Go on; L’ll walk quietly enough. Why—what—cau it be-” “Yes, it’s Smith, your old companion. Come out of this and confide iu me. If gou are iu trouble and money can help you, you shall not want.” And I took his arm and we went together. And then I heard poor Staining’s con fession, which was this. - When he had wasted his money, he ob tained a situation in a merchant’s office. The pay was sufficient to keep him, but even now he conld not refrain from bet ting on horse racing. As a consequence, he was soon penniless, and worse—dis honor. He had paid a belting debt out of a twenty-pound note which bad been eu- •rusted to him. Discovery had ensued, and though the luckless man had ex plained that it wat only through the fail ure of another member cf tbe virtuous fraternity he could not replace the money at once, he had been discharged, and had reason ta believe he would scon be prose cuted. ■Many, many thanks,” replied the poor fallow to my oiler. “Yon can see the firm in the motning, but I doubt whether they will take the money. I believe they are bent on my ruin.” Earl" tbe next morning I was at the office of Baydon, Blendon be Co., and, having stated my errand, I proffered mjr twenty pounds. Mr. Baydon was a sleek old gentle man. There was an air of weatb and easo all over him. He bowed compla cently, and said: “I can appreciate your kindness to this poor Iellow, aud I myseif would pass tbe matter over at once, but my partner takes different view, and I cannot inter- “Can I see Mr. Blendon?” “Yes, if yon will call again in two hours.” In the cab I kept muttering to myself: Blendon and Robert Biemlon, too? I am sore of it. stUL if it be so it is very strange. I think I should know that face again. We shall see who will be mas ter.” Back to Messrs. Blendon, Baydon & Co.’s and then into the presence of Mr. Blendon. All my anxiety for my poor friend faded away. I was master of the situation. I stated my desired to pay she amount of Staining’s defalcation, and my hope that under the extenuating circum stances no pablicity would bo given to the miserable wrong doing. Mr. Blendon heard me wltn some im patience, and before replying, drew a check to self or bearer lor £100, then he said: “Yon will excuse my answering some what shortly. It cannot be. It is not the money we care about, but we must vindicate tbe law.” I declared I was pleased at ths gran deur of bis speech. How beautifully he was walking into my net 1 I suggested that in a case like there was no Impera tive call to such a course, and that for bearance might be shown. < “I do not see it,” answered Mr. Blen don. “You do not appear, sir, to ob serve tbe immense importance of punish ing a delinquency of this kind. I cannot take your money. If I were to let this man oil', I would bo ashamed of myself. I have jvst overcome some foolish hesita tion of my partner. I am always firm myself.” (Not always,Mr. Blendon—not when I last saw you. But wait a bit. A little further into my net, please.) “And, therefore, however sorry I may be, sir, I must say no. If I were myself to com mit an act of this kind, and—” Why did he stop! I bowed quietly, and rising said: “You are quite right, Mr. Blendon, for dishonesty is a terrible thing, and white not for a moment prossiug my request, I know you will forgive my calling to re membrance a curious case known to my self. dome twenty years ago a poor young couple, not long married, had fallen into poverty. Tbe wife and lnfaut were ill; the busbank was distracted; be most get money. When his young wife and In fant child were almost starving, what was to be done ? The money was obtained—Mr. Blen don, you know how? But in what way was it repaid before mischief came, and how was tho husband saved from rain and degradation—saved to become a rich and respected merchant? Whose money saved him? Tbat you do not know, but I will tell you. The bank note which rescued the’husbanJ, rested only ten min utes before in the pocket of this very Staining whom you are abont to prose- cute. Then Staining was as nch as you are now, bat he was a kind, Christian man. Mr. Blendon, I have a right to ask yon to what character yon lay claim.” I have often thought since what ad mirable advantages are a clear head and calm temper. I’d worked myself np to a white heat. It was only when he first saw my drift that my listener manifested any strong emotion. Then he rose from his chair with flushed face, but when I had finished be was almost as calm as when I entered. There was a slight pause and then he said: ■ . “You have acquired some knowledge of an incident iu my life which I am not called upon to discuss. Is this knowledge conflued to yourself ? ” - • “I believe It to be confined to myself and my informant, and I have no desire it should be otherwise.” Mr. Blendon bowed. — “I will not conceal tbat I aball bs glad if this goes no farther, and on that footing I will say that yonr friend shall be lreely absolved, and I will even aid him If j can. You must excuse my taking your twenty pounds. I am obliged to you for coming. Good morning.” 1 felt as I left him ihet the enemy had well covered bis retreat. But my object was accomplished, and I hastened to find Staining. He was not at the appointed place, sol went to his longings. The landlady told me he had come in early and gone to bis room—not well, she thought. She and l went np together and knocked more than once. Then we went In. Peor Steining lay npon tbe bed—dead. OLD AND NEW PARIS. 1VABILLE, memovekx bouge AXD ME LEGS AX. Hew tbe City I* LoetMlts •!« Ap pearance eed Ye* Hot Leeiec »U Ylee-Heaaeetbef eve Be— ——I atHabll Ie-Beardod Wo««« sat 14t< lag Skeletons. Paris Letter in Mma York Times. Paris, March i5.—Gradually, yet steadily, Paris is losing its peculiar physi ognomy, and five years hence it will be unrecognizable to those whose last visit dates back to before tbejrar of 1870. Ooe by one its special features are disappear ing; its new quarters might belong to Munich or to Vienna, and, if its title of Modern Athens still be appropriate, it is fast losing all claim to that ol Modern Babylon. It has not become one whit more free from vice, but its vices are less noisy, and as decorum comes in so gayety goes out. Paul de Kock has made way for Emile Zola, and the last state of the Parisian <*Js worse than the first. Tbe evolution, as Mr. Darwin would term it, began under the second empire, when Baron Hauss- mann began the stone and mortar pe riod, ana it has gone on developing ever since. The quaint old buildings in the narrow, crooked streets, not pro vided with all the appliances of modem comfort, yet often rich in historic associa tions, have been demolished, aud in their stead stand palatial residences of stucco and granite, to the greater joy and profit of landlords and the Intense chagrin and discomfiture of that unfortunate class which, not owning property, is tain to submit to the exigencies ot what Louise Michael stigmatizes as “infamous capital,” all of which Is very sad, and yet must be en dured, not being curable. Ills in tbe mailer of places of public resort and amusement, however, that tbe change is most significant. Time was when a doz en establishments offered every evening exhibitions of acrobat-.c cborography which everybody, even closely veiled res pectable women in search of materials for book, considered it a duty to see at least once. There were the Cadet Casino and Valentino and the Chateau dea-Fleurs, and the Chaumiera and the Closerie de Lilas and Mabille’* enchanted grounds, not to speak of a score ot suburban halls, where foreigners rarely strayed, but in which most of the demi-monde celebrities made their debuts. Now nearly all have been eliminated. Tho first to go were the Chaumiera and the Chateau des Fleurs; then the Casino ol the Rue Cadet was turned into the Ternpte or the Grand Orient of France for the celebration or Masonic mysteries. Mabllle held out the longest; its vogue kept up fairly since iu definite opening in 1813. Ten years betore that dale the el der Musard had made an effort at all fres co entertainments in the Champs Elysees, with promenade concerU, which were tol erably successful during the summer mouths, aud when the cold weather came were continued in the Rue Vivienne in the form of masked balls. But these were only efforts, and it was not until Ma- bille, Sr., bought a bit of gronnd on the Allee des Veuves and started there a dancing establishment that anything was thought to be specially f^srestlng. Even then it was a very little affair; the old man had no confidence in the enterprise, and it was after great hesitation that he yielded to the importunity of his son Victor, a dancer at tbe Grand Opera, and leased the rest ot the property, which for nearly forty years has borne his name. Such was tbe origin of the famous garden, about which Nadaud wrote a song, once Immensely popular, and fortunately, out of fashion at present, wherein the names and charms of IU four belle divin ities, Pamare, Maria, Clara and Mogador were banded dowa to the admiration of future ages. Nadaud’s verses nowadays would be laughed at, and so wou d be his so-called “divinities.” To mo Jem ideas these “divinities” would be very small potatoes; Pomare, Rose Sergent before the aw,was a plain-headed angular fttnales, at first nicknamed Rosita, after one ot Julian's waltzes, and later, Reine Poraare, in allu sion to a difficulty between Louis Philippe and the British Lion, about the Sandwich Islands. Rosita-Pomare danced, herself into a consumption and died in Italy. Maria was a transplantation from the Quartier Latin, vulgarly, but extremely handsome; her diamonds and gorgeous gowns wero the admiration of her sisters tor TORTS* tod X remember her in 185«, when the parents of younz women in search of a protector pointed he.* j>ut to their demoiselles as a modem be copied. Maria finished at the Saltpetriere, I be lieve, and Clara Fontaine, who was the liveliest of them all, is. thought to have been seen with a basket and a forced stick, doing the rag-picking business. Ce- lest© Mogador married her official lover, Count de Chabrillan, whom she accom panied to Australia, where be was a . French consol, and alter bis death andan unsuccessful attempt to play at the Va rieties, tried the literary profession for awhile, giving ta the world three or four stupid novels, aud “My Memoirs,” which were freely sold to the people who thought, from the name of the authoress, that they might be racy, and generally re gretted their seventy-five cents outlay. The next batch of gymnastic notaries were Rlgolette, Rose Pompon, Frl- aette, Caiinette, Marionette, the Souris Sisters, Pavillion, Seraghine Mile. Fanvette, etc. Some of them endec. their days in a hoipital, others have b8 come charwomen, one keep* a table d’hote In the Rue Bergere, much patronized by young women in seacb of a social position Marionette Is tbe wile of a provincial shop tailor. Fauvette was burned to death by the exploaion of a petroleum lamp. Poli- nette was shot as a petroleiue during the atreet fighting at the end of the Commune, aud Frisette threw hereelf out of a fifth floor window in a moment or delirium tremens aberration. After these came host of leaser lights, Rigolboche, Finette, Henrietta Tonzou, Rtwalba, Aiice la Prv vencale, but all were pale copies of their illustrious precursors, with whom their only points of resemblance was the elas ticity of their muscles and sinews, by the help oi which they could kick off the hats of all spectators who appeared especially stocked by their performances. Ol the male habitues, I can say that, in addition to the salaried dancers, of which Cbicard was the prototype, they were spec imens of every class in society, and for twenty years this “zoological garden of contemporaneous gallantly,” as frival d’Anglemont defined it, was the rendez vous, on Thursdays aud Saturdays, of all the fast “gentlemen,” authors, and artists in the capital, and on Suudays was ex clusively patronized by shopmen and cads. After the war, though, Mabille began to fall ofl) .the. cocottes disdained to follow the exempw of the preceding generation; no “lady §Ahe lake” would have so far fall en as to make the “grand ecart” or waltz with a subsidized barber’s boy, so tbat, notwithstanding an attempt to Introduce the fashion ol going to Mabille after the circus was over, its former customers ceased their visits, except on the night after the Grand l’rix, when winners and lasers by the Longchamps contest met and smashed each other's hats and noses inter nationally. People whom you never ex pected to meet li> such a disreputable place would turn up when you least ex pected it, and a French author who has written the iconography of the institution affirms tbat to a traveler iu Polynesia who met three English missionaries in he South Pacific and asked in bad Latin, the Moulin Rouge was tbe favorite res taurant of the genuine Parisian vlveur, aud was much visited by a certain cate gory of women. Iu cellar was so choice, ana uo one so well as iu chef could get up a lobster l’Americalne, and, besides these inducements, the little establish ment did not stand in one of the great thoroughfares, wherefore there was less risk ot being set* going in or coming out. It was lint made tbe fashion by that “ In fernal bana,” of which tbe-chief was a Spaniard named Colado, who astonished the jeurnesse doree of the second empire by his wild prodigality. Colado used to come there with his disciples every even ing, about seven o’clock, dressed In a marvelous Mexican costume, covered with gold embroidery, and from tbe mo ment of his entrance until midnight the grand drawingroom, known in later days as the Salon du Priuce de Galies, was a pandemonium. The amount ot Corton and Cbambertln drank there— they utterly aud disdainfully eschewed champagne—is incacultble,and they sang and whooped, and yelled, and finally, when every one was wall off his head, ad journed in a body to a neighboring man sion, occnpied by a protege of one of tbe imperial minister, and gambled like mad until breakfast time. But Culado’s pace was too fast to last long. He disappeared suddenly, and has never been heard of since, while tbe amiable Phryne of the Rue Jean Gorjon got married to a real Count, aud at present is one of the most pious of pious patronesses of a Faubourg St. Germain Dorcas Society, whose aristo cratic members admit tbat ebarity should be allowed to efface multitudes of siu. No other cabaret in all Paris ever wit nessed such orgies, to which the carousals in the Sis and the Grand Seize were, iu comparison, propriety itself. The former proprietor, who had some pretentions tq seing a literay man, kept a sort of a log book of each evening's entertainment, aud inscribed therein the names of the guests aud the details of tbe performances, with the Intention of publishing them later, after ho bad retired from business. It would have been an edifying history, as T. jotted down everything, but it never went to press, having been purchased for 20,000f. by tbe Countess deB., that eccen tric beauty who made such a sensation ou the Champs Elysees one day, when she drove from tbe Obelisk to tbe Etoiie in a four-horsed landau, with a black bear on the front seat. It seems* that T, had re counted at length the adventure of the Countess at Lord N.’s fancy ball, where, toward the small hours ot the morning, she exchanged her costume of an Egyptian almee for that of Eve before her fall. T. was en thusiastic In praise of tbe lady, but, as sbe got into trouble with her husband, she thought ft dangerous to leave such evi dence iu the hands ol any one who might have sold it to the plaintiff in his suit for judicial separation. I believe tbat after this suit was decided Lord N. bought it from the Countess for double the original price, and certainly it is not the least ca rious volume in his erotic library. All the most brilliant stars ot Parisian gal lantry have ornamented the cab,not* of the Moulin Rouge, iu which not only the leaders of Parisian extravagances, but also kings aud princes from every part of Europe, have dined and supped iu joyous company. There it was that the Prince of Wales chose to go whenever he wanted to talk politics withM. Gambetta. All these festive souvenirs will disappear in a few days, and naught remain of this corner of “Boulevardlan Paris,” which, whatever moralists may say, will be re gretted by many high aud mighty person ages, whose voices have been heard chaut- ing there the “Evolie” of Offenbach’s “Orphee” by way of relaxation to cares of State and political anxieties. pounds.” These above mentioned were the lions of tbe hotel, but with th«m were at least thirty more extraordinary eras ures, of whom some could eat Are and others see into futurity or distribute shocks after tbe fashion of vol taic batteries. I noticed, however, that none of this category were treated with much consideration by the hostess, who, evidently was skeptical about the merits of all whose claims to distinction were based on psychological attributes only. Mute. Lsgnay had small faith in som nambulists, aud sneered at torpedoes, snceshehsl lou id out that one of the most successful of her electrical boarders carried a smalt battery m her back bair. There was no incident at table, save a little dispute about the Femme a Barbe, who was too exclusive In her notice of the living skeleton to please a Cal de Jatte but this was settled by the dramatic agent’s offer of a * tournee—a treat all round—and from tbat moment harmony was not disturbed, but, on tbe contrary, good burner reigned supreme' aod waa manifested, after coffee, by a lively ball to a piano accompaniment by a clown be longing to H. Corve’a circus, who con fided to me tbat be had “once moved in different society.” Wonderfully grotesque was that ball, one of those hideous, absurd dances mscabres such as the brain of Cal- iot alone could have conceived. AGRICULTURAL ATOMS. MOB ME EXES OV HONEST sons or TOIL. There is no analogy between tbe Red Windmill and She Grand Hotel Lognay, and yet, as this strange establishment was one of tbe most curious iu picturesque Paris, I may speak of it betore it has be come altogether a case offuiL The build ing itself was an ordiuary looking house, situated on tbe Route de la Revolte. All of its originality was in the character of its guests, whom the landlady, a stout, high-colored old person, who wore the. largest crinoline ever seen iu the Parisian suburbs and corkscrew ringlets, used to unite around her festive board, which was known as the Table d'Hoto des Moustres, and whither camo phenomena of every variety to eat their meats during the forensic season. I was there was once by a “dramatic agent”—so he styled himself ou his cards—iu search of a subject here with to replace a torpedo who had lately absconded from tbe SL Germain Fair in company with amagneUzer, a humble, yet highly esteemed precursor of tbe eminent Donato, and I must confess tbat J. did not regret my visit. i’he dining-room of tbe “Monsters’ Ordinary” was Hire the din ing-rooms of all third class provincial ho tels; a long, low-ceiiinged hall, with cheap colored lithographs on the white washed walls, and a table covered with a cloth of doubtful cleanliness, and an ar ray of coarse crockery, set off by a huge bunch of artificial roses in tbe center. But when tho bell rang and tbe banquet ers began to come in, I saw tbat the re semblance was only in tbe properties, as no provincial, nor yet city, hotel ever could have famished such a spectacle. The first to take her seat was the bearded woman, a tremendous creature, who flirt ed violently with the living skeleton, much to the disgust of a diminutive female dwarf, to whom vainly tried to whisper sweet nothings a great celebrity of the Foire de St. Cloud’ the much appreciated Ernest of Bordeaux, who without the slightest diffi cutty could twist his head arouud into the middle of his back, which, as my intro ducar assured me, was extremely conven ient when he wanted to call the waiter. Opposite was another illustration, Vllomme a la lrompe, whose nose could be wiggled about in any direction, accord ing to its owner’s will, and hkewise exe cuied popular airs. Aud with him were the dogman, a hairy individual whose fea tures and voice reminded you of a skye terrier, and the horned lady, aud the tat tooed one of Timbuctoo, and a youthful giantess, described on tbe bills of her bsoth as “ouly sixteen, yet weighing 400 ■esewed rna Out-of-Sbe-Way Issbs , la Oar Exehaavee, Draws Up mm*. FmwaM far IupwUm. There is considerable activity among the rice planters, and the probabilities are tbat there will be a large acreage planted in rice. Some cotton has been planted in Hous ton and much more seed will be put in tbe ground next week if the weathsr hi favorable. Not so much Western com has been used about Swalnsboro this year as was last. The farmer who makes plenty of corn and bacon is the independent man. That’s right. Live at home and board at the same place. A young correspondent at Temperance, Telfair county, writes that the farmers of that section are now plowing out their corn for the tint time, and some have planted cotton. Grain crops in Walton, and iudeed all along the line of tne Georgia railroad from Shcial Circle to Augusta, and from Union Point to Athens, are as fine as the land will produce. Old tanners say they hove never known them better. A Hawkinsvilie man remarked the other doy that the cotton seed oil mill would grove advantageous in more ways than one. Said he: “We can now sell onr cotton seed for cash and buy our i piano ou credit.” That fellow bas beeu tbe mill a time or two ft) bis jife- time. Mr. Wiley Fletcher, of Telfair, who is now in his seventieth year, says more rain and hail fell on his plantation on Monday last than he ever saw fall in the same length of time. Tbs rain fell about fifteen minutes, aud when it was over, tbe whole woods ioriced like a pond. ■ Some of the hailstones were las large as - hen egg. Acworth farmers ase availing them selves or the pretty weather. The hill tops are alive with plowmen. Go ou Beck, come round Jake, is heard in vari ous directions, and the ascending smoke cau be seen from tbe burning off of new grounds. Corn is being rapidly planted and lauds prepared for cotton. Wheat and oat crops are looking very fine. The fruit of that section is not generally killed. Cotton still continues to come iu. Five million and a half is the guess for ! ast year’s crop from Ackworth. The wheat anl rye crop in North Georgia are doing finely. A large acre age has been planted and with favorable seasons these crops will turn oat finely. The indications for a good crop of fruit at present are fine, although some peaches were killed by tbe ■ recent frosts. The farmera are now busily engaged in planting corn. It has been observed that a good many ] >«>ach trees that bore fruit last year and from all appearances were perfectly sound have failed to put out this spring. In one orchard near Lumpkin over half the trees are dead. It could not have been the se vere winter last year, or they would not have borne last summer, and this winter bas beeu too mikt to damage them. Some other cause must be assigned. Tbe Green Hill district is entitled to tbe blue ribbon for moostroetties this spring. A gentleman in that district had a sow to come up with a litter of pigs, two ot them net having any bind legs at all or any sigh of any. They managed to keep up with the gang, however, with two little stubs they used as fore legs. ADegrowomauiutbe tame district gave birth to au iufant on Saturday last tbat had a face very much like that of a wild qat. It waa spotted all over and had a tail four inches long. Had it lived it would have been one of tbe greatest cu riosities ever known. Wagons continue to come into town empty, aaci go out loaded with Western corn and meat. This is ominous. There is a way that seemeth good unto a man, but tbe way thereot is the way of death,” death to agricultural prosperity. This is au old song, but it is good one, so says the Ishmaelite. The banner mau of tbe banner county, Cobb, is still ahead. Mr. W. W. Jolly has lived in Cobb county thirty-four yean; bas b9en married four time, haa four sets of children, fifteen in all. There bas never been a family difficulty and a good share ot prosperity has been be stowed upon them. Mr. Jolly has not bought a pound of meat or s bushel of corn since the war; he bas a binary on the Chattanooga river^knd be has fish to eat whenever be wants them. He has never bad a law suit in bis life, and can get credit from any merchant in Marietta for all be wants. He is about sixty years old and is still bale and hearty. This is certainly a good record. On Saturday last Editor Glessuer was shown by Mr. Jep Wharton several stalks of wheat grown by Mr. Muse McGarrab, of Marion county. It measured four feet in length, unheeded, which Is the largest we have seen this season. It was pulled from a field os fifteen acres, and is an av erage sample of bis. It shows wbat can be done with the right kind of prepara tion. The wheat was sown on the mod ern plau of cultivation, having a deep wa ter furrow in each seciion of land. By the same gentleman he was hsnaed a rare specimen of corn. The general height of it in the field is twelve Inches. It was taken from a field of twenty acres grown and planted by Mr. W. I. Clem ents, of Marlon county. Will tbe Griffin Sews, be says, pleas* take notice how the “unsophisticated” farmers down here tell the difference be tween radish and wheat ? •iviwl.iirt ..vo-