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THE MILAN EXCHANGE. "W. A. "WADE, Publisher. MILAN. TENNESSEE. TI1E GOOD OLD FA JIM. There's (rot to be a revival Of irnrxl sound cpme mnonir men, Boforo the days pf prosperity Will dawn upon us Rirain. The boy mut li'nrn that learnin' Mrniiii more tlinn the essence i f books, And the Kirln niimt Irai n that bcuuty Consists In more tluui looks. Bef ore we ran sfrer elrar of failure An 1 blit llnunclai alai ins The boys have (rot to quit c'erldu' And K't back onto the larms. I know It ain't quite so nobby. It ain't quite so easy, 1 know. As partln your hair In the middle, An' tlttin' up for a show. But there'! more haril dollar In It, An' more Independence, too. An' more real peace and contentment And health that is ruddy an' tmo. I know that it takes hard labor. Hut you vc (rot to "hautr on" in a store Before you can earn a (rood llvln' And clothes, witii but little more. What hosts ot 'em (ro back broken In health, in mind and purse. To die In siirht of the clover. Or linger nlonir. which is worse. An' how many mourn, when useless, That they didn't see the charm, Tho safety and independence Of a life on the good old farm. liuiianapviu Journal. JACOB AND FOLLY. Jacob Messrs. the rich Cattley was a messenger to rcrkinson, uoldehest & Co bankers in Lombard street. At least he always considered himself attached to the establishment as a mcs senger, though he had never "signed articles" with tho principals, and was just barely tolerated outside on the pavement, at an acute angle of the building and three feet from the street doors, where customers and clerks were Dot likely to tumble over him. Ho had been hanging outside this big bank for many years now; and it had become a custom, of late days, to send him on little errands which were not within tho province of a regular clerk's duty, and which clerks of Perkinsou, Goldchest & Co. would have scorned to perform at any price whatever. II anybody re quired a cub, Jacob was sent for one; if a country gentleman with a biff bal ance on tho books wanted to be shown the way to the Bank of England, or Billingsgato, or the Tower, Jacob was told oft' as guide; if something was wanted surreptitiously by the clerks, in the shape ot a newspaper or a ham sandwich, Jacob was sent for it; and there had been times when it was con sidered safe to trust him even with telegram. Jacob received no salary, but was supported bv voluntary 'contributions, like a hospital; and what these contri butions amounted to in the year there Lad been much speculation concerning t the bank, amongst the clerks. It was set down bv young and iruagina tive minds as a "pretty penny, take altogether." But taking .Jacob Catt ley altogether was, to the ordinary observer, to set him down as a poor, nan-starved, ill-clad, misera ble old man, struggling hard to live, and always on the brink ot tailing at it. A shabbier old gentle man was not to be found between tho banK and Houndsditch; but he was never in rajs, and he always boasted clean face under his rusty-brown top hat, which ho poised at the extreme back of his gray head, lie did not ap peirto flourish on his contributions, but grew thinner and more pinched with every week of his out-door service there. "You can seo him shriveling away," one young man hud seriously asserted. "He"s a regular miser, l'fl be bound." And with his hollow cheeks, aud peaked nose, ami promi nent chin, ground line to match that poor pinched nose of his, ho might have been taken for a miser, or a pau per, or, indeed, anything deplorable. Still lie had what tho clerks called bis "tips"; and Mr. Goldchest, every Saturday morning, when ho left tho bank and before ho stepped into his carriage, the door of. which Mr. Cattley always opened for him, gave him some thing, it was noticed; but whether a sovereign or a threepenny piece was a matter of uncertainty, the claw-like band of Jacob closing so quickly on the gift. Tho junior clerks thought it would be a "threepenny," Mr. Gold chest not being a liberal paymaster, in their humble opinion, forcibly expressed each quarter day; but Jacob, probably of a reticent disposition, never let them know, and at all events he did not wax fat on his emoluments, and in the rainy and frosty seasons caught many a colil and cough, and wore, winter and sum mer, the same mi it of gray threadbare clothes, to which, in very inclement weather, a red cotton neckerchief, re lieved by white lozenges, and tied in a strange knot, was added, by way of protection to a giratle-like throat. Jacob was considered a poor hanger on, but Jacob had his hangers-on, too, and people whom in his turn he took upon himself to patronize. There are always depths below depths in this ec centric world of ours, and always some poor brother and sistor to whom a hand can be held out, or a little kindness rendered, and Jacob Cattley had his de pendent iir-Uie background, and one who waited and watched for him as regularly after banking hours on Sat urdays, us ho waited and watched for Mr. Goldchest about noon; and this de pendent on Mr. Cattley was a dark iiaired, dark-eyed purveyor of penny button-holes and two-penny bou quets; a poor flower-girl, who regarded Mr. Cattley as a regular customer on Saturdays, one who was always good for a penny, sometimes even two-pence, when lie had been extra fortunate iu the city. Jacob, it may be said, never pur criased hli flowers ;n Lombard street; no one in that busy center had ever seen Jacob Cattley spend a penny-piece on anything; but once away from the city proper, and hurrying away toward Kl.iolr ffiora llridnrn nn tlm Surrpv b!1a of which he livcJ, and which he crossed regularly twice a day to aud from his "place of business any one who had taken tho trouble to watch him which no one ever had would have seen Jacob somewhere in tho neighborhood of Ludgate Hill bargaining with Polly Baxter for a nosegay every Saturday afternoon. Jacob Cattley would even condescend to patronize Polly Baxter, and to occa sionally pass a remark upon the weath er, or the extent of her stock in trade; but all this was dono In an austere, stand-ollish way, which did not encour age conversation in return, and which was a washed-out copy of the great Goldchest manner, when the big bank er skated across the pavement to his carriage. Polly Baxter did not know this, and thought it was very kind of the old gentleman in the queer-looking comforter to say a word or bow to her now and then words which, with all their coldness, had a little ring in them of interest or sympathy, or something not easy to comprehend, and which the flower-girl did not attempt m any way to account for. Sometimes she won dered why he bought her flowers, or what he did with them after ho got home; he was so particular about the bunch he purchased, and had so strong a fancy for the brightest colors. suddenly Jacob Cattley was missed from Lombard street, and from the neighborhood of Ludgate Hill; and Pol ly Baxter's basket blushed with flowers in vain for him. Every day Polly Bax ter had been accustomed to see him be tween four and live trotting homeward, with his sharp face set due south; every day he had said: "Good morning," in a grave, fatherly way, and with a sol emn bend of his long neck; and on Sat urdays, as we have intimated, he al ways stopped to bargain wilh her for her gayest penny-worth. And now Jacob was missing; and no one knew where Jacob lived, so that the mystery of his disappearance might have been solved by a friendly call. "He's dead, for sixpence, poor old cove!" said tho iunior clerk, a pert and slangy and over-dressed youth, whom Jacob had in his heart disliked, despite tho offering of a penny now and then, He's off, depend upon it Pm sorry I was hard on him last week." Polly Baxter wondered more about him than the rest of tho community aware of Lis existence. She did not know why she should "bother about tho old man," but she did. He was a something removed from her lite, a regular customer gone; and that was to be regretted when regular customers were scarce. When sho had bought her flowers at Covent Garden Market ia tho early morning, and had taken them to the little attio where she made up her penny bunches for tho day, she caught herself thinking or the "tunny little man," and of his grave, old-fashioned ways. She had had a father like him once in some respects, and he had died in the workhouse, praying that sho would "keep good," which she had Pollv was a poor, ignorant girl enough who had never been taught to read and write, and her father had been " a bad lot, as it was termed, and had not cared to see her taught, or cared much about anything save himself, until ho had become a martyr to rheumatism and had lost his situation in the mar ket, and had to go finally into tho house, leaving his daughter with all the world to herself and nobody in it to look after her. Then tho father was sorry and woke up to some little thought of his motherless girl, when he could do little elso but think, lie was ono more of the big army ot plodders who march under the banner of " Too late." Nevertheless, Polly Baxter earned her own living honestly, and made the best of her position by thrift and in dustry, coming very close to starvation once or twico in the hard times which will turn up to the hard workers. Still she fought on, and had begun to teach herself to read and write of late dnys, and to fin 1 her way on Sundays to a little chapel down a back street, and listen with much surprise to what they told her there, and wonder why it had been kept from her all these years, and why no ono in tho highways and byways of her lifo had said a word about iU Possibly thinking of this had raado her think of other folk as the light fil tered a little through the darkuess of Polly Baxter's life; but she did think a great deal of the poor, old-fashioned little man, who seemed to have van ished like a ghost, and it became a matter of speculation why he had ever bought flowers of her at all, being a man who probably had not much to spend on the minor luxuries of life. And so regular a customer, too, thought Polly, with a sigh agaiu. Suddenly the regular customer, how ever, appeared again one Saturday, six weeks or two months after everybody thought he was dead. It was like a ghost rising up in Lombard street, and even Mr. Goldchest, taken unawares by this tirst appearance at his carriage dbor, gasped out: "Bless my soul!" and slipped one foot off the curb-stone into the gutter in his first surprise. He was even a little curious for so great a man, and said: "Have you been ill, Jacob' Ho did not know his ether name, ,401d Jacob" was Mr. Cattloy's cognomen in Lombard streets "Cranky Jacob" some times. "No, sir." "Then" Jacob s rugged lace twitched very much as he touched his hat deferential ly, and said: I've had a loss, Mr. Goldchest" "Ob! indeed." Mr. Goldchest did not ask what or whom ho had lost; he glanced at the big rurty hat-band wrapped round the rusty hat of his humble dependent; there was a fugitive fear that there might be something "catching" from Mr. Cattlcy's close proximity, and he stepped with alacrity Into his carriage nnd drew up his window sharply. Fie did not reward Jacob on that occasion; he gave no thought to the arrears which might have accumulated during Jacob's absence from his duties; and tho old man walked homo very thoughtfully, and with a downcast expression of countenance. On his way home ho encountered Polly Baxter, who also was deposed to take him for a ghost, and nearly dropped her basket into the Lon don mud at the first sight of him. "Why, lor, sir! Who'd have thought of it?" she exclaimed. Thought of what? he asked, a little curiously. Of your being alive, and moving about like this. 1 m so glad." Glad, are you? What are you glad for?" ho inquired sharply. "Glad to see an old customer turn up, was tho truthtui reply. "Ah! just so," jaeoD. "Aud not that exactly, mind you," added Polly, "but because you are here, you know. That's it Where havevou been, sir? 111?" This was Mr. Goldchest's inquiry also, but not conveyed with so much in terest. Anc his answer was the same as before. "I've had a loss. "Not not money?" "I've lost my daughter; all 1 had in the world to me; all I cared for, child. Good day," he said, with an excite ment for which Polly was wholly un prepared. Yes; but here; holdhardr, she cried, inelegantly. "Ain'tyou agoing to have any flowers to" The old man hurried away from her. darted across the road under horses' heads and omnibus wheels, with almost tne alacrity of youth, and itvas not till he was upon lilaeklr;ars JLVridge that he had recovered his composure, and quite finished with a ragged pocket handker chief, which was evidently a segment of his winter wrapper, being of the same striking pattern and color. When ho had crossed the bridge aud south wark street, and was turning into one of tho little crowded thoroughfares on tho right of the Blackfriars lioad, lead ing to the salubrious quarters of Grav el Lane and parts adjacent, he was as tonishod and disoomlited again to find Polly Baxter at his elbow, exceedingly red in the face and short of breath. "Well, you can jest walk, old gentle' man, and no mistake," she said. "What do you want with me?" he asked, testily now. "What what ia it" "I only want to say I'm sorry like," she blurted forth. "1 didn't think, all at once, about the ikV's, and that you wanted them for her, of course, who's forte now, and who was fond of flowers, see; I see. You won't mind what I said; will you, now?" " Jacob Cattley stared at her; but he croaked forth very hoarsely: "No." "I'll never ax yon again; I'll never loot your way again; but take this, please, for this once: won't you1"' And Polly held out his usual-sized bunch of flowers, at which the old man shrank back as though it had been a pistol leveled at him. "It isn't for the money," said Polly, excitod now herself. "I don't want any money. Ketch 'old. Please do. Jest to make believe you're taking them to her the same as ever, sir." The old man stretched out a trem bling hand toward the flowers at this suggestion, and Polly thrust them into his grasp and fairjy ran away across the bridge again, hving him looking after her open-mouthed, and with some salt tears brimming over his blinking eyelids and making their way down the deep furrows in his cheeks. On the Monday Jacob passed her a3 usual on his homeward route, and with his old patronizing bow, and with a steadier stare at her, too, as if no long er afraid to face her. But Polly looked the other way and would not see him fell into the habit of hiding from him. even and on tho following Saturday would also have eluded him, nad he not come up the reverse way of the street, and taken her unawares bv a flank movement. 'Let me have a good bunch to-day a two-penny bunch," he said, in quito a business-like manner. Polly Baxter was surprised: but she era vf blm t Via ilmirera Ki. minimil and ho 'onpeu tne money into uer uasneu at you don't want them now; da you?" she murmured. "les, of course i do. J. hat was a good thought of yours.child, la-t week. And I took the flowers to her." "Oh! I see!" ejaculated Polly. "And shall do so every week, mak ing believe, as you say, that she's wait ing for them. It's not a bad thought at all," he muttered. "She was so fond of flowers." "How old was sheP" asked Polly. " About your age, I should say." 'And ailing always, was she? ' "For the last three or four years, yes. Good-dav," And then Jacob hurried away, and this time she did not attempt to follow him. It was from this time that Jacob con trived to be as regular a customer to Polly Baxter as he had ever been; and had any one had the curiosity to fol low the movements ot the old man, he or she would have seen him every Sunday, in fair weather or foul, plod ding on to Tooting Cemetery to lay his little offering ou the grave of the daughter who Lad . been always fond of flowers. When the wlntet time came on, and flowers grew very scaree and dear, and Polly was compelled to raise her prices, the old man looked very pale and pinched with cold, and did not move along with his custom ary alacrity; on tho contrary, limped painfully at times with tho rheumatism which had seized him. One very cold Saturday she said to him, suddenly: "You ain't well?" "Well, not quite as well as I might be, perhaps," he answered, cautiously. "I don t mind your paying for these some other time, vou know," she added, hurriedly, "if' "If what?" he asked, as sho came to a full stop. " If you're hard up. It won't mako much difference to me; and sho might miss 'em, too." 'Thankee," he said, gently, and ho looked very hard at her f rom under his tangled, wiry eye-brows. "That's a kind thought, child. Y hat did you say your name was?" 1 lidn t say, she answered, sur prised in her turn, " it's Polly Baxter." "living where, now.- "St. James' Row," she answered. "At the back there. But why?" "Good day." That was tho last time that Tolly Baxter met Jacob Cattley in tho London streets; for Jacob disappeared again, and Lombard street and the flower-girl on Ludgate Hill missed him altogether. "Ho must be dead this time, poor old chap!" thought Polly. lint roily was again deceived. One morning a short, red-faced, woman. with a market basket on her arm and a key in her hand, looked hard at her, and stopped. "Is your name Baxter?" "Yes." 'Polly Baxter?" "Yes; that's it" "You're wanted in George street. Gravel Lane, No, 29. My lodger, the old man who used to buy flowers of you. wants to see you precious bad." "He ain't dead, then!" criod Polly. "Well, I am glad." "Don't see what you've got to bo glad about," said the woman, sharply. "But no: he ain't dead yet; he's going, though." "Oh! Is he? Oh! I hope ho ain't!" "Can you find vour way?" "Yes. Trust me for that." Tolly Baxter trudged away at onco to Georgo street, and to No. 20, where ou the top floor she found poor Jacob Cattley, very much down in the world, and with very little life left lit him The rheumatics had got an iron grip of him at last and fever had followed, and this was very nearly the last of him, as the red-laced woman had prophesied As Polly entered the room ha quite smiled at her, as at an old Iriend. "Polly," ho said, speaking with great uilliculty, "1 wish to put you in mind of an old otler to mo. ' - "What's that, sir?" "I want you to open a credit account with me. ' "A what?" cried Polly. "It's a term we have in Lombard street," he explained. "To trust me, 1 mean, for a little while for a few flow ers." "To bo sure!" cried Polly. "1 11 pay you soon; and 1 want you to do more than that much more. Polly waited and wondered till he took time to recover his breath; then he added "I want you on Sun.lay afternoon to take them to her and lav them on her grave. Do you mind very much?" ".Not at all," said i'oiiy, "in go every Sunday directly after chapel, if you 11 tell nio how to hud it. "Oh! you go to chapel, then?" "Yes, sir; reg'lar." "Good girl! Keep that up." "No fear, sir." "And come and tell mo regularly what they tell vou there; will you child 1 should like to know. "To bo sure 1 will, sir." "When you ennio back from her Then hegae his directions, which Tolly Baxter carried out faithfully, tin til the end came, and Jacob Cattley was buried with his daughter. After his death, Polly Baxter went regularly to the cemetery just tho same and laid her little bunch ol flowers on the grave of him who had said kind words to her in life. Phis was tne end of him, and of tho story, she thought, until one day, a week or two afterward a prim little gentleman in black called upon her aud asked her many ques tions, aud made perfectly sure that she was the genuine and only folly Baxter. flower vender, before he surprised her with bis news. Jacob cattley had been a bit of a miser, alter all, and had scraped to gether, by his humble and faithful services in Lombard street the sum of one hundred and tifty pounds. He had died without a relation in the world to care for him, and he had left his money to Polly Baxter, of 41) St. James now. City, K C, in remem brance of her kindness, and in "settle ment of his credit account with her. Polly Baxter is married now, and she and her husband have a flourishing little greengrocer s shoo and aro doing very well. There are fresh flowers still on the old man's gravo at Tooting, and one grateful heart keeps his memory green. F, W. Robinson, in -V. J'. In dependent. There is nothing quite so amazing as a Japanese statistical report the progress of the people in civilization is probably the most rapid ever known in the history of the world. The authori ties there have just published a sum mary of educational works for 1882, showing there were then in tho country 28,'J08 elomentary schools, 76.76U teach- ers and ,(Ut,St scholars, in 1880, 37,083,633 papers wore sold. VurrenU FACTS AM) FIGURES. There are 34,000 deaf mutes in the United States. Bv their intermarriage. they aro constantly increasing. N. J'. bun. Since 1880 the increase of deposits in tho State and savings banks of tho country has been nearly $o00,000,000. Jlncago Journal. Massachusetts statistics show that the chance of being killed by the cars are one in 20,000,000 now. while in 1808 they were one in 6,000,000. Boston Transcript. Tho statisticians of the United States Mint estimate that the total pro duction of gold in the world during tho 400 years ending 18H2 was tons, equal in value to 37.211. 71)7.800. Dur ing the same period the production of silver was 197,731 tons, of the value of H.M7 .31H 17.'i rhilnHf lnhiei rrexx. What is claimed to be tho largest grain elevator in the world has been erected at Newport News, va., by tho Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad Company. It is bO feet wide, Mb' feet long and about 164 feet high, with engine and boiler rooms 40x100 and 40 feet high. The storage capacity of the hoise is 1,000,006 bushels. with a receiving capacity of 30,000 and a shipping capacity of 20,000 bushels per hour. St. Louu Post. Tho lirst attempts to introduce gas as an illuminator in the United states were made in Baltimore between 1816 and 1820. They failed, but it was suc cessfully introduced in Boston in 1822. The next year the first gas-light com pany was formed in JNew lork, tho .New 1 ork tas-Ldght Company." They begau operations with a capital of 1,000,HX. But tho people were so slow to adopt tho new illuminator that tho company was not in fun operation until 1827, when the population was about 16(1,000. Baltimore Sun. According to the Massachusetts Bureau of Labor Statistics among the women laborers of that State are 106 barbers and hairdressers, 6 barkeepers. 8 billposters, a commercial travelers, t bauk officials, 2 pawnbrokers, 4 team sters, 2 sailors, 1 gun and locksmith, 75 bakers, 68 shoemakers, 6 carpenters, 2 door, sash and blind makers, 13 masons, 1 paper-hanger, 1 plumber and gasiitter, 2 carriage makers, 16 watch al clock repairers, 20 cabinet makers. 10 harness makers, 7 machinists, 4 blacksmilhs, 235 printers, 2 stone cut t rs, 4 coopers, 2U6 laborers, and 5 en gineers. WIT AN1 WISDOM. What sound is to the ear, and what light is to the eye, that the soul is to the brain. xV. O. Ficauune. Ho that rightly understands the reasonableness and excellence of char ity, will know that it can never be ex cusable to waste any of our money ia pride and tolly. . Law. Artist's friend (pointing to sketch) "Say, Harry, whore did you get this?" Harry "Why, I got that out of my head." Friend "Well, it's a lucky thing for your head that you got it out" -Tho best recipe for going through lifo in a commendable way is to feel that everybody, no matter how rich or -7 .... ... .. how poor, needs an the Kindness tney can get from others in tho world. Boston Budget. Yes, my son. There is gold in the mountains of Idaho and Montana. Lots of it And so there is heaps of it in the United States Treasury, too. And it is just about as easy to get it from one plaae as the other. Good deal easier, in fact. Burdette. A young man blackened his mus tache with a lead comb aud then took his girl out for a moonlight stroll. When the fair ono appeared in tins bright light of tho family circle a couplo of hours later ner face looked like a railroad map. Wap. Reckless dudo (to burglar, whom he has discovered in closet): "O, you nasty, saucy thing, to hide in my bed room! There! I'll break your um brella, so you can't go out without get ting soaked, for it's raining like any thing outside. Burglar faints. tVit caijo Tribune. ' . A policeman who was patrollino Montcalm street east the other day heard a whistle blow for all it was worth, and ran a block and a half. to find a woman with her head out of & , chamber window. "Who blew that whistle?" "I did." "Do you want me?" "No, sir. My gal and her beau aro spoonin' around on the side stoop and I blew the whistle to let him know that it wai time to skip or look out for clubs. Dttrou tree rress. "I'm afraid I was cheated on those lightning rods." "What's the matter with themP" "I hadn't had 'em ur inor'n a month when a fearful stroke of lightning knocked 'em all ways for Sunday, burned my barn, snd every thing in it" "But didn't the agent give you a guarantee?" "Oh, yes; I wrote to mm, ana ne wrote oacn venr consolingly." "What did he say?rr "That lightning never strikes twice la the same plaou." Hocliester FostrEx press. "Is there anybody about this estab- lishman who loves poetry?" he said as he opened the door and glared around the editorial room with a doubt ful look. "Certainly there is," said tho editor: "have you got some there?' 'Yes, four pjems, all of em on spring,'" Good! That s just what wo want. John sprinkle a little mint sauce oa these and tako 'em down-stairs." 'What for?" demanded the poet. "For the goat He is the only one about the establuiliment who loves' poetry. But he won t eat spring poetrv withoua mint sauce." A', i. Sun.