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T. J, LUMPKIN, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME I. Poetical Selections, ONE IS UN J) A Y MORNING. BY HBEN B. BEDFORD. I never heard the robins Sing half so merrily As they were singing Sunday morn When .Robert stopped for me. And as we walked together Along the pleasant lane, We heard the quails all piping Their prophecies of rain. We stopped to ti lk about it, And wonder if they knew, And I think that we concluded The quail* were prophets true. Then I said we must not linger, For the moments would not wait, And of all things, I dreaded To be at church too late, Then we went down the hill-way And talked of that and this, And that audacious creature ! , Ho asked me for a kiss 1 I don’t know what X answered, I think ’twas no I said. Eat he didn’t take my meaning And took the kiss instead. Then we stopped to talk about it, Though to argue was in vain, For that wicked, laughing fellow Up and kissed my lips again. “On, lor shame!” I cried, indignant, But ne only laughed at this; “That should satisfy you, Mary, Haven’t I givou back the ki?s ?” And of course I couldn’t blamo him If he saw fit to restore Stolen property, and promice To rt peat the theft no more. ‘ I hero’s another way to settle If that doesn’t satMp,” Robert said, and all the robins Soared up, eirg-.ng, in the sky. And of course 1 had to listen To this little plaiKif his, Though it seemed a deal of trouble To be taking for a kiss. What the plan was I’ll not Tell you, You may it in the spring, But before we had it settled All the br 11s began to rii g ! Ah, wo lost full hall the sermon, But perhaps ’twas just as well, f or of what the preacher told u a , Not a sentence could I tell. I was thinking of the robins And the words that Robert said. Though 1 knew the choir was Binging, Robert’s voice I heard instead. And a happier, sweeter Sabbath Never come from God above, it was to us a seinna A*. IV.Q n It— Ta <!**.*. " stories and Sketches. about writing. r,AD FASHION AND TRICKS OF STYLE—RICHARD GRANT WHITE I ON AFFECTATION New York Times. There are fashions in writing, as there are in dre*s, and i" almost everything that pertains to the personality of men. And by f' jalon * do uot meail style, citherwhich distinguishes the indi. vif cal, or that which marks a period* me latter may be called a fashion more properly than the former. For example the old way of writing prose, cumbrous ongsome, and involved, which prevailed between the Elizabethan period aud the time oi Dryden—•who did more for En glish prose than he did for English poetry—was a fashion. Dryden, and af ter him Addison, killed it; and we may bo sure that it will never come to life again. But it was not a style ;itin no way expressel any mental peculiarity of the writer. He merely adopted it, just as he put on the hat and coat of the period. The change of fashion which gave us the modern, free and varied manner of prose writing was a very great change ; as great as that from velvet and lace ruflUs and big wigs in the dres3 of men to woolen stuffs and sober colors, natural hair and simplicity. Since then there have been some changes in literary fashion of minor importance. The great est of these was the introduction of the Johnsonian vocabulary and period. This fashion, happily, soon passed away. Hav ing in it a radical element of ab3urdity, when assumed by these whose thoughts needed strength rather than inflation or decoration, it became ridiculous. Then came the i'ashion of elegant language, and the sway of pedants and parsers. This was broken down chiefly bv the prose writing of alter £cott, aided largely by the '-iinburgh Iteyiew writers, and by ' v dson and others in Blackwood. Scott, the most vivid o! all narrative writers, the master story-teller of modern days, was an inexact writer; one who cared very dttle for rule of any kind in language, and who thought nothing about, the grammatical construction o hissentences, even if he knew anything upon the sub ject, which is more than doubtful. His influence, which was for freedom, entirely change 1 the fashion in narrative stvle; and it affected prose style in all other kinds of writing. Macaulay, the next succeeding great writer of English prose, although his stylo was peculiar and high ly characteristic, cannot be said to have It is not upon such changes as these that I propose to remark, but upon cer tain rather new-fangled forms of expres sion which seem to me affected and not felicitous. The first of these which I shall bring up is a change in the position of the verbs be, have, and do, in sen tences in which the latter clause makes a comparison with something set forth in the former. For example: “Lord George also was displease**— more thoroughly displeased than had been his wife.—Trollope—Popenjoy, chapter 4.” ‘Bankruptcy has tended, as might have been expected, to produce bankruptcy ; and for all purposes of panic as well as business, New York and London are as close as were London and Manchester a few years ago.—[Pali Mall Budget, June 8, 1878.” It is needless to give more instances ; the writing of th3 day is full of them, and Mr. Trollope, the chief, and one of the earliest, if not the earliest, of offend ers, is but the foremost man of a multi* tude. This placing of the verb directly after the conjunction or preposition is a new trick in style. It is sheer affect** tion, and, if I do not err, is quite uifP Euglish. In such sentences as those given above, the* simple English con struction is, “more thoroughly displeased as London f'f* had “ore o o years ago.” The placing of the subject of the verb after it, except by poetic license, or in very elevated prose (and even there with great discretion) is not English ; it is not clear ; it is not natu ral, No good style, even in the soberest conversation. If I remember rightly, Macaulay never uses this construction nor Cardinal Newman, a very correct writer, whose taste is unexceptionable. The fashion came in not long ago through the desire to avoid a verb of one syllable at the end of a sentence. For example : ‘‘Mary was not so beauti ful as her sister was.” To end the sentence with a dissyllable instead of a monosyllabic (a very weak affectation), the verb was transposed, and we had: “As was her sister.” Whoever wishes to w* ite clear, manly and simple English will avoid this foolish fashion, which, however, has become so prevalent that it appears with a most ridiculous incon gruity even in such writing as that of the following passage, from a report of a dramatic performance by “Count Joan nes• “In the audience last night were ma ny Yale students, who were, of course boisterous and jolly, and led the attacks’ but justice requires the remark that they did not say as many funny things as did two or three newsboys in the gal lery.” The following construction is the cons sequence of an affectation of elegance similar to that remarked upon : “Tao marriage is reported in Pike county, California, of Reuben C. Rog ers, a pensioner of 1812, who is 82 years old.” “The death is announced at Fort Mc- Henry, near Baltimore, of Brevet Major Genera' Barry, the commandant.” “The death is announced at Naples, on the 24tli inst., of Cardinal .” This overwhelming attempt at elegance has been made thus far chiefly in the personal columns of newspapers, and in telegraphic reports; but, like all affecta tions and tricks of fine writing, it is win ning admirers, and the fashion ha3 begun to spread and to rise. RISING FAWN. DADE COUNTY, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 25, 1879. set any fashion in writing. He presented the singular union of splendor with precision. His style cannot be callec chaste, and I venture to say that it can hardly be called a manly style, so dis turbed is it with consciousness; but yet amid all its striving—generally success ful striving—after striking effects anc imposing orms, it is exact, correct. Af ter all, its perfect clearness is its highest beauty, although perhaps not to every reader its chiefest charm. But the trick of Macaulay’s writing is hard to catch, and he has had no successful imi tators and has set no fashion. It were well if he had more followers in the per fectly clean and clear construction of his sentences; but even then, clearness is not a fashion. A simple, clear and truly E lglish con struction forbids the dismemberment of the subject of the assertion, which is, the marriage of Reuben C. Rogers or the death of Brevet General Barry. The severance of these into parts and the thrusting of a verb, a particle, a date and the name of a place between them, makes a monstrous sentence. We might as well speak or write our news para graphs in the style of the “Paradise Lost,” if we are to make a simple an nouncement of the fact in this style. Another prevailing fashion, still some- “ Faithful to the Right, Fearless Against the Wrong," what new, but which haa passed the stage of novelty, is the holding of one preposition in suspense for the introduc tion of another, so that t 3th may apply to one object. One example—the from the London Spectator—will be enough, for the construction is so com mon that it is not only found in al* most all writing, but has invaded every day speech: “He knows, further, that the keeper or the asylum has either been deceived by. or is an accomplice of, these doctors.” Now, the simple English construction m all such cases is, “Has either been de ceived by these doctors, or is an accom® plice of theirs.” The attempt at ele gance produces awkwardness. Th leav* ing of words like by, of, though, far, at. etc., which present no complete thought apart from an object, in the air like an unsupported wing of an army, is disas trous. But it has become the fashion and is thought fine. This construction has one consequence which has a very bad effect—so bad that on that account only it should be condemned and aban doned. It throws emphasis upon the least important words in a sentence. It is almost impossible to read or to speak a sentence like that cited above without emphasizing it thus: “He knows further that the keeper of the asylum has either 3een deceived by, or is an accomplice of these doctors,” is abominable and ridiculous. All such tricks are caught. In some cases they are consciously affected, but generally they get their hold by simple infection. No parent, no one who has observed the habits of children, needs to ue told that they catch bad tricks as fire is caught by tinder, while to impress the good upon them must be a work of un- tiring patience 1 . Of all bad tricks, those of speech are most easily caught, and ar e cast off with the most difficulty. In il lustration of this, I give the following letter, which I accidentally hit upon during the last week. It is from a very eminent man, not only as a philologist, but as a philosopher. The at the time, hardly became the disparity of our years and his literary eminence, questioned his use of reliable. Tnis was his answer : July 19, 18fi0.—Your query as to re liable was quite to the purpose, and I was glad to exchange it for a less objec tionable word. I never meant to use it; but the contagion of evil speaking is hard to resist; and I often find myselt employ ing words which I should hardly pardon in another. Professor Whitney, injured by follow o lowing a bad example, has a sneer at the order of mind which objects to reliable and prefers to be relied upon, or trust worthy. If he could have seen the sig nature to this letter, although he might not have changed his opinion as to the word, I am willing to believe that he would have done so as to the propriety of the sneer. Hop Sing’s Story. Virginia (Nev.) Enterprise. There being some talk in this city yes terday about the big meteor that passed over Salt Lake night before last, Hop Sing, head man in this city of the Chi* nese company of that name, became in terested in what was said. He began to tell something about a great meteor that fell in China ages ago, and finally said he had it all in a book at his place in China town, and would translate the account to the best of his ability if the reporter would accompany him to his house, an offer which was accepted. As Hop Sing can not speak English veiy fluently, even when discoursing on ordinary sub jects, it was hard for him to express him self when he tried to translate the ac* count of the strange occurrenco recorded by the Chinese scientist. What he was able to impart was briefly as follows: Ages and ages ago a great meteor fell in China, in the Province of Che-Keang, It came from the heavens in a slanting direction, and was apparently fifty feet in diameter. It lighted the country for a distance of 200 or 300 miles about. It did not explode, but passed into the ground entire. It buried itself in a spur of the Nair-ling mountains. On the slope of the mountains it entered was a large village. Thß meteor passed over this village half a mile, and so great was the £eat from it that all the buildings in the place burst into flames simultaneously. All the people in the town were roasted, and many in the country in the track of the meteor between the town and the face of the mountain. The aerolite made an immense hole in the side of the moun. twin, out oi which issued flames for eral days; then great volumes of steam poured fourth, and, finally, a large stream of water. The stream of water is still flowing at the present time, and forms one of the tributaries of a river that enters the sea near Ning-po. That, now, was a meteor worth talking about. Classically Drunk. Providence (B. 1.) Journal. xhe lights were out, the streets were sail, and all other presences were silent in the present iof the peaceful night. And at this time the soft but slightly unsteady tread of a man was heard ap ■'‘tching the station. He took a chair near the door, dangled his legs over the clair’s arm, hung his peackedhat on the of his boot, and in a low voit e ad dled the officer: “I was here a year ago and listened to the song of your cj.oket under the mat there, and I want to hear it again. That cricket come 8 isto my life exactly. He singe and all hi 5 green comrades sing of the dying summer. There are a million of these little mourners under the leaves to night, and they all have on© song of pen sive sadness. There is a cricket in my heart. There used to be summer there. I*m a sort of an old cricket myself. I crawl into the natural formed grape grottoes on the highway and sing my oxrn sad song there. Speaking of cool, wdd graperies reminds me that I am at.iirst. Say, Sergeant, can’t you send a sleuth messenger to tho Club of the Pcrplo Cluster and tell the vinous triumvirate that are crowning their chaste and marvelous brows with beautiful chaplets to send me, not an old Roman punch even, nor a Grecian amarantbe julep, but a tod, a mere modern tod. Tell them lam al ways with them, and I often commune, when on my promiscuous pilgrimage, with their disembottled—pardon me, I disembodied—spirits; I see their faces rapt and purpling with the blood of the broken-hearted crape of the Garter stream. But say, Sergeant, my blood is turning into the channels of melancholy. This must not be. Here are three coins. I put one into wine, and the world flushes up for me; a second com, and I own that block there, I am mayor of Pawtucket, “J walk on thrones;” a third, an- 1 I near raptuous music, I float on fa : rivers, my old coat becomes as the world, and I warm it with glow. The world is no lojr a marble tomb to me. It opens, and enchanting forms come forth and embra. 3 me and bid me go on. The gates of eternity open with af majestic wel< ome to the man who defies fortune aud dares to grandly live it “Bat those are not coins,” said the “they are but° tons.” “Well, butSs, so let them be — ah! that again, the song of the cricket. OfficV, let me sleep here under the magnetismlf the mighty midnight heavens, and let the lady crickets sere nade me.” THE LIGHTKEEP EH S DA UGHTER Never a fairer maiden lived Than bonny, blue-eyed Alice ; Her hair was like the daffodils, Her brow like lily’s chalice. Within the lighthouse, from a babe She and dwelt and known no sadnesr, But ev’ry night dreamed happy dreams, And woke each day to gladness. And closely crowding round her home The spirits of the water, With many ashtll and sea-plant rare And ocean-jewel Bought her ; For brighter far than buh or star They held the keeper’s daughter I But sailed a ship frm foreign lands, And a handsome lover brought her ; He came to see the lighthouse grim, And saw the keeper’s daughter 1 The eve the wedding-day was set Her father’s face was clouded, And e’en the light that burned on high Seemed half in darkness shrouded. And sad the wind moaned when the maid Of her old friends bethought her— And leaning upon the door, looked out Upon the moonlit water, Where whispers low went to and fro Anent the keeper’s daughter. “Farewell 1” sho cried; “ when night is gone I shall no longer tarry, But hie to town, at early morn, My own true love to marry;” And bending low, a kiss she threw— “ Good-by, my waves, forever,” But ah ! though passed the night away, Her wedding- day came never— For from the flashing, silvered foam White arms reached up and caught her, And drew her down to dwell among The spirits of the water, Thoy could not bear to part with her, The keeper’s blue-eyed daughter I— [Madge Elliott in Baldwin’s Monthly. Conversion of Food Into Stimu lants. There is hardly any article of food in general use which has not somewhere been converted into a stimulant by the process of fermentation. What else are whisky, rum, beer, etc., but fermented or distilled bread, the bread corn diverted from its legitimate use to produce an artificial stimulant? Potatoes, sugar, honey, as well as grapes, plums, apples, cherries, and innumerable other fruits, have thus been turned from a blessing iato a curse. The Moors of Barbary and Tripoli distill an ardent spirit from the iruit of the date palm, the Brazilians from the marrow of the sago tree and from pineapples, and even the poor ber ries that manage to ripen on the banks of the Yukon have to furnish a poison for the inhabitants of Alaska. Pulque, the national drink of Mexico, is derived from a large variety of the aloe plant, the sap of which is collected and ferment ed in buckskin and sloughs into a turbid yellowish liquor of most vicious taste. Cheese, in fact, is nothing but coagu lated milk in a more or less advanced state of decay. Sauerkraut is cabbage in the first stage of fermentation, which when completed yields quass, the above mentioned Russian tonic. Chica, a whitish liquid which in Peru is handed around like coffee after meals, is prepared from maize or Indian corn, moistened and fermented by mastication. Fall Millinery. Nvr York Herald, It is only by special favor that the ar biters of fashion will give any clew to the styles they contemplate introducing in the autumn, but a private letter from Paris gives information that Virot has exhibited to a favored few a pretty caprice in dressy bonnets, to be worn with visiting costumes in early fall. This style is in capote shape, with brim of Leghorn and stiff crown of dark blue or wine-colored satin, put on plain, fol lowing accurately the shape of the frame. Another style has more of the coaLscuttle shat 3 than the “poke” worn through the summer. This is of fine Tuscan, with the large brim lined with dark red velvet, shirred. *Upcsi the out side are three oft ostrich tips, same shade a3 the straw, with wide satin rib bons of the same colour, and a cluster of large red asters. The favorite Carmen bonnet is shown with greater breadth in the*tsck. The rolled brim (English turban) proflnises to remain iu favor, and pretty round hats, The jaunty 'Darby hats are precisMy like those worn by gentlemen. Many quaint shap3s are represented in the softest silk plush in fur beavers, with pile an inch long, and in smooth French felt. A novelty is feather felt, with loose shreds of feathers forming the pile of fine felt, and these in white or pale giay make [dressy bonnets. The poke, Carmen, and Directoire shapes are shown in these fabrics. The all red bonnets are not visible. Satin and velvet have taken the place of plush, and rich, dark shades the place of “combinations” to a considerable extent. A striking feature is the quantity of lace upon satin and velvet, and the pro fusion of elegant feathera and feather trimmings, including crowns made en tirely of feathers. Tiger velvet is a novelty used tor trimming bonnets. It has a satin ground with irregularly shaped spots, in long raised velvet pile. Anew crackle velvet shows the pile flattened in streaks as ir regular and without design as the crackle lines in old \ rrcelain. A richly repped uncut velvet, called royal velvet, is a gla.e 01 shot shade for the ground, giving a changeable ef* feet through the reps that are of another color. This is very handsome in the new peony red and mahogany shades, which vary from light to dark reddish brown. Feather ornaments ombine many rich colors mounted in flat pieces that con form to the shape of the bonnet. Some times a whole bird is placed in a natural poise on the front or side of the hat, or one bird is made to do service for two hats by being split in halves from bill to tail, with a little top-knot added. The beautiful Brazilian humming birds are made into hat ornaments. Solitary birds are mounted to show their feet, and at times the feet are stuck in pons or in a flat ornament. An Alsa cian bow is formed by birds’ wings. Bits of tinsel, of jet and many jet beads are added, to make feather ornaments. Long, natural, gray ostrich plumes are imported, and all the new shades are combined in the tips. Mercutio plumes are tipped with jet or curled like willow plumes. . .“When a young man has learned to wait,” says a wiiter in the Boston Journal, mastered the hardest lesson.” Indeed he has, and this truth is particularly applicable when the young man has called to take his girl riding, and she keeps him waiting two solid hours while she “fixes up.” Keeps him waiting in the stable with a team which osts him a dollar, c TERMS : SI.OO per Annum. In Advance. NUMBER 47. LOVE 3IE, LOVE. JOAQUIN MILLER, Love me, love, but breathe it low, Soft as summer weather; If you love me, te’l me so, As we sit together, Sweet and still as roses blow; Love me, love, but breathe it low 1 Tell me only with your eyes; Words are cheap as water; Jf you love, looks and sinhs Tell my mother's daughter More than e’i the world may know Love me, love, but breathe it low! Words for others, storm and snow, Wind and changeful weather, Lst the shallow waters flow, Foaming on together; But love is still, and deep, and oh! Love me, love, but breathe it low! Clipped Paragraphs. ..Rural etiquette: Guest—‘‘Don’t you know any better than to walk into my room without rapping? you see I am undressed!” Servant —“Oh! you needn’t excuse yourself, mum; I don’t mind.” .. An honest Hibernian, while going along the road, was thus addressed by a friend: “Hello, Pat, you’ve got on the wrong side of your stocking.” “I know that,” says Pat; “there’s a hole on the other side.” .. And now the returned city people write to their country cousins, with whom they have been staying, that they arrived safely, but found the city infect ed with small-pox, which is jikely to last all winter. .. A woman may wear her hat knock ed into any conceivable shape, and both herself and the hat are pronounced per fectly lovely; but just let a man jam in one side of the hat he wears, and he is at once proclamed a first-clas3 rowdy. .. A teacher defined conscience “as something within you that tells you when you do wrong.” “I had it cnce,” spoke up a young tow-head of six sum mers, “but they had to send for the doc* tor.” • / . . .It was in Bolton, Bell county, lexas. Texas lieutenant. It was all in vain. Every man present ranked as Major, Colonel, or General, except the Judges. . .The bell-punch is generally supposed to 13 a modern invention, but it was evidently in use in Macbith’s time, from the fact that he says: “Go bid thy mis tress, when my drink is ready, she strike upon the bell.”—[Boston Commercial Bulletin. .. The relationship of a man and woman in rainy weather, according to the Albany Journal, is easily discovered. If they are lovers, the woman will have a 1 ! the umbrella, and the man won’t care a fig how wet he gets. But if they are married, it is just the opposite. ..“In the fourth place,” said the preacher to his drowsy audience, “those of you who are awake will notice” —etc. There was a pause, a sudden straighten ing up of almost everybody in the con gregation, and a general appearance on nearly every face, as if to say, “why don’t you fellows keep awake bettor?” ..1 am past 60 years old, and every now and then I meet a relick who knu me 45 years ago, and remembers some deviltry I was guilty of then. Ain’t it strange how tenacious the memory is of those things, and how weak it is ov ennything good a feller may have acci dently done?”—[Josh Billings. HAIR-ROWING REMARKS He timidly caressed his chin And asked his sister Grace, “I say, does my mustache begin To dignify my face ?” Said she, “Your beard while whistling, boy, Is bunched so that it shows, But when you quit the hairs deploy Like soldiers ’neath your nose,” —Detroit Free Press. . .. A seasoned vessel. The ’Squire (en gaging net? butler)—“Well, J dare say you’ll do; but look here, Richards, I may as well warn you that I often get out of temper with my servants, and when I do, I let ’em have it hot—make use of devilish strong language, you know.” New butler (with quiet digni ty)—“l have been accustomed to that sir, from my Lord the B’shop!”—[Lon don Punch. .. There is some humor in Texas. The other day a man brought out a forlorn, spavined'looking steed, and addressed the spectators thus: “Fellow citizsns, this is the famous horse Dandy Jack. Look at him. He’s perfect. If he were sent to the horsemaker nothing could be done for him. “What shall I have bid for the matchless steed?’* What will you take for him?” yelled the crowd. “Two hundred dollars.” “Give you $5.” “Take him. I never let $195 stand between me and no horse trade. That’s business.”