Newspaper Page Text
ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, APKIL 26, 1882.
NO. 47. VOLUME * XXVI. Tl?o Silver Li it i nr. There's never a day so sunny But a little cloud appears ; There's never a life *<> happy But has its time of teais ; Yet the sun shines out the brighter Whenever the tem;>cst c.'ears. There's never a garden growing With roses in evtry : 1 >t; There's never a Lcart so hardened But it has one tender i-pot: V\*e have only to prune the border To find the forget-me-not. There's never a sun that rhes But we know 'twill get at night; The tints that gleam in the morning At evening are just as bright; And the hour that is (he sweetest Is between the dark and light. '1 here's never a dream so happy But the waking makes us sad; There's never a dteam of sorrow But the waking makes us glad ; We shall look some day with wonder At the "troubles" we have had. THAT GREEN SILK. Mrs. Deacon Lewis ami Mrs. Davis, j the postmistre?s, were conferring to gether in mysterious whispers as they leaned over their mutual back-yard fence. Said Mrs. Deacon Lewis : "Seein' is believin' or else I should ! say jest as yon do, that it couldn't be i true; but I jest stepped into Miss; Badger's to see what she'd charge to fix j over my black alpaca?I wa'n't in any : hurry for the alpaca, but I hind of pot j r.n idea that, there was Pomethin' in the : wind and I thought meb l>e Jcould find out what it was there?and thero I saw it with my own two eyca, all over plaifc in'u and ruffling that itseemed aburnin' shame to cut up good thick silk into, i and fixed up in tho back so't I couldn't ' have the heart to set down on it. And Miss Badger, for all she's so close- j mouthed, she up and told me who it , belonged to, and savs I, 'You don't say , so !' and says she, 'Yes, I do,' and then ( she pursed her lips up kind of pro- | ] vokin', as if she cculd tell a great deal ' , more if she w.n a mind to. But I've j got wit enough to put two and two to- | ; g9ther, if folks is close-mouthed, and j j says I, right out?for them ain't nothin'! f sly about me--says I, 'Then Cordilly I, Brewster is a-goin' to get married.' And * i Miss Badger she never denied it." , " Well, it does beat all," said Mrs. ] Davis. "This has been a sing'lar year, what with the comet and the terrible j, happenin's all round; and now Cordilly , Brewster settin' up to have a green silk j j .dress, when sbo hasn't worn anything ; ] but bombazine and alpaca and her one j ] old black siik for nigh upen twenty! ( TH V L. _ a. 1 J I . years. j.i s enougu ro upsei auyuouyui ideas altogether, and make 'em think the world'* comin to an end. Though j I can't say that such extravagance looks much like the millenium." j Mrs. Deacon Lewis shook her head in ; solemn censure. I " A good black silk would have been ! much more suitable and becomin' to a ! woman most forty years old, to say ! nothin' of the wear and the makin' over, and for a minister's wife?" ! " You don't say that she's goin1 to marry the minister!" exclaimed Mrs. Davis. " Why, I suppose so, of course. Who can it be if it isn't tho minister?'' " I never saw any sign of their! keepin' company. Parson Greeley is i too *peritual to marry a woman that j crimps her front hair with hot slate I pencils; and she never put more than | three eggs into those custards that she i carried to the donation party. I sbould ; think more likely 'twas somebody that i she picked up when she was down to j Haverhill xbitiu', or John Parmenter, i that used to keep company with her | when they was young, and has kind o'| been doin' it, oS and on, ever sence." j " Ob, she wouldn't have John Par menter, even if he had spunk enough to ask her, which ho hain't. lie is a good fellow, John is, but he'll never set j the wqrld3t3j?.. ^ feS^U^.CS-rUBnin4*r (tbwh hill terribly lately; has had to mortgage his furm, thev do say." "Cordiliy's money would come in just right, then; but, as you say, 1 don't suppose sfce would have him. It's likely that's what's made John turn out so poorly, her not bavin' him. But I can't really believe it's the minister. There's Sammy; let's ask him.;' j Sammy Greeley, the minister's young-; est hopeful, who wasengagedin " shin ning up" a neighboring telegraph pole with the ambitious design of attaching his kite to the wire, descended some-: what rolnctantly to the earth and obeyed Mrs. D^vis' beckoning finper. \ Sammy was a freckled-faced urchin j with a turned up nose, the expression I , of which was contradicted by a pair of ^ preternatuially solemn and innocent looking blue eyes. In spite of his eyes Sammy was generally regarded as a ( "limb," and he and his three brothers, Moses, Hosea and Joseph, caused the old proverb concerning ministers' sons , to'be often repeated with eomnle head- ( shakings by the townspeople. " Sammy, is your father goin' to be married ?" asked Mrs. Davis, with her hand affectionately placed on Sammy's shoulder. "The old gent? He couldn't remem- | bar to. Nobody would have him, either. He's as bald as a door-knob, and ho asks a blessin' anywhere along between the meat and tho puddin*. And Joe and mo would fix her, anyhow." "Wouldn't yon libe to have him marry a nice, kind lady like Miss Cor- > dilly Brewster? She would teach you ' how to behave?" " Know hew good enough now, and i I'd wribg her old parrot's neck ! I don't; believe it, anyhow, but I'm goin' to find | out." And off went Sammy, regardless of > his kite, and buret, breathless, into his j father's study. "You ain't goin' to marry Miss. Brewster and her old green parrot that j sweats, and have her always clearin' up j and dustin' and losin* your papers, are yer? ' demanded Sammy. The minister turned from his sermon wri'.ing and regarded Sam. amazement. Gradually his expression j changed to one of perplexity. He re moved his spectacles from his eyes to the top of his head and then he tapped his forehead with the tips of his fin gers, as if to summon forth some stray ing recollection. "ThRt must be tho very thing I was ' trying to remember! Wait a moment, j I must have set it down somewhere." And Parson Greeley drew from one of the pigeon holes of his desk some loose sheets of foolscap paper which had evi dently been used as a diary. Several pages were devoted to memoranda; f Koto miniafor ronrl alnnd* ".'Mem.?To confute the infidel ped-' dler's argument by St. Pan] and? "'Mim.?To tell Debc ah, mildly; bnt firmly, that so much saleratua is not conducive to health. ' Mem.?To punish Joseph and Samuel for unseemlv conduct at prayer time. " 'Mem.?To admonish Brother Bates (gently) that he is becoming unsound in doctrine. " ' Mem.?To endeavor so far as lies in mo to restore peace to the singing seats. "'Mem.?To endeavor to exercise sued a measure of wholesomo restraint over Moses and Samuel that they may not become a cause of scandal to the neighborhood. " ' Mem.?To devote a greater meas-1 ure of attention to worldly matters, j such as applying blacking to my boots, j and binshiQR my raiment. "'Mem.?To consider prayerfully; whether the use of hair-dye is incom- j patible with the principles of the Christ-; ian religion or the duties of the Christ ian ministry. " 'Mem.?That the singing feats are in the hands of God, and that He causes even the wrath of man to praise Dim. "'Mem.?To consider prayerfully the subject of contracting a matrimo nial alliance with Miss Cordelia Brew ster.' "That's it 1 I knew I was not mis taken ; and I felt that I had leadings from the Lord in that direction; and : yet, in the midst of manifold cares and i distractions, it wholly slipped my mind, : weak and erriDg mortal that I am. j But it may not yet be too late." And the minister seized his hat, giving it a hasty bmsh with his sleeve, and hur ried to the door, turning, however, to lay his hand with unwonted tenderness upon his son's head, saying, solemnly: "Samuel, I thank you for this sugges tion, and 1 would that I could perceive in you as lively signs of the workings of grace as I do of wisdom and discern ment beyond your years." Samuel, left alone, looked after his father with a most lugubrious face. " For a feller to go and do it himself, that's the worst of it! I hadn't better let on to Mose and the rest that I did it! No more fun it she comes here; she'll want a feller not to tear his clothes and lmvo hi3 hair brushed every minute, and no pie or cake be tween meals. We'll make it lively for her, though?Mose and Hose and Jo and I." All unconscious of what was in store for her Miss Cordelia Brewster was en paged in inspecting and admiring her green silk dress, which had just been sent home f.oni the dressmaker's. Miss Cordelia was a plump little woman, with a pinkish bloom fetill lingering upon her cheeks, and no trace of time's frosting upon her chestnut locks. Why she had never married was a mystery. For ten years after her father, the vil lage doctor, had died, leaving her a modest competence, the gossips had been on the lookout for signs of matri monial intentions on her part. When she had passed thirty and was still Miss Cordelia, people gradually ceased to speculate about her. For some inscrut ablo reason they decided that Miss Cor delia meant to be an old maid to the end of thechapter. It wasobserved that even John Parmenter, who had somewhat indefinitely "hung round" her for years, "kirrd o' dropped off;" ho no longer sat in the singing seats, where Miss Cordelia still serenely kept her place, despite the rivalry of younger choristers ; so they were not so fre quently thrown together, and he was seldom seen to walk home with her from the weekly prayer-meeting ; his Did sorrel mare was very rarely seen fastened to the hitching-post before Lilies c-oruena s aoor 01 a eunaay nignt; and only once or twice had he been seen shyly to offer her a nosegay of southernwood and cinnamon pinks, which grew to great perfection in his crarden, and of which, in her girlhood. Miss Cordelia had been very fond. Many other admirers had Miss Cor delia, but she had turned a cold shoul 3er upon all, and seemed perfectly con :ented to live on in her comfortable old aonsc, with trim box bordered flower 3eds in the front yard, and lilac bushes jrowding in at the windows, with her Handmaiden Tryphosa, who was not, is her name suggested, a blooming and romantic young maiden, but an ancient ind angular spinster, who believed in signs and omens, and always "felt" ;oming events "in her bones." Try ahosa was now gazing at the green silk ivith a melancholy expression of coun tenance. " Green means forsaken; there ain't 30 denyin' it. And Seliny Wilson, that was merried in green, was laid out a jorpse in it before the end of the year; ind Mertildy Lyman, that was merried in a white muslin sprigged with green, md green bunnit strings, she had a irunken husband that fell off the hay now and dislocated his spinal column, ?nd everybody knew her twins wa'n't aright; and?" " But I am not going to be married in t, you know, Tryphosa," said Miss Cor lelia, turning a merry face up to Miss Fryphosa's doleful one. "Perhapsit is )nly unlucky as a wedding dress. As 'or being forsaken, there doesn't seem o be anybody left to forsake me but rou, and I am not afraid that all the Sreen dresses in the world could make rou do that." "Thero ain't no luck abjut green johow," said Tryphosa. "If 'twas lay ock, now, or a handsome brown?" suppose I really ought - lad black," said llisstJordelia, medita tively; " but 6ome way the spring com no nn. with flVArrthinc fin frfish nnd bright, made me feel as I used to long igo, and I've made believe to myself? [ wouldn't own it to anybody but you, ["ryphosa?but I've made believe I was t girl again. And that's why I had this jreen silk." "And that's why you've been putting sosies in your hair. Well, it beats all vhat a difference there is in folks. Now spring puts me in mind of house ;leanin' and soap-bilin' and bitters Land eakes! if there ain't Parson Gree ey a-comin' up the walk, and nothin' jut the old cropple crown for dinner, ind all skin and bones at that, and he i-comin' in the yard this blessed min ute !'' Miss Cordelia whisked the gTeen silk 3ut of sight, and smoothed her crimps demurely down, as she hastened to jreefc her visitor. It happened that Miss Polly Watkins, who went about the village peddling a concoction known as Watkins' Unap proachable Liniment, was so fortunate is to be passing just as the. minister opened Miss Cordelia's front yard gate. "There! I knew well that there wa'n't never so much smoke without some fire. Miss Badger needn't think she could make me believe that green silk gown with a train didn't mean something. So it's the minister. "Well, | men-folks is terrible f-liort-sighted ere- j ters. There is them in Westlield that j would make him a good sensible wife '' | Miss Polly was eo unhappy as to go ; on for nearly a quarter of a mile before ! she met anybody to whom she could ! tell her news, and then it was only Dr. Iiampav, jogging along behind hiB old white horse, and between him and Miss Polly " there wa'n't," as 6he expressed it, "no great likin', no more'n there was apt to bo between two cf a trade." But still new6 was news, and Misa Polly could not resist the temptation of an opportunity to 6hare it. "Well, things do turn out queer 1" said the doctor to himself, meditatively flicking a fly off his old white horse as he jogged along again. "I wouldn't have thought she would havo had any body, let alone the old parson. If I had thought? "Why, I'm ten years young er'n ho is and a sight better calculated to please t lie fair Fex. And that's a snug bit cf property of Miss Cordilly's, and 6he'd a wholesome-looking, good tempered woman, to say nothing of be ing handsome, which don't signify. I believe I can cut out the parson if I try. I always said I would die a bach elor, but it's a wise man that changes his mind." And the doctor actually whipped his hcrso ut of his accustomed jog into a lively trot, and everybody ran to the window, for the doctor in a hurry was a sight that the o11 s inhabitant had never seen. In the meantime Miss Polly had met Abner Phillips, one of the "black folks," who lived three miles from the village. But Abner could not havo been more interested in Miss Polly's news if he had lived next door to the possessor of the green silk. His homeward way led him past John Parmcnter's house, and John was hoe ing in his gardeo. "Wa'al, now, Parson Greeley is goin' to do a pretty good thiDg for himself, ain't he?' drawled Abner, after the usual comments and inquiries concern ing crops had been exchanged. "Ete knows which side his bread is buttered on. Parsons ginerally doos." " What is he going to doinquired John Parmenter. "You don't mean to say you hain't heard? Wa'ul, I declare, you don't know what's poin' on so well as black folks doos 1 He's a goin' to marry Miss | Cordilly Brewster. He's turrible tejus, l the old parson is, and she'll havo to | step around lively to fetch up them j boys. Bat women-folks always doos set by a minister." After Abner had gone John Par menter dropped his hoa and stood wiping his forehead with his handker chief with a bewildered look. "I don't know why I shouldn't have expected she'd marry, bat somehow ] didn't. I never thought of such a thing, I I don't know why I should f6el so aboui I it. If I hadn't the courage to ask he] when I was young and prosperous surel] I couldn't now. I always began to be i coward the minute I came in sight o j her. I never felt so before any othei i woman; but then I never cared any I thing about any other. Anyway, I can'l j rest until I find out whether its true oi not. Cordelia can't object to telling ar old frieud. Madame Rumor rules thif i village, and she's very apt to be mis : taken." So John set out to call on Miss Cor delia. As ho passed the bed of cinna mon pinks he found that, although i1 was early in the season, three had bios somed that very morning, and he mad( them into a little nosegay with som( sprays of fragrant southernwood. And ho was in such haste that he forgot tc | conceal them from the public gaze by a bit of paper, as?feeling that it was somewhat ridiculous for a stout old bachelor of forty-five to be carrying about little bouquets?he had done on other occasions. The doctor was driving away from Miss Cordelia's door as John approached i ii _ 1. : l l _ _ 1 jj r 1 * jj ic, me worse goiug at im oiu-iuBuumeu jog, as if there wero nothing in the world that was worth hurrying for. "I hope she isn't ill!" thought John, and then a sudden aispicion seized him. Here might be another rival, and a more formidable one than Parson Greeley. Were rivals spring ing up around him like mush rooms, when he had never thought of the possibility of the existence of one? | Mus Cordelia's cheeks wen. much flushed, and they grew redder still at sight of John's nosegay. John, strange to say, did cot blush or stammer as he presented it. Rivals seemed to bo a wonderful stimulus to his courage. "Cordelia, I heard that you were going to marry Parson Greeley. It isn't true, is it ?" There was something in the tone of his voice that made Miss Cordelia start. Was John going to speak, after being dumb so long? "No, it isn't true," said Cordelia, and cast down her eyes. "Nor?nor anybody else?" John was stammering now. Was his courage going to fail? " No, nor anybody else," said Miss Cordelia. " That is? Tryphosa, coming nto the kitchen from the back yard at that moment, saw a sight which caused her to drop the cropple crow ed rooster, but just deceased, into her pan of dcugh. " Eiviry Kimball needn't have knocked me up at 5 o'clock this morain' to inquire if that green silk dress bad a train. I should think it did have a train 1" said Tiyphosa, grimly.?Bazar The Capitalist and the Editor. "I came in to ask," bsgan a little old man in a whisper, looking as if fearful of being overheard, and drawing his chair close up to the editor, "if you know anything of the condition of the Nevada Bank ?" " No spocial information," replied the editor. "Then you think it solvent?per fectly solvent?" demanded the little man, with intenso eagerness. " Certainly." " Might I ask what its capital is?its paid up capital?" " Three millions, I believe," said the editor, beginning to wonder what man ner of man bad floated against him. "And," continned the man in black, tugging in nervous excitement at his thin and straggling iron-gray beard, "what's the Nevada Bank's reserve its reserve?that's what I want to find out?" "Four millions, I think." "And how is it invested?how is it in vested?" He fairly gulped with eager ness as he glued his eyes upon those of the editor and awaited the reply: "In United States bonds." " Ah," he said, with a great sigh of relief, "I'm gladolthat. Then"?here ho looked all around to make sure there were no listeners?"then you think a TEffi-eOTM--tiafely iutriMV to it?" " Why, certainly. There is no safer bank in the world. It has unlimited backing." Th/i lifflo nlil man filmekled nnd took the editor's hand, which he shook almost gleefully. " You have done me a great favor, sir," he exclaimed, " a great favor and I shall not forget it." It bothers you to be Bare that your money's safe, I suppose, sir ?*' said the editor with that respect in tone and manner which every independent citi zen instinctively assumes when address ing a wealthy man. " Well?er?no, not just yet. The fact is," he cried with a burst of confi dence, " I'm about to change my man ner of life. I'm fifty-five to-day and have formed a resolution that hence forth I shall save my money instead of spending it, as I have done from my youth Up, and I have suffered consid erable anxiety about where to put my money when I get it. In point of fact," he went on, his cadaverous face beam ing, "I am just now excessively hard up, and if you could oblige me, sir, with the loan of a dollar until I am started .on my new caree. you would lay me un der a heavy oblig. tion." The editor staggered toward the club in the corner, but when he turned he was alone.? Virginia Cifrj (Nev.) Chronic/a Indians* I irst Sight of (he Ocean. The Zuni chiefs were driven to the New York Mutual boildiDg on Milk street, and from the summit of the marble tower, which is 185 feet from the ground, they caught their first ! glimpso of Ihe ccean. On emerging : from the tower upon the balcony which j surrounds it Mr. Cashing pointed out I into the bay, and informed the chiefs tnat tne ocean was out mere. Amia many exclamations of delight, they re peated very many times: " Show a ha!" which Mr. Cashing states is a superla tive term, indicating tho most pro found veneration and surprise. At first they seemed a little dazed, but as Foon as they realized that they ! were at length in the piesence of the , much-longed-for "ocean of sunrise," they all fell simultaneously to repeat 1 ing, in a sing-song undertone, certain prayers. These lasted several minute2, and during their continuance they threw to the winds handfulsof " prayer flour' they had brought with them?a mixture of fine sea eliells and white corn flour. ! Having compUtod their devotions, the | chiefs commenced to expatiate upon i what they saw around them, particular ; ly upon the tremendous extent of the j pueblo of Boston. Pointing to the lice of^tho horizon ol i tho bay, tho chief of the five said ! "That is the black blue of the ocean, I and that is the foam thrown up when il j is angry. Wo have waited for manj ! generations to see this which our fatherf ! havo told us of. We now ^>e it. Pass | ing wonderful tro the things we 6es : here. On one sido thy ccean, and 01 I the other a world of houses. The whol< ! world is tilled with diflVrent tribes o j men."?Boston Fast. Us I5o} ?. "Now, boys, when i ask you a ques tion, yon musn't be afraid to speak rigb out and answer me. When you lool around and seo all the fino houses farms and cattle, do you ever think wh< pwns them all, now? Your fathers owi them, do they not?" "Yes, sir," shouted a hundred voices " Well, where will your fathers be ii twenty years from now?" "Dead," shouted the boys. "That's right. And who will owi i all this property then?" " Us boys I" shouted the urchins. "Right. Now tell mc?did you eve: in going along the street notice thi i drunkards lounging around the salooi . doors waiting for some one to trea ; them ? " "Yes, sir; lots of them." " Well, where will they bo in twent; [ yearn from now?" " Dead," exclaimed the boys. "And who will be the drunkardi xl- O It ? men: "Us boys," shouted the snabaebec , youngsters.?Inter Ocean. t TilE BRITISH ARISTOCRACF. I.ife l? I.on?Iou?'Hie (iililod VontU ol IIcl" Bravia?Tlic Aristocratic Turn-Outn. It ib not fashionable to rise early in the West End, says a London letter tc an American paper. The gentle people of Belgravia and the squares spldom begin the business of their lives, that is the great work of seeking amusement, until 1 o'clock in the day. Long before that hour, it is true that many of the younger, as well as the more sturdy, scions of the noble houseB may have had thsir gallops in the park, and as eaily as 9 o'clock in the morning ropy cheeked and strong-limbed misses, whose habits and high hats tell of their recent occupation, may be seen, having I left their horses with grooms, returning ) in smartly appointed coupes. Bat by l creneral consent the official hour of ; awaking and coming forth in all the [ neighborhood from South Kensington r toward tho Mall seems to be 1 o'clock [ At that hour, in the height of the season, tho people who find themselves in the streets of tho West End of London may be excused for forgetting that thero is any want or poverty or hunger in the , world. The bright sun of the clear June day shines through tho broad streets upon unnumbered carriages. Here there is a pony phaeton saucily dashing past a stately four-in-hand coach; brotighams, coupes and visiting equipages of all binds, brilliant with fresh polish, gold and silver mounting, and trim appointments of every 6ort may be seen all about; and now and then in the thrcng thero moves slowly but steadily and with becoming dignity the state carriugeof some old-fashioned owner of great estates, an ancient namo and many titles. There, high above tho crowd of smaller vehicles, goes ono which is in every way typical of its kind. It is drawn by four heavy horses, with all the style of the best English stock, and something of weight and size which tells of a stronc Norman cross. The harness npon them is heavy with gold platos, which glitter in tho sun, and as they toss their heads in play a light white foam is streaked along their pam pered necks. Far above them, seated upon a canopy of rich brocade, is the coachman. He, like the horses, is heavy and well fed. His white pow dered wig, as it flows out from under his three-cornered gold-fringed hat, con trasts well with the deep red of his neck 3nd face. Beside him rides a stately lackey, whose duties are not obvious, un less he be kept to display fine clothes, while on a board far behind ttand two footmen, creatures all too gorgeous for daily use. To commence at their feet and calves?probably tho most import | I ant part of tbem?they have low buckled i 6boes upon the former, and upon the | latter the fioest of white silk stockings j which show to the knee. Their brceches ; are of bright red plush, close fitting, j their long waistcoats of light striped | satin, and their gold-laced ami wide ] pocketed coats of darkest green. Tli6y, < like tha coachman and his attendant, j wear three-corned hats of green and | gold, from under which flow their white j wigs brought to a cue and tied with | gay ribbons. So appareled they stand straight upon their perch, rather <3i? J daining than making use of the hand straps by which thty are supposed to steady themselves. Between them and the coachman's seat?they are at least i twelve feet apart?upon the most nicely j adjusted springs the oblong body of the j j coach swings from leather fastenings; i it is rich with varnish, gold plate and : armorial bearings It is open, tho in ; side cushioned with the heaviest of satin, and the door padded with the same material. In this gorgeous equipage high up above the street, so high, indeed, that it seems almost as if she must have used a step-ladder to get up, there sits a woman. She is ycung and very beau tiful, after the familiar English type. ! Fair, with wide open and rather list ; less blue eyes and a mass of light brown i hair. Her dress is all white, of soft I nun's cloth, clinging laces and the I finest of lawns. Across her broad rfe5ffiaeil--?Tine~liat fcaBg-sreat-pfcHaefr i of white ostrich feathers, her gloves of j undressed white kid are of the Spanish | fashion and wrinkled almost up to her i elbow. She is altogether a most striking j figure, and on the theory that all women ; are well pleased when they attract a great deal of attention, she ought to bo very happy, for she and her grand car riage of all those in the thiongof grand carriages attract the most attention. And yet she seems to be anything but satisfied either with herself or the rest of the world. Between her arched eyebrows and around the corners of her mouth there are lines of discontent, 6adly out of place upon the face of one eo young and so surrounded. They do not belie her feeling. Despite all the wealth, all the luxury, all the magnifi j cence, all the high station which are i hers, she is neither contented nor | happy. The fair creature who sits in the ca:r j riage of state high up on soft cushions ; has a story?one of the commonest in ' aristocratic England, in fact, a sort of | every-day tale in cruel London?which : in Irnnnjn t.r? mnnf. nf fho cmv nfV.Tmn.nt.fl I cf the equipages about her. It may be briefly told. She is the daughter of a j noble dowager of great and ancient | name bat poor estate. By the help of j this thoughtful parent she was married | to Lord H., a middle-aged gentleman ! of a sporting turn of mind and a fortune | almost without limit. He needed some i one to look well at tho end of the table. ! This is the excune bo made to his "set" 1 for getting married. Still bis girl wife j pleased him for a time; and she began j to show signs of affection for him. ! Then he tired of her and went alt: i gether back to his old ways, not forget | ting, however, to be polite to her. For instance, thero was a breakfast at the club and "one of the jolliest sets im 1 aginable." Tho meal commenced at the usual hour?1 o'clock in the day? and had continued until 5.30, not un usual. It was still in progress; "the j jolliest" was at its height, in fact, when i Lord H.. rising, hurriedly cried out: " By Jove, I'll have to be oil." j "No! no! H.; don't leave us now,'' i cried his companion. ; 'Sorry, deuced sorry, but I must," j said his lordship. "Fact is, Lady H., J my wife, you know, li38 invited me to t dine with her this evening?must keep j appointment," and he hurried away. | His friends laughed at the joke?they ; thought it was a joke-and agreed that j "H.," for an old ono, was very at | tentive. His wife may have thought 1! differently. She had not yet learned, ' as many another noble woman of Eng I land has had to learn, the habit of 1 j finding consolation for an absent hus . band in the whirl of extravagant so I ciety. Or course ehe will in time, or take ' j with her to the grave the pain and ; ! heart-burning which no pen can picture, j which none but a neglected wife can feel. In the meanwhile, however, she "' must put a mask upon her face. It ! will not do on this bright morning to | appear downcast or out of spirits. No f ; UiiU lii libl ftJLiUW LUUU hUU LIUtt UUli CDCU j her lord and master for the better part 1 of a week. All the gay world of the ! West End is about her. She must be . j gay liko the rest. Bho is on her way t: to a wedding reception; it would be ? | the worst of bad form to be anything f | but all smiles at such a time, and so j | she tries to smile. 1! Her grand coach approaches the great j mansion at which she will be one of the , most welcomed guests. The square in ! front of it is almost filled with dashing equipages of every sort, Thesnn shines brightly upon tho brilliant liveries oi ! the coachmen and footmon and upon tho immense bouquets?"favors"? which many of them wear for the oc r casion. Room is made for her carriage. 3 It speeds to tho covered entrance with ! a flourish, the steps are let down ; with t greatest deference the servants stand tc do her bidding. She disappears behind the silk-curtained, rose-scented portals j to congratulate a newly made wife?one of her own set. s The total cost of the Afghan war is now estimated at ?21,551,000, namely, J ?17,551,000 for military operations and I ?4,000,000 for frontior railways. LIFE AT THE WHITE 110USF. ~~~ I How Husincsi Is Comluctcil nt the Nation'* II carta unrterM. i Wc find m the Washington Errnin</ > Star the following interesting deserip > ticn of how business is now condnc^ed i at the White House: The White House i nnder the present administration is truly a place of business, and is rnn on ) thorough business principles. President i Aithur has set apart certain days of the week for special purposes, and all the i employes know that nothing can bo , allowed to interfere with the regular work for each day. One day in every week tbe President has reserved for himself. Few people can realize the constant strain to which the President is subjected. It is absolutely neces sary that ho should have some relief from the pressure which is brought to bear upon him from morning until midnight. President Garfield gavo himself day and night to the duties cf his office, and tho constant strain on his nerves and strength told upon him very apparently even in the short time that he held the office. At first Saturday was the day chosen by Presi dent Arthur when he should seclude himself from the crowd of sight-seers and business callers who daily besiege the White House, but as that day is the ! one whe:a Senators and Representatives are most at leisure to look after affairs which necessitate a call upon the Presi dent (both houses ot Congress usually adjourning over that day), he decided upon Monday as "his" day. Tuesdays and Fridays have long been "cabinet" days. Members of Congress, however, are received on these days from 10 until 12 o'clock. The latter hour is the timo for the regular cabinet meeting. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays are what are known as business days, when thoso who have business to lay before the President, or who merely wiuh to see him and shake him by the han d are received from 11 till 1 o'clock. The President generally breakfasts about , 7:30 o'clock, lunches at 2, if the pres- v sure of business allows him, and dines . at 7:30 o'clock. About 4 o'clock he goes out driving. During the evening , ho almost always has a number of call ers, either personal, friends or officials, with whom he has appointments. When the last caller has departed the Presi- * dent usually devotes several hours to matters which he has set aside to be * contidered at this time, or which have been crowded over during the press of the day. It is at this time a decision is . reached on many matters of weight, in- . eluding frequently impDrtant appoint ments. The rules which have been laid ^ down in the White House are not devi ated from except :in case of special ap pointment. In fact, business is done ? somewhat as it was under the Jackson , and Grant regimes. It will be ^ remembered that President Garfield's private secretary, J. Stanley Brown, , acted in the same capacity for Presi- . dent Arthur for a time. Owing to the request of Mrn. Garfield that he should take charge of and arrange certain pa pers with a view to their use in the ? biography of the late President he was obliged to sever connection with the f White House. Fred J. Phillips, a per- . sonal friend of President Arthur, sue- 11 ceeded Mr. Brown. Although President 8 Arthur has a much smaller force of assistants than his predecessors, the 8 work at the executive mansion is dis pafohed with remarkable promptness 8 and accuracy. This is owing more, ^ perhaps, to the 6ignal abilities of Mr. a Phillips than to anything else. He is v a thorough man of business. The ? President has implicit confidence in 8 him, and relies on him a great deal, k and consequently Mr. Phillips succeeds & in relieving him of much that would ^ otherwise occupy his time and annoy him. The many callers whom he ^ is obliged to see are dis- r posed of with rapidity and satisfaction, b The hungry office-seeker is not lured by a false hope, beoiuse of a disinclina tion to say no, but he is told at once wnetner tnere is any cnance lor mm or not. When he is told no he under ?TaBaS'-it-t&^31taP_J30. Mr. Phillips* timo is more than occlipigd^ ..He is rushed, He has no relief and no tim? for recreation. No matter how bus^. ? he always has a pleasant word lor those ^ who approach him. He is not only recognized as a thorough business man, but as a thorongh gentleman. Mr. Crump is the steward of the "White House. He came there with Hayes, and rendered valuable assistance during the late President's illness. Mr. Crump and the new French cook make the President's dinner parties. The President's doorkeeper, Charles Loeffler, knows every person of any prominence. He never forgets a face. He is daily passed by crowds of people det-irous of audience, but he knows how to discriminate, and his phleg matic temperament keeps him level headed. He came with General Grant Arthur Simmons has been the door, keeper of the private secretary's office since 18G6, and he is likely to remain there for a good many years. Edgar Beckley, doorkeeper of the reception room, came with General Grant. There are several messengers connected with the office. The President's mounted messengers, James Sheridan and Thos. Dolan, are daily seen riding through the street?. Albert, the driver, and Jerry, the footman, must not be forgot ten. They wero well known under General Grant's administration, when they looked well behind a fine team. They didn't seem to take much pride in President Hayes's turn out. It is very doubtful if President Arthur, who has a turnout befitting a President, will allow his driver to hold the reins in one hand and a large umbrella in the other. There is one man about the White House authorized ; to make arrests, Sergeant Dinsmore. Two other policemen are on duty at night. A police officer was first placed on duty there in 1864. Very little of Sergeant Dinsmore'a time is occupied with police duty, however. He and them-hers, Messrs. Thomas F. Pendle who came with Lincoln, and J. T Rickard, have about as much as they can attend to in receiving callerp, and showing what can be seen and answer ing innumerable questions. A Supreme Court Judge's llobby. Judge Blatchford, the last appointee to the United States supremo court, is known to all the second-hand book stall keepers and jnnk dealers in New York, not as the richest and most in dustrious judge on any bench, but as the man who collects old almanacs. This whimsical pursuit is almost a mania with Judge Blatchford. From the stateliest nautical almanacs down to the humblest patent medicine annual, nothing with the signs of the zodiac I and the phases of tho moon is foreign to his tastes. When he was practicing at the bar he was largely concerned with admiralty cases, and a series of almanacs is part of the equipment of the library of every admiralty lawyer. This was the origin of Mb specialty. He has new on hand the largest and most varied lot of old almanacs in tho corn try, if not in the world. He has ran sacked Nassau and Ann streets for years with such industry that it is a rare , thing for him to find an almanac or cal endar not already in hiii collection.? New York Letter. Amending: the Reports. , Our jContinent proposes that the prosy Congressional Record be occasion ally varied with rhymiDg paraphrases of the honorable members' speeches ' something, for instance, after this style: i Then up rose Smith, of Florida, the best of the de haters, And spoke about His measure for protecting allij*a-; tors; lie showed how tourists shoot at them without re gard for reason, i An 1 asked to have it made a crime to kill thrm out of season. Then Brown he moved amendment hy insenme n l rlnrwo _ [ Compelling alligators not to operate their jaws; But Smith he up and said of him who thought the I subject comical, ) That nature, when she gave him sense, had been too economical. And Brown, responding briefly, wished to say in this connection, That Smith, in guarding reptiles, had an eye to nelf ' protection; , Then Smith he flung a rolume of the Message and I Reports, 1 And Brown was laid upon the floor a good deal^out of 8ort? The Substitute Editor. " Who is that ead-looking man whom I saw sitting in the next room as I came through?*' said Mr. Jones to the managing editor. " That? That is Larson, our substi tute editor." What is a?what are the functions of that kind of an editor?" " Why, you know, wo employ Lawson to shoulder disagreeable consequences of all kinds. When we 4 go for ' nny bedy until outraged nature cati no longer 6tand it, the injured man calls and we show him in and let him kick Lawson." " But I don't exactly understand how?" " Why, you Fee, the man comes here and asks to see the managing editor. The boy at the door knows, from the fire in his eye, what he wants and he turns him into Lawson'a room. There is a brief scrimmage, and about a quar ter of an hour later Lawson saunters in hero with Lis handkerchief to his nose to say that his salary really must be raised. He is a very nsefnl man. By j concentrating all the Btorms on him the regular stall is allowed to nave per fect pence and security. He is cowhided once or twice a week, and knocked down even oftener. We have the floor in thero padded on purpose to make it as comfortable as possible. He don't mind an ordinary flogging so much, but the man has a strange disinclination to be shot at; possibly because ho has :hree bnllets in his legs and a two-ounce dug encysted somewhere in his interior iepartment. "But Las son don't mind his ordi nary duties as much as you would ;hink. We turn in all the bores upon aim. He commands a large salary be :ause he is deaf as a post, and a bore vho would set me crazy leases him in i condition of unruffled calmness. All ,he poets who come here are sent to his oom, One of them'll sit there and ead to Lawson a poem in forty-two itanzas, and Lawson'll sit there smiling >landly, just as if he heard it all, and ie'11 compliment the writer and bow lim and his manuscript out wi^ charm Dg grace and ease. He mekes mis akes sometimes, to be sure. The other lay a man read him a speech whioh the nan wanted to pay for inserting in the )aper. Lawson thought it was a poem, ind he told the man, in the usual for nula, that he wa9 sorry our advertising fas pressing us so just now that we rtnirln'f nhlitro him and t.hft man went ip the street and published it in the Icrald A dead loss to us of about orty dollars ; but Lawson is too valu .ble to be discharged for a single blun ter like that. " Whenever there's an excursion on i dangerous part of a new railroad, or a rial trip of a steamboat that we are [oubtfal about, we always send Law on to represent the staff. He has been down up twice on the river and has teen dropped eight times through a de ective trestle-bridge, besides participate ng in a couple of boiler explosions. He eceives all the champion cabbages, gi gantic turnips and remarkable eggs bat are sent here by subscribers for lotice, and he tests all the giant cucum >ers and early watermelons that come a. We could bardly run this office afely if we didn't have Lawson." " He struck me as looking rather low pirited." "Ho he is. He has naturally a trong constitution; but he is gradually freaking down under the strain, I am fraid, and is going to die early. It reifjhs on his mind. He had a terrific ight with an indignant politician last ummer just after he had tested a bas ;et of rather anripe cantaleupes, and I lave noticed that he has been some what gloomy ever since." Just then the subdued noise of an al ercation was heard in the adjoining oom; there was a pistol shot and a ullet came whizzing through tie par ition, passing close to Mr. Jonet' head. " What's that?" asked Jones. " Lawson's having a tussle with Mc lvaine, candidate for common council. Vo cut Mcllvaine up in to-day's issue, thought he'd call. Boy !'* exclaimed be editor, " run for a policeman !" Then the sounds died away and ten linutes later, when Mr. Jones went out, e saw the policeman and two other lerfC&liying Lawson to the hospital n a stretchy whereupon the manag og editor saidf "x "We'll have to let fiJLon Mcllvaine Dr a day or two till Lawaofl time to ecuperate."? Our Continent. -. El ctric Toners. Among the serious olnUoles tha ncoanter the plan of securing illumini ioa oil a grand scale by means of pow irfnl electrio lamps raised on lofty owers, are the expense aDd diffionlty of recting such towers, and the awkward less of the machinery required to lower he lamps for trimming and returning hem to their lofty position. To do way with the latter difficulty entirely ,nd to materially lessen the former are he objects of a light tower invented by Villiam Golding, of New Orleans, of ?hich the Scientific American furnishes in illustrated description: !tfr. Golding dispenses with stagings md the usual machinery of tower build Dgs, and raises his tower into the air jy additions made at the bottom. The ,ower is a cast-iron cylinder, built up )f short sections, and kept vertical while in process of erection and after ward by means of guys. The top sections :o which the lamps aro to be perma nently attached, are put together first, md by means of an ordinary derrick ire set vertically over a hydraulio press placed upon the intended foundation of the tower. The hydraulic lift raises the top section until a new section, say, Sve feet long, can bo set underneath. While the lift is returning to ad mit a new section, the raised tower is held in position by a clamp and A f lUrt /??tra ftopu veinutti uj uicnuo ui uuo gujo. When the new section has been securely bolted on tho whole is lifted another length; and thus by successive lifts and additions at the bottom the tower is raised until the required alti tude is attained. Each section of the tower will be bored out before it is put in place, and have a diameter sufficient to allow the easy passage of a circular platform carrying the lamp trimmer, who will bo lifted to the top of the tower by means of a piston operated by compressed air supplied by pumps or a rotary blower. The inventor thinks that tho pressure need never exceed half a pound to tho square inch. The cost of a 500 feet tower complete (with out the lamps) raieed in the way de scribed is estimated at about $30,000. Tne project of erecting such a tower for the purpose of illuminating the crescent-shaped water front of New Orleans is beine agitated. The Barber's Criticism. It is related of Mr. Longfellow that when his poem of "The Village Black smith" was going through the press he read the first two stanzas to a hair dresser in Cambridge. The barber criticised the first line of the second stanza, "His hair is crisp and black and long," by sajing that crisp black hair is never long. Mr. Longfellow was struck with the merit of this criticism, and instructed his publisher to substi tute the word "strong" for "long" in that line. The next day, however, he reconsidered tho matter, and sent his publisher a note in which ho said : "I wrote you yesterday to have the word 'long' changed to 'strong' in 'The Vil lage Blacksmith.' The word 'strong' occurs in the preceding line, nnd tho repetition wculd be unpleasant. It had, therefore, better fctand as.it is, notwithstanding the hairdresser's crit icism, which, after all, is only techni cal, for hair [can bo both crisp and long." Tho first two stanzas of tho poem aro as follows: L ncier a ?i>reaiiinc cne?innt tree Tho village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is hp, With inrtrc and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arm? Are strong as iron bunds. His hair is crisp and black and long, IHb facc is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, Ho earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the facc, For he owes not any man. WILL STREET SPECULATORS. How Fortune* nrc T.ont by I.'nMopbWtlcatrri People Wlio Tliluk TUf y have "Point"." It would be laughable were it not so melancholy, says a New Ibrk corre spondent, to narrate the numberless cases of men \*ho, suddenly esalted from tbeir humble spheres of plodding work to money-making Wall street operators, built goldon castles in the air?alas! to see them so tioon and so cruelly dispelled. People abandoned their legitimate occupations and flocked to the city in hundreds, hovering over tho omnipresent sfccck-ticker, and thinking they were on the road to in dependence and riches, casting already about in their minds where they woold take their next summer jannt in Eu rope, whether they would havo light cream-colored horses, or Bteeds of a rich, dark bay; imagining themselves installed in fine, showy houses, with liveried servants and all the paraphernalia of weaitn.- j. particularly remember, for its sadly ludicrous end, the experience rf the olerk of a small summer hotel in Now England, whose acquaintance l>no made during a flying midsummer trip. He was a nice, modest fellow, but very inexperienced and much too guileless and confiding for this wicked world of ours. What was my astonishment when one evening I saw the young man sitting at Delmonico's and picking his teeth after an elaborate dinner?for I could observe the remnants of various ex pensive courses and an empty claret and champaigne bottle were on the table. He came up to me with a smile of intense satisfaction, and (as I thought at the time) with considerable conde scension extended to me his hand. "How are you?" 6aid I, civilly " "What are you doing in New York ?" " I'm down in Wall street," said he, with airy lightness, and sat down bo side me, stretchiLg out wide his legs with the manner of a capitalist who is on ad mirable terms with himsel f. ' 'I'm no longer in the hotel business.'" He went on to inform me that he was making money very fast, and that he wondered he had be n a fool for ever degrading his talents to the lowly du ties of a hotel clerk when a fortune lay ready wailing for him in Wall street. "How long do you mean to stay in New York?'' I asked, casually. "Not long," said he; "I guess I'll be going to Paris next month (this was last spring) and stay thore till October, and then come back to spend the win ter in Florida. No more hotel busi ness for me I I'm going o h ave some fun now for my money." I left him and said to myself: " How cruelly they will Bhear this poor lamb!" I first thought of advising him to sell at once and put his money safely away, bat l Knew I would only oe laugnea at as an old granny. Bnt I often won dered what had become of hioi after the great decline had set in last sum mer. A short time ago I was riding. np on the elevated railroad, and as I was putting my tioket in the little box which is at the entrance gate, I heard myself addressed by the gateman, who is placcd beside the box to see that all the tickets are dropped in. Yes, it was my old friend whom I had last seen at Delmonico'u. He had boen "cleaned : out" completely, and after being j almost on the verge of starvation, j had secured the place of a gateman at 81.25 per day of fourteen hours. This was his expe rience in Wall street. Another ease wa3 a much sadder one, for it involved an old man who will have but little chance to repair the ruin his specula tions have wrought. He "belongs to one of the learned professions, in which be has achieved a certain degree of dis tinction. Last Bummer, and evendown to last fall, he was hopeful, sanguine, perfectly giddy with the prospects he saw dazzling before him. Like every body else be had a new road somewhere in the West running from Oahkosh to Poshkosh in his vest pocket. " He was going to make a million," to quote his own words, "if he was going to irako a dollar." I met him the other day, and was much struck by the change in his appearance. His hair, whies previ ously was slightly tinged with gray, i?s i ?l ? liUU UUUUUit) LULLIU5U cumpicujr r? IJ1LD. There were terrible, deep lines about his eyes and mouth, and a look of touch ing, almost despairing sadness stole out of his formerly placid and genial eyes. He had lost everything ho had in the world, and had swept with him into the ruin ^hia wife, his children and his home. WorBt of all, he had borrowed money from friends, in the vain attempt tovretrieve his misfortunes and to re spond'- to Iba ince3sa;it brokers' calls for more arid more " margins," and was heavily in debV Everything was gone, i and ho spoke as^fclymgh not only his > fortune, but all his Bcge and couragd 1 in life had been utterly destroyed. And . Goethe pays: "Courage lost, eferythinr I lost; better that thou hadst novel been born!" Deadheads in Newspapers. It is well said by Forney's Progress [ that in proportion to the expense in- i volvcd in its preparation no article is ! so cheaply supplied as tho newspaper. : Its cost to its readers is as near nothing < as it could well be, and to make a ! living profit to its owners it must look i elsewhere for a revenue than to its sub scription list. That in many establish ments is a positive loss, regarded by itself, but the circulation attracts the advertiser, and the advertiser furnishes the sinews of war. To get the adver tiser you must first get the circulation, J and to get the circulation you must j give the people a paper that will inter- j est and please them. Every linn which 1 a newspaper publishes fon any other t reason than that its editor thinks it i contains something the people wish j to know, is more or less au in-; jury to him, because it oc cupies space which otherwise would [ be filled with matter which would aid in building up or retaining the popularity of his journal. To this nrlA^A fhfl nnaf. /if vmffinc til A IUUOU UD auucu UUW v/vsow v* , . "puff' in typo, and the other outlays it I requires. Tho wise newspaper proprie- j tor limits the number of columns to ! which he will admit advertisements, or ; increases his columns to accommodate a ' rash, knowing that to crowd the read- j ing matter, though it may temporarily make happy tho heurt of his rashier, j means speedy and permanent ruin. Yet there is not a newspaper in the' country which does not give away in the course of the year many columns of its valuable space?a trite, but true expression?and more than that, places these gratis notices in positions which the money of tho legitimate adverti er, paid down over the counter, could not | bu7 I AScIkirc to C'J nrge the lYrailur. ' One of the latest of tho big fcbcmes on puper is to chango tho climate of North America. The man who suggests this audacious idea is neither a poet nor a creature of financial nightmares, but a solid geologist, Professor Shaler, of Harvard university. The points of this interesting scheme may be summarized as follows: Once upon a time the Japanese cur rent flowed through BehrinR's straits into tho Arctic occan. Then the straits were wider tiian they are now, because forces, no lorger (xisting, caused the coast to rise gradually. Tho result of tho narrowing process was the interrnption of the warm cur rent and the consequent reduction of the entire northern part cf this conti nent to an icy waste. This section of the continent feels the effect of the change, too, as -far as our frequent blizzards attest. That Greenland was more habitable somw centuries ago than now is an historical fact. The thing to do is to make an artificial channel "through tho straits so that tbe warm current may pass toward the pole again. Such an achievement would re claim a vast stretch of land, giving North America a delightful climate, for not caly would ro:igh winter be a thing of tho past, but the tierce heats of tho American summers would be tempered. Professor Sbaler thinks that tho great work could bo accomplished if civil ized nations would unite in giviDg to I tho work the men, money and energy I now expended in fightiDg each other. Character of the Chinese JTew.-paper. To begin with the ordinary anil nu morons decrees acknowledging the good eerviccs of deities : "The gover nor general of the Yellow river," pays the Gazette of November, 1878, "re quests that a tablet may be pnt np in bonor of the river god. He states that dnring the transmission of relief rice to Honan, whenever difficulties were encountered through shallows, wind or rain the river god interposed in the most unmistakable manner, so that the transport of grain went on without hindrance. Order: Lot the proper office prepare a tablet for the temple of the river god."' "A memorial board is granted," Eays the Gazette of April, 1880, "to two temples in honor of the god of locusts. On the last appear unco ui iouuHis ia mat pruvmctj iuai j summer, prayers were offered to this deity with marked success." February, 1880. A decree ordering the imperial college of inscriptions to prepare a tablet to be reverently suspended in the temple of the sea dragon at Hoy gan, which has manifested its divine interposition in a narked manner in response to prayers for rain. In another Gazette the director general of grain transports prays that a distinction be granted to the god of winds, who pro tected the dikes of the grand canal, wherenpon the board of rites is called upon for a report. Also the river god is recommended for protecting a fleet carrying tribute rice; and the god of water gets a new temple by special rescript. In fact decrees of this kind, which merely convey public recognition of services rendered by the state gods, appear in almost every issue of the Gazette. The following degrees refer to the process of qualification for divine rank: " The governor of Anwhei forwards (November, 1878) a petition for the gentry of Ying Chow, praying that sacrifices may be offered to the late famine commissioner in Honan, in the temple already erected to the memory of his father. The father had been superintendent of the grand transport, and had greatly distinguished himself in operations against some rebels. The son had also done excellent service, aad the local gentry had heard of his death with great grief. They earnestly pray that sacrifices may be offered him as well as to his father. Granted." "A decree issued (May, 1878,) sanctioning the recommendation that a temple to Fah Tsung, a states man of the Mint? dvnastv. mav be placed on the list of those at which the officials are to offer periodical ligations. I The spirit of the deceased statesman has manifested itself effectively on several occasions when rebels have threatened the district town, and has more than once interposed when prayers have been offered for rain."?Fori niyhlly Review. In the Early Mining Days. In some reminiscences of mining life, written by Prentice Mulfoid for the San Francisco Chronicle, occurs the fol lowing: After this I borrowed a rocker and started to washing somo liver bank gravel. It took me several days to be come in any degree skilled in the use of the rocker. I had no teacher and was obliged to become acquainted with all its peculiarities by myself. First I set it on a dead level. As it had no "fall" the sand would not run out. But the hardest work of all was to dip and pour water from the dipper on the gravel in the sieve with one hand and rock the cradle with the other. There was a constant tendency on the part of the hand and arm employed in ponring to go through the motion of rocking, and vice versa. The hand and arm that rocked was more in clined to go through the motion of pouring. I seemed cut up in two individuals, between whom ex isted a troublesome and perplexing difference of opinion as to their re spective duties and functions. Such a conflict, to all intents and purposes, of iwo different minds inside of and act ng on ono body, shook it up fearfully and tore it all to pieces. I was as a house divided against itself and could not stand. However, at last the physi cal and mental elements thus warring with each other inside of me inade up their differences, and the left hand rocked the cradle peacefully while the right hand ponred harmonious ly, and the result was about 81.50 per day. * * * * Such was my inauguration into mining at Hawkins' Bar. What glorious old times they were! What independence ! What freedom from the trammels and conventionalities of fashion! Who cared or commented if did turn up the bottoms of our pantaloons or wear, for coolness sake, our flannel shirts out side the trousers ? Who then was so onfiwiStf-plfie. when anyi^&'mightetriko it rich to-rfiOflQW? \71io would beg for work or truckle anit /awn and curry favor of an employer for tbe mere sake of retaining a situa tion and help that same man to make money, when he could shoulder pick, shovel and rocker, go down to the river's edge and make his two or three dollars per day ? Though even at tbak time thic reputed S3 was oftener 81,50 ______ The Pork King. Mr. Armour, known on every prod uce exchango in this country as "Phil Armour," but who modestly styles him self the "honest butcher," is competent to speak on perk. Whether it be in the buying and killing of hogs, or in the metamorphosiug of the vulgar Anglo Saxon "hog" into the more elegant ana popular product yclept, through the influence of one's Norman French an cestors, "pork;" whether it be in the exporting of product or in the exercise of that diplomacy with which in these latter days an American pack er must be equipped in order to cope with his wily French rivals? in all mil armour is ittcuu pnuwp among the makers of pork. Qver a million of hogs were killed at his Chi cago packing-house last vi ar, over half a million more at his packing-house in Kansas City, aDd several hundred thousand more at his establishment at Milwaukee. He killed more porkers? a half million more?within the last twelve months than both Cincinnati and St. Louis put together. Twenty five millions of his money were distributed in the corn belt of this country for live hogs last year. He sits in his office on Washington street in i Chicago, and every day talks .over the wires with his own employss it Lon ' don, Liverpool, Antwerp, Copentagen, j Havre, Hamburg, and with hundreds | of them distributed through the South ern States, with his partners at his ; bank in Kansas City, with his partners at New York and Milwaukee. When j he believes in pork, ho buys not'only ! tucli as i3 within easy roach, but every ; barrel and pound of meat that is for ' sale in the world. Having bought it, he sells it, not to the great speculators j in this country and abroad, bat bim : self distributes every pound of it with j his own distributing machinery?the 1 most elaborate in the world?to the | pork eaters in the Southern cotton i States, in the manufacturing districts o,f England and France, the agricul tural sections of Germany, the lumber regions of the North. In 1879 Mr. Ar I mour was the owner of practically every j barrel of pork in the world. Within the j next year he had sold R all for consnmp ! tion. His speculation netted him, it is i said, $7,000,000.?Chicago Nmrs. Coming Canals. The New York thinks that ' while railroads have put and end to the i digging of short canals the great canals I of the world that remain to be made are: 1. Through the Isthmus of P-ina ! ma; 2 Through the neck of the Malay I peninsnlar; 3. From the Upper Nile to I the Red Sea; ? Through the peniusu i lar Schleswig-LIolstein ; 5. From the j head of the Bay of Fuady to the Gulf of St. Lawrence; 6. From Lake Win nipeg to Hudson B.iy. Tho difference between a person in his lirst childhood an 1 his sceotd childhood is this: la his first childhood ho cuts his teeth; in his second child hood the teeth cut him.?Lrnccl Courier. FACTS AND COMMENTS. Snicide is increasing in the German arm/, caused by disappointment in love. Napoleon I., noticing ihiu peculiarity in bis army, issued a proclamation or dering the soldiei3 " to subjugate the passious of grief and melancholy" be cause " to destroy one's self in order to escape distress of mind, is equivalent to running away from the battlefield because one has been beaten." If Na poleon bad only ordered the young women not to throw their lovers ovei, he would have pleased his soldiers better, and probably accomplished more. The New York Medical society has agreed that of the three anaetheticd most in use, nitrous oxydo gas?laugh ing gas?is the safest, only one death in 300 flflfl lifirin.r nonnrrrwl from i*a tne. There was some difference of opin ion as to tho relative tarmlesenees of ether and chloroform, with a majority in favor of the former. Ether, how ever, is not suited to persons who f<unt easily, habitual drunkards, those who drink a little every day, to persons who suffor from fatty heart or lixited lung action, or to aged persons. A geLcleman living in Ottawa, Can ada, is having wooden houses construct ed in Toronto in sections, of a tize a \ mitting their transportation on ordinary flat cars. These sections are to be taken to Winnipeg or other places in Mani toba, and ercctcd there on Jots, some of which are owned by the speculator and others of which are to be rented. The parts are to be substantially built, and on arriving at their destination a few hours' work will put them together, and the oak pin3 with which the sec tions aie joined are easily driven. It is calculated that in one and a half days' a dwelling 18x21), with kitchen 12x14 attached, can be put in readiness for occupation. One of the most remarkable criminal trials in Indian history ended at Dead wood, Dakota, with the conviction of Grow Dog for the killing of Spotted Tail at the Rosebud agenoy in August last The victim was chief of the Brule Si dux, had been so favored by government that other savages were jeal - ous, and the assassination, for it was nothing else, is supposed to have been part of a conspiracy t-> put Black Crow at tho head of the tribe. Both Crow Dog and Black Crow were at once ar rested and held for trial under United States laws, the latter as accessory, and th'S prompt action is said to have avert ed a desperate struggle among the sav ages. The case has caused great ex citement among the Indians at the Rosebud agency, and it is to be hoped that the application of civilized laws and justice will have a salutary effect. In exciting the emotions the imagina tion phys a conspicuous part. A shud der could be sent around the World unj morning by a telegram frcm London annonncing that 250 people had beeq burned to death or drowned in the Thames or crushed by a falling build ing, or torn to pieces by an explosion. Yet 252 people were hilled by being ran over last year in London streets, and the statement arouses only a vague feeling of serious interest These deaths, in all probability, involved in the aggregate as much physical suffer ing as a fire or an explosion, a collision or a tailing building would cause; as many sudden shocks to the friends and .relatives, as much bereavement and as much destitution. Yet, because they are killed as single spies, not in bat talions, there is no horror and little sympathy felt. More than half of these deaths were causod by wagons, drays and carts, forty-four by omnibuses and street cars, the remainder by cabs, car riages and horses. Jennie Jane sayp, in a New York lei ter, that the estate of A. T. Stewart is gradually selling oat its manufacturing ^ establihhments throughout the country, and that the great store on Broadway will soon be relinquished or passed over to other hands. Jadge Hilton does not like the details of trade, and sees no glory in the future that has not already been reached by this famous house. To have taken such a step at ' once icpuld have brought ruin upon thousands; to do it gradually, -allowing, it to pass from one iato many hands, can hardly seriously incommode any. There was a time when the loss of A. T. Stewart's dry goods store would have been looked upon as a personal misfor tune, not only by women in New York, but throughoat the entire ccuntry. A. T. Stewart was the first man in the trade in this country to adopt fixed prices, and it might doubtless be said in the world, since the New York sys tem has compelled the adoption of the same rule of late years in Paris and London. He also regulated prices and kept them jit a moderate standard for a quarter of a century, during which lime *? l? ? 11 _ . fIto mqrbof ne prucuciiiij tuauu' ^ ?... A Chicago young man worife- ?5,000 or S6.000 went oat to Denver about 6 year ago, and having a fair complexion, a high voice and nothing better to do, dressed himself up in woman's gar ments and finally secured a placo as a house servant. Falling in love with the cook, he told his secret and pro posed marriage. The two left Denrer, made a tour of Nebraska, and regis tered as coasins at various hotels. They were finally suspected and disappeared, each obtaining a separate situation as servants. He deserted her, and her rage and disappointment revealed the strange adventures. She had a note from him asking her to meet him a few miles out of town, on the River Platte A constable went with her, but when the east bank of tho river was reached a human object wan seen on the opposite side waving a hat in the left hand. The creature was pursued down the river until it, she or he dis appeared so mysteriously that not evtn a trail could be found. Tho young woman insisted on committing suicide, but tho constable insisted still mere ttrongly on her going back to town with him and she consented. Xot That Kind of a Doctor Siiop. Old Bill.McGammon, who keeps a grocery store in ihe suburbs of Austin, is one ol tue closest men in tue estate of Texas, and abbreviates his words in writing. He abbreviated the names on the drawers and boxes of the contents in his grocery, instead cf painting the names in full. For instance, he painted on the sugar barrel, "I3r Sugar," for brown sugar, and so on. Last Tuesday a feeble-looking stranger dropped into Bill McGamm-ra's store and after looking around, asjjpd: " Is Dr. Prunes in V'' Old McGammon stared, and said he reckoned not. " [s Dr. Codfish in, then 1" asked the stranger. "No, he is not," said old McGammon, emphatically. "Then teli Doctor Cherries I would like to see him, if he is at leisure." "You get out of here. I believe you have escaped from the lunatic asylum. This ain't no raedicino college; this is a grocery," retorted old McGammon, getting red in the face. "If this is a grocery, tben yon had better carry back them doctors' signs to where you stole them from," responded the stranger, strolling out. Old McGammon looked where the stranger had pointed, and for the first time noticed the result'of his abbrevia ting the ^ord "dried" into "Dr.,'* for on the drawers h? read, in large letters: ur. rtuiiCT, ui. j- tui-uvi , ww- ....... , Dr. Cherries ; Dr. Peas ; Dr. Apples ; Dr. Beef. ? T> run *> f' >?i*. Tbo active Indian wars of the last ten ? years have cost the country 85,058.821, and duriDg the f-arne time the bill for watching the red men has amounted to 3223.891 2(51. General Sherman says that the army now numbers 23,785 men and 2,000 oilicsrs, 18 529 of whnm are i west of the Mississippi, leaving 5,25f3 to 1 snard the eastern country. Abont four-fifths of the expenditures from the annual army appropriations, says the I general, have boon made on the Indian account since 1872, J