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J3Y RICE & FREEMAN.
Ilic fimes.i
The Blossoms of Life*
Life ,'s like a sweeping river.
Ceaseless in its seaward flow—
q„ w hose waves quick sunbeams quiver,
On whose banks sweet blossoms grow—
Blossoms quick to grow and perish,
Swift to bloom and swift to fall ;
Those we earliest learn to cherish
Soonest pass beyond recall.
Shall we lose them all forever?
Leave them on this earthly strand ?
Shall their joyous radiance never
Reach us in the spirit land ?
fcoon the tide of life up flowing
Buoyantly fn,m time’s dim shore,
Whcrehmoernal flowers are growing,
Shall meander evermore.
There the hopes that long have told us
Os the climes beyond the tomb,
While Bupcrber skies unfold us,
Shall renew their starry bloom.
And the bloom which hath in sadness
Faded from the flowers of love,
Shall with its immsrtal gladness
Crown bs in the world above.
PROVING HER FRIENDS.
“ Who is that girl who has just pass
ed. Millie? Iler facets very familiar.
And I really believe she knew either
you or me; for, although she did not
look toward us, I noticed the color deep
en in her face, which is very eweet and
pretty. Where have I seen her ?”
“Come on, Annie. I declare you are
forever publishing the fact of your be
ing in the country. It’s dreadful rude
and vulgar to run around staring after
nny one. Do come ! There is Mrs.
St. John. I would not have her see
you acting so in the street for any*
thing,” answered Millie, walking on and
leaving her still standing gazing after
the retreating form which had* puzzled
her. Another call from Millie brought
her along.
“Who is Mrs. St. John ? I’m sure I
don’t care a snap for her. But I do
want to remember where I have seen
that young girl. I’ve a mind now to
take after her and find out ”
“You must not. I would not have
Mrs. St. John —” began Millie
“Oh, pshaw ! Mrs. Fiddlestick 1 What
do I care for her ? I don’t know her,
and don’t want to. Dear uic, how that
girl's face bothers me ! Don’t you know
anything about her, Millie?”
“Yes ; ar.d.lo stop you before Mrs.
St. John comes up to speak to us, I will
tell you. Don’t you remember, (wo
years ago, when you spent the Christmas
vacation with me, the little blonde that
lived next door, and used to be quite
fond of?”
“What! Flora Courtlaud ? You can
not mean her 1”
“ Yes, that w as Florence Courtlaud.”
“Then why did you not speak to her?”
A.nnie asked with great surprise mani
fested in her look and tone.
“Oh—why—well, you know all my
friends are very aristocratic, and if any
one of them should see me speaking to
Florence they would wonder so at it.—
And of course I could not very well
enter into an explanation of what her
family used to be ; so I thought it bet- ,
ter not to recognize her. And—”
“What is the matter with her ? What
has she done ?” Annie asked.
“ Oh, she has done nothing wrong.—
Os course not. I thought you knew
how very much they were reduced.—
At the time vou met her, rumor said
her father had lost nearly everything.
But he managed to keep up a pretty
good appearance until he died, about
four years ago. Then everything was
seized by creditors Flory had to leave
school and go to work to help support
the family. She has a brother two
years older; they are both in Black’s.
I used to deal there; but after Florence
was employed by them I ceased going.
It was so embarrassing; we were so
very intimate at one time. But of
course one has to drop acquaintances
sometimes. What are yon staring at
at me for ? I’m sure it does not improve
your appearance to open your eyes so
wide.”
“Millie Morton, I did not think you
so heartless. I wish I had known that
was Florence Courtland. Dear girl ! I
shall certainly go to Black’s to see her
before I leave town.”
“Indeed, I hope you will not, Annie.
In fact, I must insist that while you are
my guest you will not attempt —”
“Do stop this nonsense, Millie. 1
knew what you were going to say, sr.d
I don’t care a straw for your aristocratic
friends. Perhaps the time may come
when you will deem it advisable to drop
n;a. Five years ago I should h ave
thought it just as probable, as your ev
er ceasing to visit and be friendly with
Flory Courtland. Now you may like it
or not. biit this very afternoon I am
going to call on her; though I cannot
invite her to visit me while in town,
perhaps I can iuduceher to come to me
next summer.”
“Annie ’. Annie I you surely are not
in earnest ?” exclaimed Millie
Indeed I am. I shall try and make
some amends for the cruelty of her
former friends,” returned Annie.
Before Millie could enter another
protest, her friend Mrs. St. John came
up, much to Millie’s annoyance.
Annie, after being presented to that
lady, begged to be excused, and left
them.
Where she went, Millie knew 7 that
evening,when in the midst of a half do*en
of her aristocratic friends, Annie asked
of a gentleman near :
“ Do you remember that lovely little
blonde. Flory Courtland ? She was in
a tableau with vou and me five years
ago.”
“ Indeed I do,” he answered, adding,
“and have often wondered what has be
come of her. Howard Do Yere in
quires concerning her every time we
meet —which fts net often, however.—
You know he has just returned from
India. We thought sometimes he was
very deeply interested in Flory—Miss
Courtland, I suppose I must say. She
must be quite a young lady now.”
“ Oh, yes, and a very lovely one.—
But she is not as beautiful as I thought
she would be. She is pale and looks
sad ; but I hope we shall be able to win
che roses back to her cheeks. She has
promised to visit me the coming
summer,” answered Annie, glancing
across to where Millie sat, trying to di
vert her friend’s attention from the un
welcome conversation.
“Will you give me Miss Courtland’s
address?” asked the young gentleman.
“ I really forgot to get it myself,” an
swered Annie, continuing. “I found
her in Black’s this afternoon. But I
shall call again before I leave town and
get it. You know,” she hesitated an
instant, “her circumstances have chang
ed very sadly since you knew her. She
is poor now. with few friends of course.”
This was said with a little bitterness in
the tone, glancing again at Millie.
“If you remember, De Vere was the
Falconer and Flory his bride, the very
last time I saw h ir,” said the gentle
man, who, much to Millie’s annoyance,
determined to keep up the unpleasant
theme.
‘.And how beautiful she looked then !
I did not. wonder that he should remem
ber and inquire often ol her. I de
clare, they made an admirable couple
that night; he so dark and noble look
ing, and she such a fair, tiny, gentle
darling.”
Annie was interrupted by the servant
announcing “ Mr. De Vere.”
Howard De Vere was, in olden times,
a great favorite with the girls; and
none the less popular when, after an
absence of five years, he returned from
abroad. Millie did her best to keep
him as much as possible from a fete a
Me with Annie,otuowing she would re
vive all the iuteiest he had ever felt for
Flory Courtland, But her efforts were
unavailing. The interrupted conversa
tion was renewed and joined by How-*
ard De Vere. Yv’hen he was making
his adieus in the evening, Millie heard
him saving to Aunie:
“ To-morrow evening. Thank you.”
“Where are you going, Annie ?” Mil
lie asked, when the door closed ou his
retreating steps.
“ To call on Flory Courtland,” An
nie answered.
Annie’s reply put flight to all Millie’s
hopes with regard to Howard De Vere.
“ Annie Eiwood,” she cried, “ what
are you doing this for ?”
“ Millie, not to worry you, believe
me ; only to comfort one so saddened
and wounded by the heartlessuess and
cruelty of former friends. Poor Flory 1
I think, Millie, if you could have seen
her when sue spoke of meeting us to
day you would have regretted your
course. I truly believe she really loved
}cu. And you have wounded her so
cruelly—just because she is poor !”
“No, no—not that; only—”
“Well, only because you had not the
moral courage to put your arm around
this poor, gentle girl, and say to your
aristocratic acquaintances, ‘ This is my
friend.’ You know her origin is as good
as any of theirs—better than mauy. —
But she is poor, and has to work for
her daily bread. This is her crime.—
For this you condemn and desert her,”
Annie said, her flushed face telling how
warmly she sympathized with the poor
gill whose cause she espoused so ear
nestly.
The entrance of Millie’s parents end
ed the conversation that evening, and it
never was resumed during the few days
more of Annie’s visit.
Flory Courtland flitted about her lit
tle parlor, arranging the few articles of
furniture, to make the room look as co
zily as possible. Remnants of happier
days were brought forth—statuettes and
prized books —and then she sat down to
vrait for her visitors. The usually pale
face was flushed with a beautiful bloom
—the bright light, of hope beamed forth
as she murmured:
“ lie has not forgotten me.”
That day, good little Annie Ellwood
had called on Flory again, and after
having secured her address, whispered :
“Look your best to-night, Flory. I
am to bring your TTuant Falcouer. But
his absence has not been his fault. He
has vainly tried to find his bride many
times. I met him last night, and prom
ised to bring him to you.”
Flory‘s face crimsoned. She urged
in a low voice, her changed position.her
humble home, and ended by saying :
“ Thank yen, dear Annie; but I
think it. will be best wa should not
meet ”
“No, indeed! lie shall come with
me. And do all you can you shall not
escape us. If you go out, we will wait
until you return,” Annie answered
And Flory, seeing how determined
she was. yielded to her friends’s desire,
her own heart pleading its cause all the
tine.
With Howard De Yere was connect
ed the only romance of Flory’s life.—
When a little maiden of fourteen he
had been her beau ideal of everything
manly and noble. No one had ever
usurped his place iu her heart since.—
Yet, she never expected he would be
any more to her than a memory of the
past.
Howard De Yere was a whole-souled,
noble hearted fellow. With his easy,
cordial greeting, lie relieved the em
barrassment of their meeting. In hull
an hour after he had entered her home,
Flory was chatting away, flu-getting all
the sorrows and changes of years, and
thinking only of the p: sent, so happy
and fuU of hope. Yes, he had remem
bered her, and fondly, too, her heart
whispered, after the departure of her
CALHOUN, GA„ WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 17,1873.
guests, when she sat recalling Howard’s
every look and word.
>Y hen Aunie Ellwood had welcomed
Flory, the next summer, to bar beauti
ful country home, she drew the happy
girl close to her, an I looking into the
eyes so full of love and peace, said :
“What tell-tale eyc3 you have, Flor
ence ”
The bright flush deepened on the
sweet girl s face as she asked, in whis
pers low:
“What have they told you ?”
“That Howard Do Yere has won his
lady love.”
Ten years and more had passed.
Florence De Vere, after a long absence
in Europe, had returned to W —. An
nie Ellwood, long since married was
visiting her.
Howard declared he had not found a
chance, in six days, to get a word in
edgewise, they had so much to tell each
other; news from home, and news from
across the sea.
“ Now, I think you must be pretty
nearly doue,” said Howard. “ You
have heard something about every
friend and acquaintance you ever had,
I believe. No,” be added, “ I met one
to-day, that you have not spoken of, and
was surprised to notice she avoided
speaking to me. Millie Norton it
was.”
“Miftie Andrews,” Annie said.—
“ Yes, we had quite forgotten her.—
Poor girl! Well, I was giving Flory
all the good news I conld, not the
sad.”
“ Tell me of her!*’ said Flory. “Has
she had trouble ? I’ve heard nothing
since her marriage. You know rumor
declaaeu she hud made a brilliant
match'.”
“ Yes, true, George Andrews was
very wealthy. They lived in a style of
unsurpassed magnificence here, but for
a short time only. She is now a widow
and dependent on her own exertions
for support. She has one child only.
George drank himself to death-’’
“But Millie’s parents —they surely
could help her.”
“ No, Flory, Mr. Morton lived up to
every cent of his income, nay more,
went Mr.to debt to kcepj up .such a
style as Millie wanted, to entertain
and retain her aristocratic friends. Mr.
Morton is dead, and Mrs. Morton is with
her sou, who is not able to helj> Millie
at all. I have been to see her several
times and urged her visiting me last
ummer. She declined, and seemed to
shrink froai her former friends.”
“ Because .hey do not approach her
rightly. Ido not mean you. Annie,
dear. I will find her. Dear Millie !
How she used to love me when we were
little girls,” Flory said remembering
only Millie’s sorrow, and Millie’s love
in childhood days.
The next afternoon, as tired, weary
Millie stepped forth from the place of
her da”y labor, an elegant private car
riage drew up The driver hastened to
open the door. A luuy sprang out and
with outstretched hand approached her.
As if the wheels of time hid turned
backward in their course, Flory came to
her just as in her childhood.
Such a warm, loving greeting Millie
could not resist. With eyes filled with
tears, she asked :
“ Can you forgive me ?”
“Never, if you p' Vin wearing out
your strength in this warm, dusty city
—never if you refuse to grant my peti
tion.” answered Flory, again clasping
ard retaining Millio’s^hand.
“ What do you mean, Mrs—” she
hesitated— “ Flory ?” she said, as
Flory looked reproachfully, saying gen
t]y: .
“ Don’t speak to me, Millie uear.—
There is a place in my heart and home
waiting for you to fiii, Millie. We-want
you to come with your 11 ftie one, to us.
Come help me to take core of my chil
dren. Be my sister and their teacher.
Do, Millie.”
Flory would listen to no denial. She
drew Millie with her into her carriage,
and insisted on calling for her little girl,
to go out with them to the beautiful
home, a few miles out of town, which
Howard had just purchased.
Howard De Vero’s greeting was as
cordial as his wife’s. The children,
with their mother’s loving nature, gath
ered around the little stranger, and
made her so happy, that when Millie
returned next morning to town, she was
forced to yield to the pleadings of all,
and leave her child with Flory.
Millie's next visit was prolonged from
time to time, until at length she grew to
cal! Flory’s home hers. Truly she had
proved the difference between ber for
mer friends, and the nobie woman whose
aristocracy was of the highest and truest
foundation, coming direct from her
Maker—a pure, loving and forgiving
heart.
—
Anecdote of Abraham Lincoln.
—When the late President Lincoln was
practicing law at Springfield, 111., he
and the judge once got to bantering one
another about trading horses, and it
was agreed that the next morning at
9 o’cluek they should make a trade, the
horses to he unseen up to that hour,and
no backing out under a forfeiture of
twenty five dollars. At tfie hour ap
pointed, the judge came up, leading the
sorriest-lookiag specimen of a horse ev
er seen in those parts. In a few min
utes Mr. Lincoln was seen approaching
with a wooden saw-h ose on his shoul
der. Great were toe shouts and the
laughter of the crowd, and both were
greatly increased when Mr. Lincoln on
surveying the Judge’s animal, set down
his saw-horse aud exclaimed: “ Well,
Judge, this is the first time I ever got
the worst of it in a horse trade.”
Mere vulgar wealth, without liberali
ty aud public spirit, is the bane of auy
ve and progressive community.
Paid. Fry’s Last Letter to Ids Wife.
The following is thejetter written by
Capt. Fry of tbc,Virg nius to his wife a
few hours before he was shot. The al
lusion to family affairs are, of
not reproduced :
Ox Board the Spanish Max-of-War o
La Tornado, St. Jaqo dk Cuba.
November 0, 1573. J
Dear, Dear Djta : When I left
you I had no idea that we would never
meet again in this world, but it seems
stranger to me that I should to-night,
and on Annie’s birthday, be calmly seat
ed, on a beautiful moonlight night iu a
most beautiful bay in Cuba, to take my
last leave of you, my own dear, wife,
and with the thought of your bitter an
guish my only regret at leaving.
I have been tried to-day. and the
Presideut of the court martial asked the
favor of embracing me at parting, and
clasped me to his heart. I have shaken
hands with each of my Judges, and
the Secretary of the court and inter*
preter have promised me as a special fa
vor to attend my execution, which will,
I am told, be iu a very few hours after
my seuteuce is pronounced. lam told
my death will be painless; in short, I
havehadavory cheerful and pleasant
chat about my funeral, to which I shall
go in a few hours from now. How
soon I cannot yet say. It is curious to
see how I make friends. Poor Bara
betta pronounced me a gentleman, and
he was tbe brighest and bravest crea
ture I ever saw.
The priest who gave me communion
ou board this morning put a double
scapular, about my neck and a medal
which he intends to wear himself. A
young Spanish officer brought me a
bright new silk badge with the Blessed
Virgin stamped upon it to wear to my
execution for him, and a handsome cross
in some fair lady’s handwork. Theso
are to be kept relics of me. lie em
braced me affectionately in my room
with tears in his eyes.
Dear sweetheart, you will be able to
bear it for my sake,for I will bo with you
if God permits it. Although I know
my hours are short and few, I am not
sad. I feel I shall always be with you
right soon, dear Dita, and yoa will not
be afraid of me. Pray for me and I
will pray with you.
There is to be a fearful sacrifice of
life from the Virginius, and, as I think,
a needless one, as the poor people are
unconscious of crime, and even of their
fate up to now. I hope God will for
give if I am to blame for It.
If you write to President Grant he
will probably order my pay due when I
resigned paid to you after my death.—
People will be kinder to you now, dear
Dita—at least 1 hope so. Do not dread
death when it comes to you ; it will be
as God’s angel of rest. Remember
this.
I hope ir,y children will forget their ;
father’s harshness and remember his
love and anxiety for them. May they
practice regularly their religion, and
pray for him always. Tell that the
last act of my life will be a public pro
fession of my faith and hope in Him of 1
when we need not be ashamed, and it is
not honest to withhold that public ac
knowledgement from ary false modesty
or timidity. May God bless and save
us all.
Sweet, dear, dear Dita, we will soon
meet again. Till then, adieu, for the
last time.
Your dovoted husband,
Joseph Fpy.
It may be well to state that the letter
necessarily omits all reflections on the
Spanish Government, but before his
death Fry gave utterance very forcibly
to his opinions on that subject, his si
lence only coming with his death.—
New Orleans Times.
■"«— ~
Now that tbe flies have been thin
ned off bj the return of cold weather,
the tidy housewife rolls up her sleeves
and wash-rag in hand joyfully cleanses
the paint of her dwelling from the fil
thy srecks that have haunted her all
summer long. And this is the way au
unexceptional housekeeper does it: I
wet the door or windowMVame all over
with a cloth that will not drip. Then I
go back to the place where I began and
wash the whole over very quickly and
easily, then use a clean dry cloth. I
should not think of mentioning this,
but the other day I saw a hired girl of
considerable experience rubbintr hard
aud long upon a door, and sighing be
cause fly-specks were so hard to wash
off—simply because sjie did not think
to work “ a-soak.” Not long before I
saw a man undertake to clean, and great
ly injure, a painted piece of furniture
covered with the marks of last year’s
fiy-tiuie, by rubbing a coat of
all over it, and then washing off soap
and paint and dirt together. Cold wa
ter alone would have cleaned it better.
Soap always injures paint more or
less.
Embalming and petrifying dead
bodies is carried to a nicety in Europe
At the Vienna Exposition a large round
table was shown, made cf muscles, gin
ews, &c , with a handsome polish. The
process was invented by Dr. Marini of
Naples. Among his other exploits he
petrified the body of Thai berg, the pi
anist,and tbe widow is said to keep the
corpse in her drawing-room. He also
embalmed Mazzini, arid so well that
some of the economical admirers of the
statesman urged that the body should
be set up in Home as a statue.
If you wish to enj >y life, avoid un
punctual persons. They impede busi
ness and poison pleasure. Make it your
own rule not only to be punctual, but a
little beforehand. Such a habit secures
a composure which is essential to hap
piness. For want of it many persons
live iu a constant fever, ami jnit all
about them iu a fever too.
The Midnight Cat.
Yes, sir, I know lots of men who will
start up in bed and shiver and shake,
and cuise and swear if a tom cat, prowl
ing aiong the garden fence, but opens
his jaws aud utters one single yell.—
On the contrary, the midnight cat nev
er disturbs me. In fact, I like to lay
and listen to the music of a dozen cats
holding H ass convention on the garden
fence.
As the first oat breaks out I heave a
sigh and wonder if the world wouldn’t
be as well oft’ without cats, but I dou’t
get mad. Some men tear around and
declare that they'll never sleep again
until they kill every cat within a circle
of four hundred aud fifty milesj; aud
nothing will soothe them.
After the third yell I wonder if it
wouldn’t be just as well if some bad
bay . 4 should buy an ounce of arsenic, a
pound of meat, and distribute the two
around in back vards, but I don’t go
further. Some men jump out of bed
aud yell: “ Where in thunder is that
001-jack—where’s a club ?” Aud they
rush to the door and sling clubs and
yell “ scat !” aud wake every body ou
the block.
After the fifth yell, I wonder if I
hadu’t better raise tbe window aud ask
the cats to adjourn around the block,
on account of my wife’s nervousness, but
I don’t get mad. Some men allow their
hair to come right up, fall over chairs,
st ub their toes against the stove ami ex
claim : “ Helen Blazes, but t em’t I
sicken those felines!”
By and by the cats cease howling,
and my eye-lids begin to ache. I am
rapidly losing consciousness when the
old Maltese rises to a question of order,
and the opposition commences yelling
him down. He yells back, and I get up
to see what time it is, and then wonder
if it wouldn’t be as well for me to go
out there and explain matters, and en
treat the convention to go down the
fence to the grape arbor. Miud I
don’t run around after the shot gun,
and wake up my wife and ask her for
powder and old nails and broken glass,
and bark my shin on the stove hearth
and call out : “I’ll kill a million cats to
pay for this !”
Maltese yields the floor, and the con
vention goes ahead in an orderly man
ner. I imagine that the business which
called the crowd together has been dis
posed of, aud creep back to bed. My
wife wakes up and wants to know what
I got up for, and I tell her that I was
after the peppermint for my neuralgia.
Some men would lay aud jaw and fume
for an hour, and finally get up a fight
with their loving paitaer.
I just close my eyes to sleep when
old Maltese offers an amendment to some
motion, and the opposition go for him
again. He yelk back, spits at them iu
scorn, and they fall upon him. He
backs under my window and stands at
, bay. I creep out of bed and seize a
club, but drop it again as I remember
that lam not mad. It would, perhaps,
be well to step to the door, a;id throw
the boiler, and tlio woodbox, and the
cupboard, arid the ax, and the woodpile,
and the whole summer kitchen, at the
cats, but 1 refrain, and merely tap on
the window, and urge old Maltese to
cover himself with glory. Some men
would grab up the table or sola, or the
first thing handy and ejaculate: “ I’m
& singer if I didn’t murd r somebody
or something I”
Years of observation hare convinced
me that the general antipathy to cats is
entirely unfounded. —M Quad .
—-■»-» t*—
The First Element of a Home.
I never saw a garment too fine for
man or maid ; there was never a chair
too good for a cobbler or a cooper to sit
in ; never a house too fine to shelter
the human bead. These elements about
us, the gorgeous sky, the imperial sun.
are not tou good for the human race.—
Elegance fits man. But do we not val
ue these tools of housekeeping r little
more than they are worth, and some
times mortgage home for the mahogany
we would bring into it ?. I had rather
eat my dinner off tho head of a barrel,
or dress after the fashion of John the
Baptist ia the wilderness, or sit ou a
block all my life, than consume all my
self before I ga(t a home, and take eo
much pains with the outside that tbe
inside was as hollow as an empty nut
Beauty is a great thing, but beauty of
garments, house and furniture is & very
tawdry ornament compared with domes
tic love. All the elegance iu the world
will not make a home, and I would give
more for a spoonful of hearty love than
for whole ship loads of furniture, and
all the upholsterers of tho world could
gather together.
The heart hath hunger as the body
hath. Where one person dies of phys
ical want, a dozen perish from starvation
of the affections. Men cannot live by
bread alone, but the soul must iikewise
be fed. A pig can subsist on corn, and
a horse on hay and oats; but men and
women have spiritual natures that re
quire spiritual food. He who attempts
to live without sympathy makes a beast
of hicuself.
If many professing christains should
speak out the things they really feel,
instead of the smooth prayers which
they do pray, they would “ay when
they go home at night, “ O Lord, I
met a poor wretch of yours to day —a
miserable, unwashed brat —and I gave
him sixpence, and I have been sorry for
it ever since.”
We have heard many women com
plain of their husband’s neglect of home.
A spoonful of honey will keep mure bees
in the hive than will ton of vinegar.
Save your suds for the garden and
plants, or to garden yard.- w!u n san
dy
Failing on a Shirt.
1 There are things which a man can do
with some show of dignity and even el*
; egance, but the putting on of a clean
| shirt is not one of them. Fiven
those fastidious chaps who put one on
every weok nev r er become so expert and
familiar with the process that they can
;go through with it with any degree of
| comfort or dexterity, and the less ex
travagant individuals who change only
once a month, are really to be envied.
The feat is accomplished in this way :
You lay the garment down on the bed,
or across a table or washstand, bosom
downwards, each rustle of the stiffly
starched garment striking terror to your
soul. Pulling it open, you make a
strange draft on your courage nnd reso
lution, aud plunge into it, thrusting
your anus here and there in a frantic
and desperate search far the sleeves,
finding which you struggle manfully in
an endeavor to draw the garment down
so that you can catch a glimpse of the
outer world once more. By the exer*
cise of a proper amount of judgment
you are finally successful in this, and you
find yourself gazing out upon surround
ing objects, encircled by stiff, rustling
linen, which props your chin up in the
air and gives rise to a feeling as though
you were braced arouud about by crow
bars, with no prospect of ever being
able to sit down again. Putting on a
collar aud a tie, you and m your outer gar
ments and sally forth, feeling as uncom
fortable and uneasy as though you bad
just sat down on a coat-tail pocket full
of eggs.
Tea.
A Chinese tea-plantation is a very
pretty sight; when seen at a distance it
looks like a shrubbery of evergre- ns.
the leaves of the plant being of a rich
dark-green. Green tea is multiplied by
seeds which are ripe in October; w'hon
gathered, they are put into a basket am.
mixed with sand and earth in a damp
state, and kept in this condition till
spring. In March the seeds are taken
from the basket and placed in tbe ground.
They are sown thickly in row's in some
spare corner of the tea-farm. After
picking, green leaves are spread out
thickly on flat bamboo twigs to get rid
of their moisture ; they are then placed
in roasting-pans, and rapidly moved
about and shaken up with both hands.
When effected by the beat and flaccid
they are placed ou a rolling table. Sov
eral men then roll the balls to get rid
of the moisture and twist the leaves.—
They are then shaken out on flat-trays,
after which they are taken to the roust -
ing-pan and thrown in again. The sec
ond part of the process consists in win
nowing the tea through sieves in order
to get rid of dust, and to divide the tea
into gunp wdir, hyson, twankny, etc. —
The process of curing black >ea is
about the s; me, nly the leaves are per*
milted to lie longer after picking, and
are tossed in the air and beaten by the
hands. The Chinese never color t« as
for themselves. It is entirely done for
the foreign market.
— ■
One was Enough.
An incident of crossing the plains is
told by acL ver lady : A Dutchman
and his wife had traveled West aud ar
rived at Salt Lake, whore they had
halted fir a few weeks. The Mormons
got around the old Dutchman and coax
ed him to join their ranks. After re
tiring one night in thier canvas covered
wagon bed, the Dutchman broke the
matter to bis better-half, hinting to her
that the Mormons told him he had bet
ter “stay,” settle among dem, and dake
some more vives.” “How many wives
you tints you vants ?” asked Kalhrina.
The Dutchman thought “fife more would
make a half-dozen already,” whereupon
the old wife got down her bodice, and
stripping from it what the Dutchman
called the “ presfboard, vich was made
from Yisconsin hickory, vas very tough,”
and she laid the hickory fierce and fast
upon the old man, who shuffled out of
the wagon and fell io a ditch. The old
man got up, said “ his stomach, it vas
very cold, but his back, it vas very
warm.” His wife cried out, “ how
many vives you tints you vants now,
ould fool ?” But the Dutchman felt
aud expressed thatoue was enough.
The Seven Sleepers.
u lt would awaken the seven sleep*
era,” is a common gaying; but we ven
ture to say that half who use it do not
know ite origin.
The legend runs that seven noble
youths of Ephesus, during the persecu
tion of tbe Christians by Decius, a Ro
man Emperor of the third century, flod
and took refuge in a cavern, and having
been pursued and discovered, were wall
ed in, and thus left to perish. They
are said to have fallen asleep, and in
that state were miraculously preserved
for nearly two centuries, when their
bodies having been found in the cavern,
were taken out and exposed to the ven
eration of the faithful. Then it was
said those holy martyrs were not dead ;
that they had been hid in the cavern
where they had fallen asleep, and that
they at last awoke to the astonishment
of the spectators. The spot is still
shown at Ephesus where the pretended
miracle took place, and the Persians cel
ebrate aunaaily the feast of the Seven
Sleepers.
The night hag a thousand eyes, and
the day but one. Yet the light of the
bright world dies with the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes, and the
heart but one; yet the light of a .»h-de
life dies when love is done.
< -e- —-
Hope awakens courage, while de
spondency is the last of nil evils; it is
the abandonment of good —the giving
up of the buttle of life with dead noth
ingness.
VOLUME IV.—NO. 21.
fI'SNT PARAGRAPHS.
A noisy pice of crockery—The cup
’ that cheers.
The liberty of the press—Squeexing
a pretty girl in a crowd.
A well-dressed dog wears a collar
and pants in tho •umuier.
Musically inclined boarders call board
ing-house bread—“ Only a Little Faded
Flower.”
An Indian jury recently returned a
verdict of “biode to pieces by a biler
busting."
A glance at the past —that which one
lady gives another in the street to see
what she has on.
“ Felt slippers/' advertised in the
shoe stores, are thought to be those felt
by boys in their rude young days.
A Western editor recently rode sixty
miles on a cow-catcher, and failed to
catch the cow, after all.
A member of Congress lately rose in
his place, and solemnly declared, “ Mr.
Speaker, I cannot sit still here and keep
silence without rising and saying a few
words.”
A dry-wilted soldier of the tenth
Vermont during the war, was heard to
pray once, when the bullets were falling
in showers, as follows : ‘-(J, Lord, make
me as thin as a knife.”
“ Have you seen my black-faccd an>*
telope?” inquired Mr. Lcoscope, who
had a collection of animals, of his friend
Bottlejack. “No, I haven’t. Whom
did your black face aunt elopo with.
At a prayer meeting in Maine, a few
days ago, one of the members p.ayed,
“ Lord, thou knowest that Charles
Tompkins has sold poor boots to some
of ua. Make him do the fair thing ”
A young Irishman who had married
when about nineteen years of age, com
plaining of the difficulties to which his
early marriage subjected him, said he
would never marry so young again if he
lived to be as old as Methuselah.
Teacher—What was done with Adam
and Eve after the fall ? Pupil—They
were driven out. Teacher Why
couldn't they go back ? Pupil—Because
the gates were shut. Teacher—Who
guarded the gates ? Pupil—The Sher
iff.
A youth of Salisbury, four years old,
and his young sister saw a rat run into
a hole in the barn floor. Said he,
“ Sis, the Bible says ‘ watch and pray.’
You pray while I watch this hole, and
I’ll swat him across the snoot when he
comes out.”
A Nevada puper says : “ The many
friends of Bill Thompson will regret to
hear that he was hashed np by a cata
mount, the other day, on Nixon’s Hill,
while laying in wait to shoot a China
man. This always was a world of disap
pointment.”
“ The slanderous soul is imbued with
the electric fire of hell. His black
heart emits the sulphurous fumes till
his who!e nature is absorbed in one ho
mogeneous mass of hellishness,” is the
way a Gieeuvile, Tennessee, editor pul
verized a person who slandered him.
We like the style of the maiden re*
ferred to in the following clipping : I
clasped her tiny hand in mine; I vow
ed to shield her from the world’s cold
storm. She set her beauteous eyes up
on me, and with her little lips she said.
*'An umbrella will do as well."
Old Bachelor Uncle—Well Charley,
what do you want now ? Charley—O,
I want to be rich. Uncle—Rich ! why
so ? Charley—Recause I want to be
petted, and ma says you are an old fool,
and must be petted because you are rich
—hut it’s a great secret and I musn’t
tell Y f
At a recent Sunday school picnic in
Allegheny county a gilt edged Biblo
was offered as a prize to any one who
could repeat the Lord’s prayer verba
tim, as found in the sixth chapter of
Matthew. Not one in the audience
oould do it. The man who offered the
prize was asked to repeat it, but failed.
A friend of ours is the most absent
minded man we know of. We made an
engagement to meet him on Tuesday af
ternoon. “All right,” said he. Shortly
afterward he came rushing in with
“ My dear fellow, you'll have to excuse
me ; Ive a prior engagement: fact is,
I’m going to be married Tuesday; for
got it complete'y.”
Two negro women met upon the street
the other day, when the following con
versation took place : First woman—ls
you gwiue to set up wid de copse to
night ? Second woman—No! my hus
band won’t let me. First woman—
Sha! I never seed such a husband as
you is got. ITe never wants to let you
see »Dy pleasure.
“ Now. Johnny,” said a venerable la
dy to her six-year old nephew, who was
persistently denying an offense of which
she accused him, “I know you are not
telling the truth ; I see it in your eye.”
Pulling down the lower lid of the or*
gan that bad so nearly betrayed his
want of veracity, Johny exultingly re
plied : “ You can’t tell anything abont
it, aunt; lhat eye always was a little
streaked.”
The farmers’ porkers are now being
neatly shaved, and strung up by the
heels on a pole. Their stomachs are
prepared for illustrating the signs of
the zodiac and making the children
laugh in anticipation of spare ribs and
Sausage gravy. Thecobin their mouths
—we mean the hogs' mouths and not
the children’s —may give them a face
tious expression that becomes an open
countenance, but we doubt if it rightly
portrajs their feelings.