Newspaper Page Text
* TRPWEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORIO, S. C.9 MAY 14, 1881 SALSE 8
4,I W AIF'.
If only the rain would cease to beat. t
It only the winds w( uld ceaso to blow, t
If only the clouds would but retreat,
And the summer sun-ahine glance and
I should be perfectly hafpy I linow.
All day and every day, I wait
Vor something or other to como and go
To make my pleasure a perfect state,
'o uake my heart a summer glow
Of sure delight that will never go.
But all day, aid every day, I wait,
And the dayd run by, and the days run low,
And everything scens too soon or too late,
And I never flnd what I seek, you know,
Never get just wI at I want, you know.
There'& always something or other amiss, a
The tido is at ebb when I want it at flow,
A flock and a flaw to mar the blis
That might be easily I erfeot I know,
If I could but mako th.ngs come and go!
I've waited now so long and so late,
That the hope I had, liko the tido runs low,
And I begin to think that I shall wait
Forever and ever like this, you know,
For things to a .me, that always go.
And I begin to think that perhaps, perhapa,
When time is so swift and joy so low,
I'd bettor make mo.t of the hours that
And the btst of the days that come and go,
Or tue years %ill be gone oro ever I know,
And I shall sit weary, old and sad,
.iko a weary old woman I know, a
And think of the days i might have boon glad,
Of the ph asures I dropped and the things
I L go,
For the things E never could filud you know.
The Broken Boat.
It is too bad,' nsid Alice Ford, with a
quiver of her scarlet lower lip.
'It is what might be expected,' 8a1( Mrs.
Ford, sitting serenely at the breakfast
table, 'when at girl will flirt with two gen
tlemen at once.
'But I haven't flirted,' said Alice, ready
1I don't know what else you can call it,' t
said Mrs. FCrd. 'Will you have another
cup of tea, Alice?'
'Teal' flashed out the girl; 'as if one t
could drink tea when one's heart is break- :
ingi Oh, aunt, if Mr. Errett were a gen- ii
tileman he would release me from this
galling engagement.' .
'ou promised him, my dear?' said Mrs.
Yes; hut I hadn't met Arthur Kelhain
then; and I have written to Mr. Errett,and 1
implored him to releasenie from this hate- a
f ul bond,' cried poor Alice. 'I have told
him that since our engagement-an en.
gagement that was your doing, aunt-'
1I know it,' said Mrs. Ford, 'and I am <
proud of it.' (
That since that engegement,' went on tj
Alice, 'I have discovered that my heart is
not my own; and lie has written back that 8
Ie sees no necessity for altering the origi- 0
nal state of things, and thit if it is agree
able to me-agreeable indeedl-the wed- y
(ing may still take place on the sixth of
October. Horrible, cold hearted, calculat- (
'Good morning, ladies; I hope I see you V
And Alicl' tirade was unexpectedly cut
short by the apprition of Mr. Bartholo- f
'i. mew Errctt. She had scarcely uittered a a
disjoirted wvord or two of greeting when
~~' the maid opened~ an opposite dooer and
'Please, Miss Alice, Mr. Kelham.'
,, ~?And Arthur Kelhami came in, youne:,
mature rival as Is blooming May to ripeneda
lM Errnd put up his eye glass at Arthur I
KelamandArthur Kelham staredi Mr'.
Irrett full In the face with wceil-bred amaze
'Sir,' saidl Mr. Errett, 'I am at a loss to
'y imagine what br'ings you hered'
S'Sir,' retorted Mr. Kelhnan, 'I suppose I
S have as good right to visit my friends ast
S[ you have to call oii yours I'
'You mistake,' naid Mr. Errett; 'I am
engaged to Miss Ford.'
'Do you mean to say,' reto'rtedi Kelham,
v hotly, 'that you would marry the girl
Sagainst her wvill? Why, you might as well
be a TLurkish slave-driver at oncel'
'Sirn' gasped Bartholomew Errett, turn- a
in' lg a livid pallor, 'I am at a loss to con
ceive what business all this Is of yoursl'
Alice stoppied bet~ween them.
*, 'You shall not quarrel about me,' saidi
she, with a dignity that would scarcely
hnave been expected from one so small and
slight. 'Arthur, I have carved out, my 1
own destiny andl must abide by it. Mr.n
Frrett, I beg you to renmember that you
are in the pl'esence of ladies'
'Am 1 to stand here and see you insul
ted'(?' diemnalnded Kelhamn,wvith flushed b~row.
'I have promisedi to be his wife,' saidl I
Alice; 'and until he hinself absolves me
from my wo'rd, I have no power to assert
'D~o you then bId mec go?'
'Yes,' the girl answered, alumost inmidi
And Arthur Kelham turnedl and left the
field In triumphant possession of Mr. Ba~r
'Mr. Eirrottl' * * *
'Ehd' aaidl thidl-gdwmer'it
it you. Keihain? Boating, elh?'
EYes. Do you thmak it's quite safe for
you to be here, so far from hand? You
Sare not afraid of that r,hark, then?'
'Ot the-wlet?' said Mr. Errett.c
'haven't yo u heard? - hr has been at
Sshark along tlts shore slice yesterday;and,
by JIngo! I believe he is there now. Don 't
you see something that shines white through
Mt, Errett reared hImself up In thae 1
'ater like a new species of sea-serpent.
'Good [leaven!' said he, 'there is soni
king like a shark there. Why didn't they
il m1e? Why did they allow me -
'I wouldn't be nervous,' said Kelhan,
oolly. 'Periaps he don't see you.'
see mel Why those follows can scent
umian 11e.h a mile off I I should have
cen a deau man in ten minutes if you
adn't come along.'
And he began to paddle ingloriously to
vard the little boat in which Arthur Kel
am was sitting.
'Ilallol' said Kelhmr a, putting an oar's
ongth between himself and the swimer,
what are you about?'
'I am going to get into your boat, to be
'Are you though, ' said Keliam; 'there
lay be two opinions about that.'
'Elil' said Errett.
'What should I take you back to land
Lr?' demanded Kelman. - 'If the shark
ats you up, I'm all right with Alice.'
'Man a.ivel' gasped Mr. Errett, 'you
rouldn't leave rme to die a horrilble death,
'An I remember,' coolly remarked Ar
Irur Kelham, 'you hadn't much mercy on
'That was different.'
'I don't see how,' with another stroke of
is oars, just as Errctt was about to clutch
t the side of the boat. 'Don't hurry
'I say. Kelhan, look here,' cried Errett,
lith a scared glance over his left shoulder
,wards the suspicious white object. 'lold
n11, I say.'
'Well?' said Kelham.
'I-I ain't so very particular about the
irl. Iord on.'
He was beginning to lose breath in the
attle with the waves. and said:
'If you really iusist-'
'Oh, I don't insist. I don't care to peril
Irs. Ford's fortune by getting Alice into
isgrace with her. I must have a volun
iry cession ol all your rights or none.'
'It-it shall be voluntary,' cried Mr.
Irrett with chattering teetlh. 'I will tell
lie old lady I've changed my iund; I wili
mike any statement you wish; only save
'I have your word of honor?' said Kel
'My word of honor,' replied Errett.
'Jump in, then.'
And Bartholomew Errett scrambled,
iore dead than alive, into the other's boat
ud was pulled to the shore.
'I'll just leave you here on the beach till
our man comes,' said Kelham,hialf laugh
ig at Mr. E rrett's doleful appearance. '1
3e his boat now rounding the point.
lood afternoon. I sincerely hope you will
ike no cold.'
When Philip Gaul pulled up on the
ilngly sand his employer hailed him with
'You villami' cried Errett; 'why dida 't
ou tell me of the shark?'
'Of the what, master?' demanded old
aul, scratching his grizzled head.
'Of the shark; you can see him now
then the sun strikes the point. Good
icaveni to think of the peril I have run.'
'Lawk, master,' said old Gaul, his hard
Datires relaxing into a grin; 'that ain't no
hark. That's Boon's broken boat,stranded
here on a bit of reef. 1 could shrow it to
ou plain if I only hadi ray spy glass.'
Mr. Errett's lower jaw fell.
'Are you sure?' saidl he.
'Quite sure, master. I seen it as I come
y this morning. Sharks indeedi Tlhere
in't never no sharks about here.'
Mr. Errett resumed hris garments ini sr
once, feeling that hre had becen out-gene
aledl by his enterprising rival.
'But after all,' said ire to imiself, 'if tire
irl don't like rue--Gaul, look here.
low much (10 I owe you? -because I shrill
ot nec dI your boat any moire.'
'Gloirng away from hero?' asked the as
'Yes,' was thre relol.
And so Mr~. Errett left thre co:rnrt clear for
rtlrtur Kelham, to Alhce's inlirte derght.
'Wasn't it good of him, dear?' said ahe
o her lover.
'Very,' saidl Arthur
But hre kept hris own counsel about the
bark and how he hrad out-generaled lIar
An qid-TIimen senator.
General George WV. Jones of Iowa, left
lie United States Senarte on Marrcb 4tih,
859). On the 4th of Marrch, 1881, ire wvas
n honored guest of tire Senrate, entitled as
n ex-senrator to the privileges of tire Moor.
tIl tire members wvere new to him excep~t
no, Mr. ilamlin of Maine, and thre next
lay even hre wvas gone amd a youiiger manr
vas in ihis seat. General Jones is t-dayv
lhe most histoirie aimi, pecrhap~s, tihe most re
narkable character inm thre west. le sat In
le Serrate with Clay and Websier and Cail
noun, wilth Silas Wright, Bemonm, Critteni
len and~ Jeff D)avis, with Sumner, Seward,
blase andl 1)ouighs. .in thre early part, of
hre ceintury, when General Jackson was
resident, hre sat in .hre lloise of Itepresen..
atives with Ilenry A. Wise andl John
luilney &udamsr. HIs (district includedi all
>a Michigan, WV lsconshii, Iowa and Minne
otar ; it inowv has ever thirry represenlittes
n congress. Ile left tihe senate, rnot, be
ause of personanl defeiat, but bnecause iris
>arty had gone out of power in Iowa. Th'le
ntimnate and( trusted friend of Andrew
,rckson, tire partner of D~aniel Webster, hie
ernenmbeis Jeffereon. On termrs of p~er
('nal aicquaiintance with rteaily all of our
eiebrarted wvarriors and~ statesmen, he numa
ers among his friends and enemies tire
ghrty red kings Black ilawk, Keokurk
rid I'oweshick. A edidier. in the war of
812, General Jones Is a young man yet;
Ie walks erect, without a cane, with a
ight and springy step, and1 claims none of
lA Inrdulgrence n inn1nmunne nf ol age.
Although this strange locality in Paris,
is more widely known than some others to
which we may presently refer, it is yet so
much out of of the way as to make it worth
while to describe its exect witereabouts.
It lies, then, beyond the northern slope of
the hill of Montmartre; it is bounded to
the south by the Rue des Cloys and to the
north by the Rue Marcadet, and ie com
pletely surrounded by a high stone wall.
t covers a considerable tract of ground,
and was used during the Commune as an
artillery park. The entrance to it is
through i .arge wooden door in the Rue
Marcadet, opposite the cemetery of Mont- I
martre. Before we go any farther, it will
he well to warn any intending visitor that
the inhabitants, although a very toleraut t
folk, cannot endure the sight of decent
clothes, and that amongst Many healthy
symptons to be noted in them, the most
prominent is a deadly abhorrence of the
tall hat of civilization. To attempt to
take them in, on the other hand, by any
assumption of 'blouse' or of silken 'casqu
ettl is absur',' owever 'quuiatand carious'
your knowleuge of Parisian slang may be;
but they will be pleased by the attention,
and when you come among them will coim
meut pleasantly upon your good breeding
and taste in adopting the outward habits
of the country in which you happen to
find yourself. Such, at least, was our ex
perience. The coup d'wi when you find
yourself within the entrance is a striking
one. Inmediately before you lies an open
space with grass growing here and there
between heaps of rubbish. In the centre
is a sort of avenue of young trees and
plants in every stage of decrepitude, lead
mug up to the houses, or, 'to speak by the
card,' boxes, in which the chiffonniers live.
These are about six feet square, and the
roofs are kept in their places by heavy
stones, such as one sees on tht cottages in
exposed situations in other places. The
roofs ara for the most part of wood,where
as the walls are clmposed of all thiigs
which are generally considered unlit to
build with, so that the appearance of a
Rue Marcadet chiffannier in his house may
be best likened to that, of a caddis in his
strangely constructed abode. On the occa
sion of our visit a high wind had been
blowing, and more than one member of
the community was busy rebuilding li
house, which had been blown down in the
night. On all sides a hustling activity pre
vailed, men and women busily sorting the
contents of their baskets, while numbers of
dogs of an unKnown breed barked lustily
a; our approach. Strangers are, indeed,
few and far between in the chiffonniers'
town, for no man from the outer world
ev. r comes td sell them' anything, a street
of shops kept by their concitoymns exist
tmg, not indeed within their own walls,
but in another enclosure close by. Here
dwell bootmakers, a butcher (a great ex
pert at making a cat found dead into a
toothsome dish), tailors and lampmakers,
who provide the triangular lanterns with
which the members of the 'profe.-sion' go
their rounds at night in search of prey.
Go through that strange little street, of
which the houses conie up to your shoul
ders, at what hour of the night you will,
you will still see the bootmakers at work
on the cast ofi shoes which their customers
have picked up in the Paris gutters.
Perhaps the last actress that anyone
would suppose ever experienced that tender
passion, much less suffered from the pangs
of unrequited love, was Charlotte Cush
man; and yet twice in her life she was
ready to sacrifice everything for the man
of her heart. Miss Cuihmnan received a
common school education in Boston. Her
desk-mate was the daughter of an actor,
which led to frequent conversations upon
theatrical matters, andi tooktan interest m
thema to such an extent that Miss Cushiman
dletermnined as a child that,should fate ever
compel her to adopt a punb!lc life, the stae
would be her preference. S~he had barely
reach'ed the age of sixteen before she was
deeply enamored of a young gentleman
who ha'fd his way to make In the world,and
a speedly marriage being thereby prevented,
she had little thought of hope but to (do
away with the obstacles which separated
themi. Circumstances soon comp~elled her
to cast about for some means of self-sup
p~ort, her mother being a widowv with seven
children to provide for. Mliss Cushman
htad a pretty, symplathetic, sinuging voice,
of no great, power, but much sweetniess.
Mrs, Wood was an Englishi ballaid-sin:.ter,
among the first of that class to make a
great acinsatio nm this country, and dturing
an engagement in Bostoi, Miss Cushmian
maniiagedl ta be introduced to her, and
finally under Mrs. Wood's auspices, she
made her app~earance in the concert room,
hi ing simply announcedl as 'a young lady.'
11cr success wais suticiently pionounced to
dieternune her to continue in that mo(de of
life, or at least until her bctro'~hed should
have become able to marry her; but lie
took great umnbrage at what lie stigmatized
'an tinwonminily proceeding,' iand declared
she had disgraced him. Hot, wordis fol
lowed on her sidle, and after much alterca
tion and mutuial paini the engagement. was
broken off, and Charlotte Uushnian was
free to followv out, her dlestiny as a great
artist. bhe wvent her way, and lie went
his. After miuch hard struggling it led
hmiim into the establisinent of a store-a
sort, of t rimm ing atore comb hinedl with ready.
made clothing for ladies and children--in
which lhe prospered. 1ie is now one of I le
foremost mierchants of the kind in Boston.
Long years elapsed . before the twvo met
agein. Char:otto was famuous, and~ lie
nilluei.! and influential. T1hiey met as
strangers saciet, wvere introduced, ad ever
afterward ma ntained am cable but, not
amatory melations, fo: lie had marr edi in
A few years ago I was in Boston and
dtroLpped into his store to make seine puar
chases. It, happened! tnat Miss Cushmnan
preceded me a few steps. As soon as the
dloor-walker caught sight of her lie hurried
off and returned with thme proprietor,a hale
ruddy-facedf. whIte-haired genitleman, of
quiet anid dilgniflea bearing.
They tooki rather thlani shook hands, he
holding hers for a umoiment, and then side
by side they walked to the back of the
store. T1o see those t wo calm, self -con
tainedl, 01(1 sliver-aImmred people, one would
have little susl'ectedi the hieartreadilng ro
mamnce which hmnig cover their youth. It as
all very line to despIse mioney,but tihe lack
of it f requently chifnges the destlinies of
entire lives. tlad Miss Cushman's lever
been. only sufficiently we-il off to have
mamred her at the blooming of their love,
in alil nnnahlt~y the stagen wuldis have
never known her brilliant genius.
13he once remarked :o a friend who was
:ognizant of the circumetances: 'When I
wee him now, rich and respected, but not
great, and think what a good husband
te had made, I sigh for what I have lost
wd rejoice for what I have gained. Never
,heless, fame and fortune only cannot con
)ensate a woman for the life-long absence
f a husband's affection, cliddrev's love,
md the peace and happiness of private
ife. When I returned from New Orleans
with may voice all gone and in despair, if
to had come forward then and offered me
L hone, I woul'd gladly have acceoted it.
nud would have lived my life untroubled
>y ambitious dreams, unsuspecting the
livine ailiatus within mnc. 1 have had a
housaud titnes over in my hand more than
lie money which would have secured my
iappiness when a girl, and alway think for
viat a paltry suni, my whole domestic
iappiness was sacrificed.'
After Miss (Ousnan hmd achieved fame
n England, she made a tour to this coun
ry. She was then a woman of middle age,
vith a remarkably ugly face, but with a
all and weli-modeled frame. She played
t the National theatre, Cincinnati. Conrad
3. Clarke was the leading man, many
rears her junior. lie had been brought
ip as a gentleman, being the son of a
aunker in Philadelphia: lie soon evinced
Sliking for the stage, and nothing could
LCp himi from it. As for theatrical talent,
ie had not mistaken his vocation. liss
,ushmian was struck with his p )hsh aid
vit, his talent and cultured tone. Fron
onversation on acting in the theatre,Clarke
on began to call at the hotel to receiva
>atticular instructions in tWe parts lie wits
o play with her, then he escorted her honie
rom the theatres at nights, and it was
>lainly to he seen she looked with marked
avor upon the young actor. One evening
he was at the wing, reIady to go on as 'g
derriles, I playing the boy in 'miy lan
lering.' I was standing by her side, and
Ir. Clarke was a few steps off, flirting
lesperately with a lovely young actress,
vh had been christened 'the poodle dog'
rom the way she dressed her hair, which
vats just as they wear it now-a-days, but
hen thouiht a wild, crazy style. The star
kad been giving me a few stage directions,
,ad, impelled by I know not what impulse,
'What, of all things in the world, Miss
Jushman, would you rather be?
She replied as impulsively, glancing at
Jlarke an( sighing:
'1 would rather be a pretty woman than
nything else in this wide world,' and on
he stage she rushed to shriek through Meg
lerrihes. Atter this he assuined a bolder
ront, lirted no nore about the scenes,and
iecanie obsequiously attentive to her. It
lcanie the recognized tact that he was the
;rcat star's protege, and next it transpired
hat, she had engaged him to go to England
vith her. This was a happy period for
hem both. Fraukness being one of her
:hief characteristics, she made no secret
if her adnuration of his salnts and liking
'or him personally, and of her intention
oward his interests so far as lay within
ter power. Whether she loved him as she
oved atother in her girlhood days is dilli.
:ult to determine, but her manners became
nore gentle and womailike, she was less
inperious with her underlings, and spared
Sgte.t deai of time teaching nim his parts.
his feelings were easier probed; Conrad
Jhirke did not love Charl)tte Cushman.
llis nattire was too selfish to permit hin to
eel so pure and disinturested a passion its
ove in its highest sense. Matters had thus
itood for some months.
One evening Alias Cushman was going to
he theatre alone, when a weak, haggard.
ooking woman approached her wit I a baby
n her arms. She was a simall, red-hairect,
.ragdle creature. Laying her hand on Miss
Jushman's ari, she said:
'Miss Cushman, I think a woman of
'our geniius and p~ositiont miight, have picent~y
>f adinirers without taking up with the hus
Jand of it poor womani like me.'
TIhie trageiencne pausited in blank amaze
'Are you talking to mu' she asked.
'Anti you say I have taken your hus
Jand from youf'
'I dhon't know you; ma, I ask the name
>f this priecious husband of youmrs?'
'Conrad Cla: ke,' was the reply.
VTe great actress hurrieit awvay. Sihe
ind received a blow, but site met it wit~h
Sbrave tront, as she had mitny others in
ier not, altogether smoottIi path in life. All
nuiles, bows, and honeyed wordls Clarke
gretedi her that, night. She gave a dleathi
>owv to ali his hopes, not tenderly, as
nany a woman so situatedi might have
lanu, hut wit hi characterist ic dIeision. Oni
itamng front his wvife what site had done,
nleecmie furious ait what lie dechared to
>e a malicious scheme to ruin him, and,
caving her, swore iiever to live with her
igain. Annie Clarke easily obtained a
hivorce [roma him, and shortly after mar
il an actor, namedi Forest, of Cleveland.
fy a stranige concatenation of circum
tances, Clark's child was adopted and1(
nost tendlerhy reared bmy one of our bright
sat wits, the only one of his peculiarly
aiuislie kind left, a mnm who wields a
owverftul weapon im his pen--who has two
>arties for and against hm--one that nates
mud fears hint, the other that loves and
Afghanm SoIdio s.
Thlie relations between the ofhhcrs anid
nien remind one of those existing an the
i'urkish army. if n Afghian ohieer drinks
ea, a numiber of soldiers aire sure to sit
iround him. If lie smokes a kaliana, all
hie soldiers gather necar hinm and a wait their
urn ; the kuliana, hiavimng gone thme rounid
lit e pr ivates, returns again to the olicr.
[f a soldier smom(kes a liipe, the uflicer asks
dmi to let him have a draw at it. Should
5 olii take fromi thec folds of his dreas a
obacco pouch, In ordler to putt a plu1g of to
)acco) under his tongue, the oflcer inserts
1is lInger tandt thumb into the pouch also,
md takes a punch of tobacco. Oni the
>ther hand, should the olhicer take out lia
>wnVi pouch, the solier helps himself In a
unihar mianner to lis tobiacco. I did int
)bsorve that the mtautal freedom of amanmi-r
iand any dietrimenital effect on the dlescilmie
)f the troop~s. TIhie men obeyed the comi.
nand~s of their ollicers with dhocility, amid
tever displayed insubordination when sen
enced-to be thirashed. Indieed, It Is ex
seendingly rare that oflicers employ the
gehi. During the whole (of my sojourn im
A~fghatan , 1 only saw theo ptirnsh-nient
niceted twice; on both ocessione on men
whio had stolen hay from my horses.
Tiho Flowery Island.
Right out of the sea, 450 miles from ti
Florida coast, rises a hugo rock, twenty.
two miles long by seven wide. It is th(
smallest of the Bahama Islands and i
called New Providence. It nestles in it
wilderness of flowers, plants and fruits,
Tihere is not a tree, shrub or flower that
thrives in any warm climate that does not
grow luxuriantly there. It is a r ck upor
which these beauties grow and blossom,
and over which a never..ending summer
breeze blows the seeds of health by tem.
pering the warmth of a tropical sun until
it strikes a happy medium where all season
is summer and manmind basks in al at
mosphero practically invariable twelve
months in the year, and trees, shrubs and
flowers thrive in chaotic profusion all the
It is a calcareous rock of coral, soft and
pliable to the mechanic's hand, filled with
shells and sand, and spit upon by the ocean
until ceicnted with its brine. The surface
in places rots, forms a thin soil, and In
this, and wherever a crack or crevice is
found, the gayest flow':rs bloom. To de
scribe its inhabitants would be to parade
before you a mass of s:olored men. women
and children. cheaply but neatly (ressed,
barefooted and bonnetless, but happy, po
lite. Out of a population of 15,000 more
than 12,000 are negroes, and unusually
intelligent. Shining out from this dark.
ness Is now and then a native white face,
intelligent and healthy, and at this season
numbers of foreigh faces, which look as if
in search of bealth. ie houses are as
neat as the people, and all of them are
smothered in flowers and shrubbery. In
almost every yard, as well as growing
wild, are cocoaluts, oranges, guaves, sola
dillos, mangoes and all sorts of fruit hang
in all stages-bud, blossom, half grown
and the matured fruit. The drives over
the town and through the island are su
perb, smooth as a floor and of solid rock,
flned on either side with tangled sweeping
vines, stunted trees and flowering plants.
i'he oleander towers its high htad among
the more pretentious tropical plants, while
our own modest morning glory, so dear to
our childhood, peeps out from behind the
leaves with the dlow resting upon its purple
lips to be kissed away by the morning sun.
No tongue can tell or pen write the beau
ties, either of land or sea, wiich are every.
where visible. Fruits are the principle
staples, aniid upon these the natives live to
very great extnt. All tropical varieties
rrow m abundance, and are remarkably
rich and nutritious. ]very variety of fish
is taken and enters very largely into the
domestic economy of the natives. The
chief industry of the island is sponge gath
tis name vas Bismarck, mit Only volle
eye, on accoundt of a old plack cat, vot
pelongs to a serfant Irish gals mit red
haired hair. Also lie has only (ree legs,
on accoundt of mocolotif engines mitout
any bull-ketcher. He( vas a dog. Blismuarck
vas. Ie vaslpaldt-headed all ofer himself,
in gonsegnense of red hot voter, on accoundt,
of fightin' mit a cat. On vone endt, of
himself vas skituated his head-und his
tail vas py (Ie oder endt. lie only carries
about vone-half of his tail mit him, on
occoundt of a circular saw-mill. lie looks
a goodt teal more older as lie is already, but
lie ain't quite as oldt as dot until de next
De vay (lot you can know hun is, if you
calls him "8hack," he von't say notings,
but he makes answers to de name "HBis
marck," by saying "Pow vow vow ?"
und. in (Ie meantime, vagging half of his
tail-dot odor nafs vas cut off, so lie can't,
of course, shake it. Also, If you t'row
stones on top of him, lie vill run like do
tuefel, and holler "Ky yi I ky yi !" Dot's
de vay you caln told ily dog.
lie looks like a cross between a bull
foundtlaundt. und1 a cat mit nine taihs--but
he ain't.. ie got niot efeii Vone whole tail,
und( lie ain't cross nmot. a bit.
Anoder vay you couild told1 if it vas my
Blismnarck is dlot, lie vas almost a dwm. i~e
vould be half of a bair of d wims dlot time,
only dlere viis dIree of them-a hair of
dIwlis und( a hialf. 1 pelieve dey calls dot
a Ir pleCt.
Also lie got. scars on de top of his side,
vheire lie scratched himiself it a Thomas
cjit-bunt (lot Thomnas cat nefer recovered
You can also tell Bismiarck onu accoundt.
of his vondlerful inshtinict. lie cani out,
inshtimct any diog vet you nefer saw in my
life. For iinshtance, if you pat him on top)
of his head mit my hand, lie knows right
aivay dsu you like hum, but if you pat hun
on the head mit a pavement shtones or
dei shtick of a proomi, lhe vill sh'isp~ect,
right off (lot yoiu care not fery much ab~ouit
(Callers seated in the parlors of an up;
'I've hieardl she gave three hundred (101
Jars for that group, I'd just as soon have a
chiromo, wouldn't, y'ou I'
'And just, look at that center table
looks like a fancy fair for all the world;
one would thinik-'
'Il-u-s-h, she's coining.'
(lenter lady of the house.)
'Oh, you dlear darling creatures I What
an age since I've seen you. Where have
you beena ? Enijoyhig the holidays,no1 doubt.
I'im so glad to see you bot h.'
(Together.) 'Andi we are so glad to see
you I how peorfectly sweet, y ou do look I
What, have you beeni doing to yourselfi
Oh, it'a that lovely new dress 1 so becoingl
but, then you look well in everythiing I'
'On I oh I Who's got a new seal skin
cloak '( Dear M~rs. Smith, I j:ist, envy you;
it's a bc-a-uitiful t~ing I'
Mrs. Simi-'WVell, it ought to lie
James gave four hundred anid twenty-live
dotllars for It.'
'Y'es, buit that's noithiing for Col. Smith,
you knowv I hlow Is lie ? I do admire the
Coloiiel so miuchli IBut then lhe never looks
at, any cne but you.'
'On I ycolI make me b~eheve that !lHe's
a regular old flirt I but I forgive him for
everything since ho's got iue this cloak.
Well, wve really must, go; ever so maiiy
more calls to mtako. Now, return this
soon,~ there's a dlailinig. By-by sweetness.'
(lacdy of the house to iiext, caller.)
'Yes, that Mrs. Col. Smith andl her sister
-what a dowdy that sister idihd call
herce, and, do you believe, 8she had the imn
pudenice to t.ell me-moue- that her hue.
lmand gave fear hundred and twemiy-livo
doellars her that Ehabby old scai skin, as If
I didn't, know exactly what it, was worth I
He'd much bettor pay his debts,' etc., etc.,
Fof a quiet wedding at homc there are,
first, the invitations, which involve, as a
rule, two card-plates and a note-sheet
printed on the finest of heavy white paper.
M onograms and special designs have beui
nearly discarded, and the fashionable text
is a plain, simple, legible script, beautifuly
engraved. The cost depends upon tl.u
number of letters, but, on the avt rage, for
100 invitations, the cost will be $20, with
an additional $5 for each additional 100,
unless the order exceeds 00, when a
moderate discount, is given. For 500
guests the stationer sends in his bill I )r
from $40 to $60. The rage at present
seems to be for floral decorations; and
although nature scatters her blossoms and
verdure with a gehierous hand, ami never
sends in a bill, the ik -ist is by no means
'o liberal. A plain unostentatious display
of smilax and flowers may be procured for
fifty dollars, and that is about the lowest
figure for which a fashionable florist would
think of sending his bill. Exotics, oriental
palms, and ferns are not included in such
a decoratlon; nor are bridal bells, and
hearts, and canopies, beneath which the
happy pair receive the congratulations of
their friends. Single pieces of their de
scription-and very ungraceful ones at
that though woven of rare exotics-often
cost from $76 to $150 and where a number
are required, the bill soon crawls up to a
good sized figure. Good taste and fertility
of suggestion can, however, accomplish
wonderful results with $100, particularly
where elegaice is preferred to a dumb show
of magmificent profusion.
Them comes the collation-say for 150
guests--served quiet lv in the dining-oom.
It is a Iloot point whether it pays to emii
ploy a caterer and commit the whole item
of collation, wines, and attendance to his
hands, or to unidei take the wovk one's self,
with the trainii of servants, and the
illimitable probabili ties of broken porcelain
and mislaid silver. 'T hose who have ha()
most experience in wedding and dinner
)arties aver, 11 I r-ui1e, that it Costs les
n oney and gives better salisfaction, iade- I
pende.nt of personal trouble aitd the vex- i
ationl arieing from the bilinders of hired I
attenants, to take the former coarse. For t
a simple collation for 150 guests, about the I
lowest figures given by caterers are $2 per
capita, and from that to $12, which was
regarded as embracming all the requirements
that could possibly be asked.
For a wedding breakfast, served in a
very quiet way, $1. 60 per capita represents
the lowest limit of caterers' prices; and 1
this is probably less than it would cost the I
bride's fattier to Uuy the materials and
inake provision for their preparation and t
service. It is not unusual tiUs winter I
however; on very quiet occasions, to be I
content, with a service of cake and wine
only. W edaing cake for one hundred per
sons, done up in pretty boxes, slawped
with monegrauis, is futrnished at froan $80
to $50, according to the style of the box ;
for one of ihese dainty little trilles,. with
paintine by hand on the lid, all satin and
gilding, may be rendered as expeiisih e as a
casket of gold, or, in the extreme of sim
plicity, furnished for next to notlng.
Of course, after all, the main item of
expense is the bridal trousseau. The attire
for the ceremonv, the white satin, brocaded
or not, with bridal veil, orange bl.)SS011,
and toilet accessories, mialy-exclusive of
laces auid Jewels-be procuret for $600.
In fact, one can readily spend from $1,000
upwards in order to give one daughter in
marriage in harniony with the ritual o 1
"Krect1-Fa14 re wel 1."
No cat could have walked into the Cen
tral Station, Detroit, more softly ttian did
i long-waisted, low-voiced stranger about
40 years old, whose lands worm encased in
badu~ly woin iicottonl gloves, ha't brushed 1
clear down 1below the natp, boots wanlting I
new heels, and1( dress coat, showing a cot -
ton edge alt around. ie wvas neither a
great general, statesman norlorator. i~e
silmply desiredl to miake a hew inquirie,.
and( lhe softly said :
'My arraingemnits are such that I shIn.11
be in D~etroot, until after Washlington's birth
daiy. I am11 a greatadmnirer of the lamented 4
gentlemian, anid I atlways make it a poin.
to celebrate his birthiday.'
'Whichl is patiotic andall11 r'ighit,' replied I
the captain of police.
'I wanltedl to ask what latitudlethe piolico <
wouldI allow mec on suich ani occasion l'
continiued the man11. '1 shali certainly get
dirunik;but will 1 be0 permjitted to tear dhown I
stoves, smiashi up bars, break windows andi
k~ick in (10ors ?'
'Certinly not. T1hie first mlove you make
In that direction will result in your being
'Would, eh? Well, I simiply inquired for
in format ion. I suppose it would be (doing
the lamnented gentleman full honor If Is511
p~ly got dIrunk ?' a
'I think so.'
'Very wehl, I doin't want to seem cap
tious In tile matter, nor (10 1 care to get
mnto anly trouble. I think I will get drunk(
early in the morning.'
'And wave the American flag from tile
window of my b~oardling house-wave It
'And make a speech to my landlady on
the goodness aiid greatness of the lamented
gentemlan-mnake it very grently and quiet
ly, without any cheers or applause.'
'Yes, that would~ do.
'And then go downl into thed back yard
and~ hlurrahi abiout three times-nlot ye11
like a Pawnee Injuni, tmut soidy and quietly
hmurrahl for George Wanshington, the lather
of( hits country.'
'Well, don't dlistturb anyone.'
'.No, of course not After huirrahmtg 1
will return to my room, take another drink
readl the Decclaration 01f Indepandence, and
mii'ke a speech to myself-not a rantIng,
blatant oratouical eff'ort, but a soft and mIld
sort of pecrorationl, ending uip with thie song
entitledh, 'My Country, 'tis of TIhiee,' andl so
'Yes, that's good.'
"'hen I'll take another drink and go to
bed and lie there (during the remialnder of
the clay, unhess the landlady Insists on an.
othler speech, and i don't thInk she will.
Now, then, are my terms perfectly satis
*Very well, theon-adteu. A idld, geni
tie drinkh-subdued oratory-gentle wav
ing-repressed hurrahi ng-harp-hke peio
ration, and you are satisfied, I am satisfied,
and the lamented gentleman has got to be
satIstied or provide his owa brass bands.
Perfetly k'ret-..fronam I'
For t wo montha Mr. do Charnay, the
arclueologist, who is engaged in making
excavations in the ruins of ancient Mexican
c'ties, lived an amphibious life, so to speak,
ati at Palenque all his servants were
l:r')strated with sickness. When they loft
the City of Mlexico for the ruined cities
they slept in the ruins of ancient temples,
houses and graves. Mr. Charnay exhumed
three ancient cities in the course of his re
seirehes, and secured about a thousand
antiques of stone, pottery, etc. Some of
the pottery was enameled. Ile made
uunierous impressions of hieroglyphics, and
took hundreds of photographs. Ie began
his researches about the volcano Popocate
peti, which has an altitude of about 13,000
feet. lie exhumed the city of Tula, the
ancient ioltec capital, which was inhabited,
accordingi to some authors, about the year
667. Extensive excavations were also
made by Mr. Charnay in Teotihucan, the
city of the gods, and Mr. Charnay is of
opinion that this also was a Toltec city.
He was led to thli conchsion by seeing
that the houses and public buildings were
constructed after the model of those In
'lia. The city of Coialcalco, in To
bacco. must have been inhabited by Tol
Lees, because the architecture of this place
And the carvings and ornaments rese abled
hose found in the two other ruined cities.
Hr. Charnay did not find any similarity
6vhatever between the hieroglyphics of
micnt Mexico and those of the old world,
md hence he does not believe that Phoii.
.:ian sailors ever reached the American
:ontinent. Tte civilization of ancient
HIexico, lie thought, was an original Toltec
ivilization, and the Aztec was merely a
evival of the Toltec civilization. Whether
he Toltec race still existed distinct from
no Indians of the peninsula, or whether
he present Mexican Indians were the do
cendants of those people, Mr. Charnay
vas not yet prepared to say. As to the
iun worship, it was not necessary to con.
1ittle that the old Mexicans had learned
hat religion from other races. Very many
nuilbarous and savage races adored the sun,
mid this would be a very natural fori ot
vorship, from the fact that the sun was
lie source of light and warmth, and the
upport of life. However. Mr. Charnay
Va led to suppose that Japanese and
)hinese theology had reached lMexico. In
vhat manner Ie had not yet discovered,
iut it probably was introduced by some
hip-wrecked Japanese sailors on tho lexi:
an coast. Ar. Charnay observed a simi
irity in structure between ancient lexican
ud Japanese teniples, and Mr. Orozo
'herra, who died only three months ago,
old Mir. Charnay tiat lie thought Budd.
isin had greatly influenced the anucietL
Itange for Foultry.
It has become quite a question as to
vhether a larae range is essential or even
lesirable In the ralsing of poultry. On the
no hand we are told that fowls In a state
if nature had an unlimited range; that we
aust follow nature as closely as possible,
n order to soeure the best results; that
vith a good range the fowls can procure
niany articles of food suitable for their
usteniance, lan( also many ingredients that
(onduce to the preservati .n of their health.
)n the other hand, we are told that it Is
iot desirable to follow nature too closely
a the rearing of fowls,inasimuch as in that
tate they would pay very little if any
>rollt, laying but one, or at most, two set
inga of eggs per year; that the very change
n their food both as to quantity and quality,
ins been the means of vastly increasing
he egg production, and that the experi
miced breeder can judge better as to the
equiroinenti of his fowls, so as to return
iuii a profit, than they can themiselves.
It is evident that much can be said on
)Eoth sides of this question, and It seems to
lie writer to be something like the gold
Li silver shield( question. B~oth are right
.nd both are wrong. It depends entirely
>n what, breed of poultty you keep); what
tour object is in raisinig fowis,and whether
hey hauve been accustomed to a range or
iot. A great, many of the smaller varieties,
much as the Legioirn, will ordiinarily not
amly fai to give much of a profit when con..
lnedl but will usually decrease in vigor and
>ecoime delicate, while such varieties as
he Plymouthi Iock and Birahama will un
!er certain circumstances, do very well in
o:tnemient. Again if you are breeding
type of fowls which you wish to perpetu -
ite, it follows that you should give thema
ii large ia range as p~ossible,as that certainly
lacreases their vigor and preserves their
tamima; but ii yo"u are breediing simply for
ggs aiid flesh, Oepee'st to introduce now
>nood each fear, you couldt probably d i as
veli without giving your iowls a large
'ange. All this, however, depends Upon
vhat the fowls have been accustomed to.
f they have had a range it will be found
imost, imposs05ibleito make thema profitable
vitheuL one, as they will pine for their
*ccustomiid liberty, and decrease in their
ig productin if it Is not giveii them. Tiho
tnly way then to keep fowls prolltably
vithout a range, is to unever allow them to
ave one Ironi their b1 rI h.
Thef Odd Termu of Loens.
The reason for the use of the odd term
a leases. 999 years or 90f years, thus Is
ilven: Lessees a11( nd ortgageos in posses
ion of real estates for 100 or 1,000 years
lemised the samne at an annual rental, re
aining a reversion for the last year of thme
>riginal term. Th'le object of this was an
iwillingnoss on thme part of the under
enant to become bound to the~ performance
f the covenants contained In the original
grant; and also the importance to the lessor
>f a revisionary initerest, without which,
mnder the old English practice, lie could
iot recover his rent, by dlistress. Some
imes this reversion was only for tuhree
lays, or even for one day, .but usually in
ong-terims the last, year was retained.
Jut of this came the popular notion that
lie law providied this restraint, and hence
eases were made for 99 or 999 years,
whemn there was no reason whatever for any
mchx odd period of time, In E!nglanmd
here was, in special cases, a restraint on
3orporations or ecclesiastical persons, pro
lbiting the demise of lands belonging -t~o
them to the impoverishment of their sue
sessors for .a term beyond 100 years, and
imch leases were made for 99 years.
-The public schoois of the United
States ost $83,529,000 a year,
-The value of the New. York hay
Orrip Is estimated at $09,000,009 a yar.
--The exact population of New York
State by the census of 1880 is 8,082,983,