University of South Carolina Libraries
~ - ' ' ' ' : ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNEHl BY HUGH WILSON AND H. T. WARDLAW. ABBEVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1881. NO. 20. VOLUME XXVM Memory. A POF.M VKITTKN UV JAMES A. OAEFIEl.P. [The little poem given below was written, it ^ is stattd, by James A. Garfield before his first term in Congress-hence some twenty years ago.] Tin beauteous night; the stars look brightly down Upon the earth, tleekeil in her robe of snow. No light gh inns at the window, save my own. Which give? its cheer to midnight :mm! to me, Anil now, with noiseless step, sweet memory comes And leads me gently through her twilight realms. What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung, Or delicate pen e'er portrayed. The enchanted, shadowy land where nvmory dwells V It lias its valley, chcerless. lone and drear, Dark-shaded bv the mournful cypress tree ; And yet its sunlit mountain tops arc bathe>l In heavin's own blue. Ujion its craggy cliffs. Robed in the dreamy light of distant years. Are clustered joys serene of other days. Upon its gontiv. sloping hillsides bend Tiie weeping willows o'er tl?? barred du-jt Of dear departed ones: and yet in that lf.nd, Where'er our footsteps fall upon the shore. They that were sleeping rise from out thft dust , Of death's long silent years-, and round us stand, As erst they did betore the prison tomb Received thiir elav within its voiceless halls. ; The heavens that bend above that land are ! hung With clouds of various liuca. Some dark and I ehiil Surcharged with sorrow, cast with somber shade Upon the snnuy, joyous land lielow. Others aro floating through the dreamy air, White as the falling snow, their margins tinged With gold and crimsoned hues: their shadows i fall Upon the ilowery meads and sunny slopes, Soft as tha shadow of an angel's v ing. When the rough battle of the day is done. And evening's peace falls gently on the heart, j I bound away, across the noisy years, i 1.^ nf liiMnnr/s lflliil. Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet And memory dim with dark oblivion joins, ".'here woke the first remembered sounds that j fell j Cpon the ear in childhood's early morn ; And, wandering thenco along the rolling years [ I see the shadow of my former self Gliding from childhood up to man's estate. { The path of youth winds down through many | a vale, And on the brink of many a dread abyss, From oat whose darkness comes no ray o! | lign., Save that a phantom dances o'er the gulf And beckons toward the verge. Again tho j path Leads o'er tho summit where the sunbeams j fall; And thus in light and shade, sunshine and gloom, 8orrow and jov, the life-path leads along. ' ! KEEPING COMPANY. "Ned! Ned!" The call rang out! from the Louse door, floating over the { garden, till it came faint and weary to the barn door, utterly ucable to penetrate the barred portal. 1 "Ned! Ned!" Nearer and nearer i1 came the cheery voice, and a pair of j light feet carried it down the path, to j i riDg out again clear and strong, as a i i little double fist pounded an accom- j i paniment on the wooden barrier. i A frank face, and head covered with j i crisp curls, now decorated by longj i straws stuck in with a promiscuous j; carelessness suggestive of Lear's crown, j 1 was popped out of the window of the \ hay-loft. ! 1 "Whatis it, Katie? I'm giving the ! < beasts their breakfast." < "Comedown! You must come down ! ] I've got the best of news for you." i " What is it ? Wait! I'll bo down ! i Why, Katie, what are you all dressed j' I 1 up 1VI I , j 'You'll never guess. Susy Willis; Las come home. She sent me over j i word thi3 morning to be ready for church early, so we could have a long j j walk bffore we went into meeting. : She's coming over for me." "Susy home!" That was all Ned 11 * said, but there was no doubting the ac-! ceut of content in his voice. ;: ' Her father has written that he is 1 coming back to Allentown next month, 1 and Susy's mother sent for her to leave ] school, and be here to meet him. Oh, j t Ned, ain't you glad ? She's been away j moro'n two years." I ] Glad ! If there was any faith to be i placed in beaming eyes, smiling lips : j and trembling llngejs, Ned was, to say j 1 the least, not sorry; but he said notli- j ! ing, only hurried the preparations for j leaving the barn, his face the while j ] speaking his pleasure, while, Katie, her i tongue doing the work of two, ran on j with her gleeful chatter. j ( " I wonder if she's altered, prettier ( or smarter. I wonder if she'll let you J beau her now, iNe<t. remaps sne u want , to keep company with some smarter fellow, now she's had so much schooling. Hurry, Ned, so you can go with us!" And living up the path again, Katie entered the neat faimhouse, and went to her room to add some trifle to her dress. Looking wistfully up the path for her expected companion she tried to be patient, but the fingers would fidget, j the feet beat tatoos. the eves fla-di with ' eagerness, while her father's comments, as he leaned over the gate, smoking his Sunday pipe, did not diminish the fever. 44 Ay, Katie, don't drum a hole in the window 1 Ari? you dancing a ji?, Katie ? j Come down here and talk to Jack !" and ] the magpie's hoarse voice, calling 4'Katie," echoed the invitation. Sud-1 denly both comment and restlessness ceased, while the two faces, beaming i with loving mischief, watched the path. ! Coming from the barn, round to the j front of the house, yet in his blouse and i rouud hat, was Ned, the idol of both j the warm hearts watching him. His j pretty bunch of flowers told one cause of his delay, and his lingering step was explained by the second figure now advancing from the path Katie had watched so eagerly. Slowly the two came toward the house j ?Ned trying to summon up courage to | address the pretty, neatly-dressed maiden, who had grown from a little girl! to a young lady in her two years' ab- I sence ; while she, her loyal heart flutteri ng at the sight of her old sweetheart, tried to look unconscious of his pres-! ence. Nearer and nearer to the farm door,! the distance between them narrowing ! every moment, they sauutered on, till j at last they stood opposite the old farmer, neither daring to speak the first word. The crettv flowers were in danger of being eaten up, as Ned bit! nervously at the stems of the pinks and i roses, while Susy's pocket handkerchiej i was rapidly becoming transformed into j a rabbit in her gloved'fingers. How long they would have remained thus can only be guessed; but a clear, ringing laugh from Kate, seconded by her father's hearty bass, broke the spell, and Ned said: " I'm glad you're home again, Susy!" and mauaged to present his flowers and hold open the gate before her blushes faded away. It did not need much urging 1 o turn the long walk into a talk in Katie's room, while the farmer and Ned i - . assumed their "go-to-meeting" garb, and by some slight of hand Katie found herself transferred to her father, while Master Ned escorted the fair Su-y to church, and not a week passed before all Allentown knew that Ned Clarke and Susy Willis were still " keeping company." Ned and Katie Clarke were the only children of old Farmer Joshua Clarke, whose wife had long beforo died and left him to be both father and mother to ner nancisoaio ooy aud girl, '1/ney V were still little ones when they became motherless, but Aunt Kate, Katie's godmother, had filled her sifter's place at the farmhouse until Katie w.is sixteen, when, thinking her niece trained | for a perfect housekeeper, dear Aunt ft Kate consented to go brighten another m home, whose master had waited for her ftiooe her sister's death. 80 the three ! in the old homestead were left to link i their love still closer in the absence of J the wonted housekeeper, and Katie's j pride was to let 110 comfort be missed, no deficiency tell of their loss. In easy circumstances, devotedly ; fond of his children, finding love all i around him, Farmer Clarke was the most cheery, bright old farmer in Allentown. Universally respected and beloved, his old age brightened by bis ! children's happiness, he was ready to j enter heartily into any youthful | scheme, to givo his full sympathy to all the young boys and girls who came i to him for advice, <aml t.bove all to f watch, with almost boyish glee, all the I villare courting. Katie, being a unit versal belle, had as yet selected no special favorite to torment, so tbe old man bad full leisure to watch Ned, visiting 1 his room for sly remarks, dropping I words that brought up the frank blush ! so becoming to a manly face, or even, at times, letting his sympathy bring the ! roses to Susy's cheek. ! . Never did the course of true love promise to run smoother. Susy's father wus a traveling peddler,whcsa journeys j often led hiiu hundreds of miles from , Allentown, now east, now west, north, i l or south, as his fancy or pack sug- j gevted. His earnings were good, and j Mrs. Willis rented a pretty cottage and | lived in comfortable style, while Susy ; could boast of two years' " schooling " j a'" the academy of 15 , miles away j from her native village. It is tnie that j Jim Willis, the peddler, was counted a | hard man, one keen at a bargain, and close-listed iu business; but no one doubted his love for his wife ar.d Susy, their only child. There had been always kindly feeling between the family | anil the Clarkes fiom the time when j Ned drew Susy and Kate to school on ! one sled, or tossed apples from the j boys' bench to the golden-haired lassie on the girls' side. Mrs. Willis knew Ned's worth; his sturdy uprightness, his frank, generous heart, his bright intelligence and faithful love; and she j wishfd no more brilliant future for her | darling than the life of Ned Clarke's I tviie promised to be. So the long sum-1 m^r waits, the confidential taiks, the thousand devices to win favor that the youthful strain proffered Lis love, wore ail smiled upon by the inhabitants of farci and cottage, while Su-y's gentle, loyal heart never dreamed of coquetry, i bat let Master Ned read in every look j and blush the tale of his success iu woo- j ing. j The summer months sped merrily, : and it was well understood in Allen- i town that when Jim Willis returned j there would be a wedding, while not a j " boy" iu the village would have I dreamed of daring to court a smile 01 : word from Susy. The long evening shadows of August \ were falling from the houses niul trees, : wheu Katie sat dreaming in her little i room. Tea was over. Her father had ! gone to town the day before with pro- j visions, and would uot return until far j into the night. Ned had gone to see ; Susie, so there was no ono to interrupt i the musing. She was thinking whether, j i 1. iL. r 1 .1.. I wnen ?usy came to me iiuiuuouse, sue . might not think of quitting it, .ami tho j various pros and cons of Bob, Harry und j Will flitted through her coquettish lit-! tie heart as she deliberated on their several cases, her heart fico to choose | from all of them. Suddenly looking up she saw Ned j joining slowly down the path from the j cottage. He reeled from side to side, j is if intoxicated, while his faltering j ?tep, his bowed head and drooping i figure territied his sister greatly. He ! tuust be ill! Very ill indeed he looked j is he passed tho gate she had hastened i to open for him. Ho mado no answer j to her piteous inquiries as he passed j tier to enter tho kitchen, where he sank 3own upon the floor, resting his head 3n his clasped hands, and sobbed the liard dry gasps of a strong man in igony. "Oh, Ned! deai* Ned! what is it? Slou frighten me so! Ned, Ned, dear ! | [r Susy sick ?" Ho looked up at the name, his face j ishy pale, Ins eyes burning ana cut. ' Don't speak of Susy, Katie! I)cn't; | !t kills me!" " Bat, Ned?" " I'll try to tell you, Katie. We nevei i jave had any secrets." She had seated hetself on a low stool, j md drawn his head to rest upon her j jreast, and her gentle toucb, her faco of I :endor love beemM to soothe liirn, for nis harsh, choked voico softened as he spoke to her. "Jim Willis has come home, Katie. Re's ma^e a heap of money speculating, md bought a liou.se in Cincinnati, and :s going to take Susy and her mother j :hfre to live ; and he tays I can't Lave j 3nsy?she's going to be rich, and a city , sjiri?aud I'm only a poor country clod- j iiopper." "Ned!" j " Ke said so. She's to go to Gin ! cinnati and make a great match, and I can never see her again." "But Susy?what does Susy herself say ?" " He wouldn't let me nee her, except!: when he lilted her into the coach to ro away?all white and dead like?where she fainted." 1 " Go away ?" " They're gone. He came home this morning, in a coach he hired in town, and ho made them pack up and get j ready to go right off?wouldn't lot ( either nf them come here?tried to get away before I came, and drove mc away J as if I had been a loafer. Oh, Katie, I how can I live V" The loyal heart was nearly breaking. Every word came in a gasp, and tho pallid face and quivering "lips were faithful witnesses of the teiribi'} agony of this unexpected blow. From a boy to a man he had cherished one dream of future happiness, and it was a pain that no language can adequately describe to see it thus ruthlessly dashed from him. Katie was powerless to console him. Tho shock was to her only second to his own, for Susy had been to her in the pla;'0 of a sister from their childhood, and she loved htr brother with a i passionate devotion tint mado every j tone of his voice, every quivtr of his ' pale lips a blow on her tender heart. Far as Cincinnati really was from the ' quiet New England village, its actual j distance was nothing compared to the ! vast space their simple imaginings | n __ 1 - i- C1 _ ? _ 1 I tnrew neiween. onsy was 10 ue carneu i away, far from lier home, far from them, J and if the destination had been Egypt j or Constantinople the shock would' have gained no force. Ned's heart j dwelt on the pale, senseless face, as he hod seen it carried by him, till his poor brain fairly numbed under the burden of its grief, and ho lay silent, only sometimes moaning as the sorrow became more poignant in a new light. Night fell, the long hours drew out their slow length, and still tho two remained mute and motionless, trying to realize and bear this strange misfortune. Daybreak stealing in, and'the sound of tho fanner s heavy wagon in tho jard, | roused them at last, aud poor Ned, un able to meet the cheery voice and face I of his father, stole away to his room, I leaving Katie to tell the news. It is impossible to describe the farmer's wrath. Hot words of bnrning indignation poured from his lips, and, for the first time, Katie heard au oath from i.~_ l,Tim Wil. I1CI iumcx n ?n iiv VU4 0VV* I#4U4 tfii- | lis for his miserly, cruel heart. Then came gentler thoughts. Susy, his little 1 pet, second only to Ned and Katie in his heart, lost, earned aw ay from them torn from her home and lover? and here the thought of Ned's grief conquered every other, and the old man strode up the narrow staircase to his son's door. It needed just such fatherly tenderness as he brought to win Ned irom hiscarelesi aa;ony to the relief of tears and speech, and far into the morning the two sat talking of this hard turn in fortune. Tho morning duties called thorn down, and if Katie'ji heart ached over her brother's untouched breakfast, it was comforted by seeing how deep was his father's sympathy. Days parsed and weeks and Ned tried to bear his sorrow like a man. There was no waDt of sympathy at home, where the loving eyes watched his pale [ cheeks with a tender interest that was | almost painful, and the bravo heart that ! would have given Susy its fall wealth of love was generous to the homo circle, i and for its sake tried to live down the 1 pain of disappointment. I know that to | l>e a proper hero Ned should have moped and drooped, snubbed Katie, i beeu savage to all human nature, and ' finally have left home to work out his spleen in some new life. But Ned's heroism bad a strong element in his I pure Christian faith, which taught him i to do us he would be done by, to honor j his father, to bear his cross patiently; 1 and so, if his merry whistle had ceased, ! his voice gradually resumed its clear ! cheerfulness, and Lis manner grew ! doubly tender toward Katie, as he movlroil lini* sirmnnflnVinfr lovn n I word dropped from any of tlnjm that : could give one shadow of reproach to Susy, and some vague ideas of a rescue ! occasionally suggested themselves to Noil, where his love might win her from ; her father's tyranny or melt his ob! stinato resolve. The idea that Susy i could ever be his wife without that conj sent never occurred to him. The winter had pet in before one word of the fugitives reached Allentown, then Katio had a treasure to show, a letter from Susy. " Dear, dear Katie " (so it read), "I may bo doing very wrong to write to you, after nil that father has said ; but mother has given mo permission to write once, so I am now trying to tell yen that my love for yon?for Ned"? (here a great blot told of a tear) " and your dear father, is ]ust the same, though we shall never see each other again. I have been very sick ; so sick on the road here that we had to stay nearly two weeks at a town where father had some business, aud that is why I did not! write before. Oh, Ki'tio! i must mind i f itlier, who says I must never think of j .seel ftcram ; nut it; is xerriDie naru not i to. Nights I lay awake and think of all! the nice days in Allealown where we I were keeping %companv, and my heart! seems breaking when I think we may } never meet again on earth. Oh, ILs.tie ! i comfort Ned. Tell him that I will never, i never let any other bay court me?tell him I never can forget him, though 1 must try ; tell him I did love him with all my heart: and don't let him quite forget me, even if he marries home other girl. Don't write to me?mother says not; but think of mo somotimes, and give my love to Ned and your father. Susy." That was all; but Ned felt when Katie told him he might keep the letter, that i mines of wealth could not purchase it I from him. Five years passed, and no word camc I from Cincinnati. Katie was a wife now i and mother to a bouncing boy crawling I about the floor, but Ned was truo as I .sreei to nis oiu love. ;>o worn 01 courting had ever passed bis lips since Susy left him, and if his tall figure had de-1 velcped to manliness, his voice grown j rougher, his frank face older, the boyish | love still nestled down in the depths of | his heart, and he resolved to live ever a 1 bachelor for Susy's sake. Katie's new cares had somewhat j clouded her pain at Susy's departure, { and the name that had once been so I sweet a household word was now rarely j heard in the farmhouse. There was something very touching i ia the manly courage wiiich Ned j brought to bear upon the sorrow of his j life. Never, save on the one night \ when the suddenness of the blow pros- j traic-d him, had he given way to the ! passionate grief in his heart, and his i calm pursuit of the weary routine of j life evinced more moral courage than is : often given to great deeds that make the world ring. It was Sunday morning, and everybody at the farmhouse had gone to church except Ne.l and the baby. The ; junior member of the household was i fast asleep on a rue? before the fireplace. ! and Ned was reading, when a shadow j fell upon the floor,and a voice, low and j sweet, spoke his name. He scarcely dared breathe as lie I looked up. So pale and thin as to be ; almost spirit-like, dressed in the heavi- j est mourning, the large, earnest eyes j hollow, tiie lips whito and trembling, ! surely that coukl not be Susy ? " He had j pictured her living in wealth?forgetting hitn, perhaps?but never, never j this rale, grief-stricken woman. " Ned, don't you know me?" Still doubting, he rose and came to j meet her, till, with a glad cry, he' opened his arms and folded her closely, ' as it never ngain to let her go. " Susy! my Susy I Oh, how can 11 ever be thankful enough? Oh, Susy!'j and the hot tears foil on the sweet face, | as ho marked its white, wasted lines. j "Father took to drink after he got] rich, Ned, and it is three years since j mother died. We were very wretched, j XVd; for city folks did not care for us, I and wo were not used to their ways; after mother died, father was scarcely ever sober, and I had 11 bard time taking care of him, till about two months ago he was taken sick. We'd 6pent nearly all the money long before; but I did sowing, and sometimes father earned ! something, Tin til he was sick. Then we were very po.r; bnt just before he died j somebody sc-nt him some money they owed him. He gave it to me, and told j me to come here with it, and ask you to j forgive him for parting us; so after lie j died, I came to see if you still cared j for roe, Ned'r" ' Cure for you! Oh, Susy, I will care I for you all mv life if you will stay, j Snsy!" , But the white lips gavo no answer, tho head fell back nerveless, and as he had seen her oa that heavy day of parting, he held her now. Tho weary, overtasked frame had given way uudcr its loadot sorrow and trouble, and it needed all Kittie'd tender nursing, all Ned's loving care, to wiu the invalid back to them from her h.ng, lorn? illness. For I days her life hung on a thread, but ut j last the color came ilitting back to the | pale lips? and cheeks, and when the vear I _r ; i.?,l 1 I Ul illlnll liUU JJUaMJli, IUC1U nao IJWl/ j in Allen town u prettier or mora win-j some wife than Susy Clarke. j ?- i i An Arctic Summer. The fourth of June was the most beau-1 tiful of the days we ^pent in the Arctic 1 ocean. The water was saiooth, reflect- j ing a tranquil, pearl-gray sky with spots j of pure azure near the zenith, and a ; belt of white around the horizon that shone with a bright, satiny luster, try- i ing to the eyes liko clear sunshine. ! Some seven whale ships wore in sigbt, j becalmed with thoir sails spread, j Telmoui hunters in pursuit of seals , wore gliding about iu li^ht skin-covered I ca.ioes, and gulls, auks, eider ducks, ! and other water birds in countless multitudes skimmed the glassy level, while in the background of this Arctic picturo ] the Siberian coast, white as snow could make it, was sef n sweeping back in line, fluent, undulating lines to a chain of mountain?, t lie tops of which were veiled in the shining sky. A few snow crystals were shaken uown from a black cloud toward midnight, but roost of the clay I was one of deep peace, in which God's j love was manifest as in a countenance. : The average temperature for most of' the month, commencing May 20, has j been but little above the freezing point, I the maximum about forty-five degrees, j To-day the temperature in the shade at | noon is sixty-five degrees, the highest I since leaving San Francisco. The torn- | peraturo of the water in BehiiDg sea j and strait, and as far as we have gone in j the Arctic, has been about from twenty- j nine degrees to thirty-five degrees. ' But as soon as wo approached within i fifty miles of the mouth of the Yukon the temperature changed suddenly to j forty-two degrees. The mirage effects ! we have witnessed on the cruise thus | far are as striking as any I ewr riw on ! the hot American desert. Islands and I headlands seem to float in the air, distorted into the most unreal, fantastic forms imaginable, while the individual mountains of a chain along the coast appear to danco at times up and down with a rhythmic motion in the tremulous refracting atmosphere. On the northeast side of Norton sound I saw two peaks, each with a flat, black table on top, looming suddenly up and sinking again alternately, like boys playing see-saw on a plank.?JohnMvir. 11 IiUUMXU THE HEAl>. j (low tbo ltirc Im IVrfoMiH'd by the Hindoo* ?A I'oslly C'CTCiiionj?A Hundred Iiennj (ifu 1 Girls ISiii-ncd ill a Siillcv in ltajpif I iniiu. ' j The most expensive ceremonies In India, says a correspondent, are mar! riages and funerals. Every Hindoo with a practical turn of mind, and who regards | with reverential awe the teachings of | the priesthood, looks forward with dread to the period when his eldest son ; is to be married, or to the death of his ! father. In nine cases out of ten theso j events prove the ruin and disgrace of a i family, plunging them into debt or cuti ting them off from their caste if they | refuse to expend vast sums upon either i of the ceremonials. The more enlightj ened Hindoos appreciate the foolishness | of these expenditures, but superstition j aud the priesthood are as vet too strong i for them. All Hindoos burn, and Moj hammedans bury their dead. In South i India greater attention is paid to the : ceremonial, preparation of the corpse | and arrangement of the pvre than is the j custom iu North India, and for this i reason I shall first describe what I bavG j seen in Madras. Hindoos frequently I hasten the death of a sick man. When I they make up their mina that the patient j is about to depart this world, they caluij lv begin to ascertain how many^ards of | muslin will be required for his shroud, ; and actually take him from his bed and J place him in a wooden trestle prepara! tory to giving him liis final bath. The^e I prepaiations are made several minutes I before the breath has left the man's ! body, and while he yet retains his conI sciousness. No native ever permits any J ! person to breathe his last within four walls. It is a curious snperatitfon, not unconnected with sanitary reasonB, but still it must be wretched for the dying man to see the preparations for his funeral conducted with deliberation by those who ought to be plunged in grief. Never has the dying native to bid his friends dry their tears. If there is nny weepiug it is dona by the person who is about to die. Directly the breath has left tlio body the corpse is bathed, scented and oiled. It is then swathed in muslin of very hue texture, purposely fabricated for the dead. The body is eaveloped in this muslin, the head is bound round ' with the cotton cloth so as to keep the jaws firm, the cheeks are painted a bright vermilion, and the hair is ehaved from the face. The body is then put in a litter, and the bearers, with a crowd of retainers, friends, relations, priests and beggars, start fur the burniuf? ghat. Other castes of a lower de gree, bucIi as shoemakers, grass cutters and grooms, convert their funerals into regular theatrical farces. The litter is usually made of Rome light frame work, with cane-seating, so that the carriers will nob bo overburdened. It is then covered with strips of red, blue and yellow cloth, while the canopy is invariably of white muslin. The poles sustaining this covering are bound round with gayiy-colnred strips of cloth, with any number of tags and fringes. The corpse is always arrayed in pure white, but is surrounded by flowera. A peculiar, strongly smelling white flower, called Chammalee, is always used for this purpose. Sometimes originality is attempted, and lingo pink holly hawks are put about the feet and middle of the body. But this departure i3 of rare occurrence Music plays an iMivf. in flm fnnorol oTirl flm greater the noise, variety and sizo of the instruments, the more certain are the acquaintances of the deceased that the soul of their losi; friend has gone to his ancestral shades. It is the natives' greatest delight to secure the services of some one who can play a European instrument, and who has served in a military band. Ii such a man can be obtained to assist at a funeral service the event is spoken of for miles around, and other families who have sickly relatives begin adding up the probable cost aud chances of equalling such grandeur. Passing by a funeral cortege one day I was astounded to hear .such tunes as " The Girl I Left Behind Me," und "Slap, Bang, Here We Are Again." But what surprised mo most was to hear i a few bars of the famous song, "March- j ing Through Georgia." On making inquiry I learned that eome of the regi- | montal bandsmen were among the mu- i sicians, and their services were very j highly appreciated as well as paid. Four j men are quite capable of carrving to the ; burning ghat the litter and the corpse, ; but this would not bo in accordance I with etiquette. Therefore asmany rela tives as can crowd uround the litter do j so, thongh they can only find room to place their little finger upon the framework, while others uro content to simply hold on to some of the trappings witii which the litter is so liberally covered. Preceding these mourners are the musicians. The favorite instruments are a screeching pipe, the tomtom and oval drum. This noise accompanies the voices of the feirales, who shriek, bel-; low and yell, each according to lier particular fancy and strength, and independent of time, music or anything pertaining to harmnny. Often a light enlivens the day'* proceedings. The mother cf the deceased frequently declares that her son or daughter has been killed with tbe "evil eye," cast upon the departed by some jealous female relative. Tberefoie with peculiar motherly affection: she proceeds to abuse and scratch anybody who comes within reach of her talons. The musicians are also preceded iu the cortego by near lelatives of the deceased, men who, armed with swords, spears, javelins ami sticks, act as if they were lighting imaginary demons. The biggest leadH tbe way. He brandishes a huge sword and makes a vicious cut at the empty air, then jumps aside and yells that he has cut a devil's head off. This absurd action is imitated by the remainder. All of a sudden they bait and act as if they were wiping blood from their weapons. Tliur !,?? thafr firrnin va.. I IUVM ? VMW. I suming their insane pranks. All this time their excitement is inflamed to a maddened pitch by the screams of the women, who incite them to frantic acts by declaring that they see hovering in mid-air demons of Icarfal shape aud size, who are bent upon carrying a'vay the corpse. Nobody comprising the funeral cor?ego is allowed to walk on the bare gronnd. Some half-dozen men run ahead, carrying lingo bales of red and white cotton cloth, which they unroll for the procession to walk upon. There are generally two bales, which are spread in turn. Arriving at the appointed place the members of the company always separate. The Jitter beaters generally make haste to drop their load, and rush to where the hooka (long pipe) is in circulation. Of all those in the cortege they have been the most decorous, though a few jokes and roars of laughter perhaps were, indulged in by them. The women herd together, and their songs are changed into weeping. This weeping is done with a spasmodic ardor. The mother leads off with a prolonged howl, which is taken up by tl.r. c( TVWu fViov r?r>Titi'rmA t.VivrmcVi. ont the remainder of the ceremony. The pyro is of curious construction. It is a mound of stones, with sloping sides, on which is placed n pile of dry straw and barnyard sweepings, covered over with ch'tmmalec tloweru. Tlio body is then placed on this; the legs are crooked under it in Oriental fashion. The priest and eldest son pass around three times, each time sprinkling tho corpse with water brought from tho distant Gmiga | (Ganges). Tho priest-then prays anil recites the virtue* of the deceased. He then stands a little distauce from the corpse, and, with his back turned to it, invokes the blessing of tho god of death. After silent commune with tho gods, ho invokes the assistance of a priest, who bands him tho vessel in ] which is contained the holy fire, arid to* ! gether tho two pray over it. Tho son ! then takes a stick, wraps it with a rag, dips it in tlio holy oil and applies it to i the flame, and then places it near tho ! looso straw. Meautiuie the earth around ! tho pyre is broken up, and water is i poured upon it so as to form a paste. This is then taken up and plastered j over tbo corpse and pyre. Just before i the features are covered with paBte the j Hon takes the last look. No more ghasfc ly sight could bo imagined. Before the ciackling flames break open the en1 velope of mud, the priest takes a shovelful of loam and hides the face before ! the night gets too sickening. I These ceremonies are only iu vogue ! among the lower castes of the Hindoos, I the Brahmins differing in some imj portant particulars. For instance, they | have no mu9ic during the timo the I corpse in being carricd to the burning j ghat, nor do they have any frantic j zealots rushing about and fighting ira| aginary demons. No sooner is the body completely covered up. and holes made in this oven, so as to permit the smoke to escape, than the son betakes himself to a tree, and, sitting under its shade, I awaits there the arrival of the barber. It is obligatory upon a Brahmin to keep his face ?haved, but during the illness of a father it is permissible to let the beard grow as a sign of sorrow and impending disaster. But directly the \ funeral services are over he must sub-! mit to be shaved from the crown of his j ! head to the soles of his feet. Two | barbers aro generally employed i:i this | task, and, as the razor has to pass over , every part of the mourner's body, some time is consumed in its accomplishment. The head is, of course, shaved first, tho eyebrows next, and then the eyelashes are cut off, and so on until there is not a single hair visible on the body of the bereaved son. The widowed woman has to undergo tho same operation, but with this difference, that she is never again permitted to let the hair grow either on her head or on lier eyebrows. The shaving completed, the most important part of the ceremony had to come. That is tho feast. If the deceased be a Brahmin, he has to feed all the Brahmins in the village, and as their number is legion and their appetites vorai-ious, tho family purse is nearly depleted. Fi lial affection is one ol the singular characteristics of the Hindoo. The relationship between father and sou is rogarded as holier and is more truly respected than that existing between husband and wife. No sooner, however, is the head of the hou.^e dead than bis memory is scarcely venerated, the eldest son taking his r.Ai ? . ?1 A *. JuiuurB jJAUce* nuuau ncvcu uaj r? auui a funerul the eldest son or the next nearest relative returns to the burning ghat, aud breaking open the plaster covering the corpse, which, by I the action of the tire, is baked hard, takes out the ashes, places them in an urn, aud proceeding to the sacred river or tank, scatters them to the four winds of heaven. This is tho final act in the g"eut drama of Hindoo life, and is far more impressive than the ghastly ceremonial of tho cremation of the dead. ( In Ceylon aud certain parts of India | the Brahmins do not cover the corpse j with earth and permit it thus to bum, but actually let it be consumed in fiery flames. This ceremony is performed with great pomp, many hundreds of people beiDg invited as if to a fete. During the great famine of 1878-'79, | when tho people were either too weak I or too poor to burn their dead, I saw | them just apply fire to the hair of tho i head, leaving the rest of the body uu- i singed. In one instance a man deliberately made his own pyre and then I threw himself upon it. I asked him the [ reason. Ho said ho would soon be j dead, and then there would be no trou-1 ble about tho disposal of his body, ex-! cept to fire the pyre, which he wag sure j some one would do. Before the British j took possession of India the terrible j v-ifo r*F onffnn nco/1 fVia I favorite wife burning herself with her husband to minister unto his wants in the next world. The English had great difficulty in repressing this, and it is learned that in some parts of India the custom is still observed. At the death of one of the Meharajas of Rajputana, some lifteen years ago, 100 beautiful young females were thus sacrificed. The t rite of suttee determined the site of; Calcutta. A young Bengalee woman ; was being forced on to her husband's i pvre, when her shrieks attracted the at tcntiou of the crew of an English T essel. The captain decided upon her rescue, aud calling on his men to aid him ho | attacked the funeral party und saved i the woman. She, out of gratitude, maiTied him, and they lived near the spot of licr deliverance, thus forming I the nucleus for the present capital of I British India. A Live Volcano. The Honolulu (Sandwich Islands) I Atlrertieer his the following cranhic I description of the appearance of the ' preat lakes of lava recently formed by | the volcano of Kilauea: Tourists to the volcano for many years past all remember certain active j pools of lava, the North and South lakes, which ordinarily bubbled and tossed a fiery flood at a dejpth of about 120 feet below the floor of tho great crater. Now these lakes have all been filled up, and there have arisen peaks nnrl cones of hard lava that riso over 100 feet above the nouth bank of the great crater, which is about 1,000 feet high. Bat there has burst forth a now i opening in the groat crater floor not far distant from tho old lakes, and a new lake, almost round in forui, about 000 feet across and some seventy feet in depth, in ordinary stages, below tho surrounding brink. Hero the great Hawaiian volcano presents the most varied fantastic play of liquid lava. Here are some of the pbases tf the play of a tire lake, as recently observed in tho great crater of Kilauea. Sometimes it almost seems to sleep, and the disappointed visitor looks down into a black valley and ob-1 serves a smoking pit giving no more ' evidence of combustion than a tar kiln. ; r>~*. ?1 U ..tf xJUw ilie ouaurvtjr suiuura uu iub umiii ui , the pit, or great pool or lake, as now i appears, about (i!)0 feet across, and; whose surface is ubout seventy feet be-' low him. Ant1 what is this surface? It | presents a daik silver-gray hue, with a satiny shine. This is a crust of quies-: cent lava, and the observer who has ex- j pected to have his sense of womler J strained to speechlessness, says : " Is j this allV" No! look! the frozen,! glassy lake is alive. What a heave in the center?some > mighty beast lifting up that floor!! Now a wave of undulation runs round j the incrasted margo. And there is an ; outburst, a blood-red fount, gushing j and bubbling from one of earth's arter- | ies. The broad disk of the lake heaves \ and trembles. Fitful gaseous flashes j Hit across, and now the moving floor ; cracks and a serrated fissure like tlio j suture of a skull runs from marge to i marge, and quick, darting streaks, Mid- j den crack.* ot tlio crust, shoot across in . all directions. These serrated streaks are j at first rosy lines on the gray surface, then they widen like crimson ribbons,, broadening to the view. They undu-. lato with the billowy motion of the f whole upheaving surface. Another crim-, son fount springs up along the now | fretting and roaring rim of tho lake; ; and another aud another of now wildly j upleaping fountains of fire toss high j tbcir gory cre.sta, even casting gouts ana clots of tiie red spray that fall and harden ' near the observer's feet. By this time ! the spirit of our inferno is aroused, j1 Tho wholo fierce red lake is all boil aud ! leap and roar. It is more than the roar [ of loud sea surfs beating bold blnfi's. ; The surging tido of the molten earth ! sounds a deeper, bellowing bass than : any note of the sounding sea. And now j tho heived-up crust, broken into frag-! ments, is chnrned up and dissolved in ! the boiling flood. The roaring gulf is i now, indeed, a vortex of indescribable j glories and terrors. Oaves open on the sides of the surrounding wall, and a | man sees more of a hell than he ever ; imagined. A thousand demons aro now ! holding high carnival in this bottom- ! less pit?and tho leap and play of a | fiery Hood?the dance and swell of a 1 red. surging tide, and the rour and j shriek of tins dread forces issuing from j tho red-hot pulsating heart of the plan- j et, make a thoughtful observer hold his hand to bis own heart and say, " This is enough; tho Almiuhty is here." Tho inotit highly civilized races are those plentifully supplied with beards. Beardless people are compared to chil j dren and the bearded to the adults of j the human vara I | T1IE FARM AND HOUSEHOLD. For Cnbbnso Worms. i A farmer writes: I would 12ko to j say from experience that salt will I not injnre cabbage nor the worms ! either. But ten cents worth of .ground - black pepper will keep one hundred I heads free from the cabbage worm. Take a common pepper box and dust i the worms every morning before seven ! o'clock, and it will kill every one it touches, large or small. How toClcnu (ho Poultry Hounu. j A poultry-house may be very quickly and effectively cleaned out by first using an old broom and removing cobwebs, dust, etc., and cleaning the floor witli a shovel. Then take half a bushel of lime and slake it in a barrel. If one of the syriEge or fountain pumps used ior wasmng windows caii u? procured the lime wash may be syringed all over the inside, forcing the limo into every crevice and cranny, and thoroughly cleansing fchem. The lime that falls on the floor will sweeten that. When the work is done turn out the refuse lime for the fowls to pick at. A Simple Remedy for Insects. A simple remedy for all insects that annoy farmers is given by a Wenona, ] 111., agriculturist. He says : "Gather j all the old straw and hay into long i rows around orchards, potato and cab-1 bage patches, and set fire to one end to burn against the wind all night, and they will burn up millions and millions every night of the male insects that fly, and bugs of all kinds and descriptions, | such as destroy the trees and potatoes and all the cabbriro. and the canker ' worms on the apple trees. They will fly right, into the blaze and burn their wings off and drop into tho fire. I told a man to do that who said tho ground in his potato patch was crawling alive j wifch potato bugs. He plowed a ditch ! around and filled it with, straw, and j burned them all up in one night, and i ho raised a big crop of potatoes. The ' prairie fires in former years used to burn | them aJl up. Do this and you will soon be rid of the whole miller tribe of insects." Form Note*. Watch your colts' hf of3, and see they are pared as often as necessary. The hoof is not only thus benefited, but the action of tho animal frequently improved. Pennsylvania vields one-fifth of the rye produced in the country. Tho annual prodnca in that State ranges between 3,000,000 and 4,000,000 bushels. Bono dust is a good dressing for ! lawns. Put on plenty of it. Stable manure is often au eye-sore unless very fine. Green corn, as soon as the grain begins to harden, is the very best fattening food available to the general farmer for feeding swine. The pigs eat it with a peculiar relish, and will grow and fatten upon it with surprising rapidity. No food is equal to this for putting pigs in good "show condition" for tho Fairs. To give hogs plenty of muscle, let them have all tho exercise they will take in a ten-acre lot. Fat, which does not go far as food, comes from abundant food and little or no exercise. Lardy hogs are not generally as popular j as they once were. An abundance of i corn is not desirable to make lean and ; well-grown hogs for food. Fodder. j Much has been said during the last | few years about corn-fodder, especially j in the form of "ensilage." "Whatever j may be the future of ensilage, it can j only bo used by those who can afford to | build silos and bny machinery; but; corn-fodder is useful in this section to i every one who owns a cow or horse, and j I propose to give my limited experi-j ence. I drilled in 1,200 square yards I of land in fodder-corn, rows three feet apart, on the 21st May, 1880; worked it j once with bingle 6mall mold-boaid; plow. Commenced feeding on it 8th ' July following; it had reached the i height of seven feet, but had no shoot3 ! .. x l 1 * i ' or mBseis. reu one norse, ioar cows ; and three slioats to July 29th?a period I of twenty-one days. Plowed up same i lot on August 3d, following, and diillcd ! in the same quantity of ordinary white 1 corn. The second crop was fully equal in bulk to the first. This gives fortytwo days' feed for five head of stock i (leaving out the pigs,) or seven months' j toed to one cow from about one fourth ; of an acre of good land. The cows de- j ( clined somewhat in milk, after about two weeks' feeding. As the first crop of fodder-corn was not planted until May '21st, I should have had time to cut a crop of rye from the same land if it had been sown to rye the previous fall. , Corn-fodder is hard to cure, but it can be readily done in good seasons, if suf- , fered to reach a certain stage of matu- , rity before it is cut. This is not only j , necessary to enable the plant to elim- | , inate the crude juices which prevent its ' cure, -but also to form sugar, which {, gives a good part of its valno as food, i. The stalk is mature enough to harvest when shoots aud tasseis appear. As i' much of the nutritive value of tho ar- j tide is in the stalk, the crop should be 1 drilled in thick enough to make stalks I small, so that they may be all eaten, j This is all important. Some I am now i feeding, which is very nke, will measure from five to eight feet in height, and j from one-eighth to three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It was put away last fall quite dry. but is now soft, damp and succulent, much relished by the cows, and producing a good flow of milk. Corn-l'odder, ia a green state, contains only about seven per cent, of carbohydrates (gum-starch, sugar, etc.,) and should be supplemented with clover or mill-feed when we wish milk, or meal fof ij Wliori ilrt* if. otw.m ' tains from twenty-four to thirty-eight! per cent, of carbo-hydrates, depending i upon its hygrometric state. Its damp-1: ness is generally greater after being | stored. 1 do not think it is yet settled ' which is the better way o! using cornfodder?in silos, or cnred. My fodder-corn was cut with an oldfashioned reap-hook, tied up in bundles i not very large, with two bands on each j1 bundle, as the stalks are long and :1 supple, and put up in shocks of mod- J J erate size on tho same day cut. After I drying some tho shocks were doublo j1 and remained in shock until hauled to ' shelter?loth or 10th of October. The 11 shocks need sometimes to have the in-1*: tide bundles put on the outside, but no ; 1 extra care beyond what common sense j 1 and circumstances suggest. I prefer J drilling to sowing, beceause the crop is ! 1 larger on account of the working, and ' tho stalks greener and less "burt" then . ' sown.?Southern Planter. i! Wlmt Dopn the Soil Need? rni i? : i_. tj* T ! ( Alio itiuier im reuujf tu uok, nuw am jl : and other planters to know what onr j 1 soils need to make them produeo good j crops, you say the analysis of the soil i1 will not tell us? We reply, re-sort to IJ the plant analysis. Ask your soil a se- i1 ries of questions such as tne following: ! Do you need potash ? Do you need j' ammonia ? Do you need phosphoric | J acid, or do you need any two or all of! ^ these? How shall I ask these questions, 1 < and how will I interpret the reply ? Helect a plat of land which will repre- j sent fairly your soil, or several such | plats, if you have soils differing materi- j _ idly in character and supposed corapo- j sition. Next get a few pounds of mini- j ato of potash, a few pounds of sulphate j of ammonia, aud some high graile j superpho.phate or acid phosphate. If, you have a State Department having | i supervision of fertilizers, you can get ; i 1 hose already inspected and analyzed, j < Ask the chemist nf your Slate College, 11 or your Commissioner of Agriculture, to j suggest the quantities of each of tuese i I elements to apply per acre, and then ' i apply to one plat, say three rows sixty i feet long, only potash ; to three others, | J only phosphoric acid ; to three others, m only uuunonia ; to three others, pota*h ! and phosphoric acid ; to frhreo others, i i phosphoric acid and ammonia ; and to !1 still another three, all three of i theao elements, leaving three rows iu the center of the plat with- i out the application of any manure i whatever. If your soil needs nothing j; but phosphoric acid, it will ?ay fto by I - giving the largest yield where phosj phoric axjid is used, whether alone or in ! combination. If it needs two of the ! elements, that combination will give I best results. If it needs all three, or | the so-called complete manure, the plat ! on which all were used, will show best results. If individuals cannot afford to i undertake these inquiries, let clubs' combine to bear the expense, and im-! pose the investigation on their most | ; careful and accurate observer. If this \ ; cannot be done, insist npon jour Com- j . missiono!1 of Agriculture selecting carei fill ?c Oi... lui lucu iii uiiicit'ub pin lb ui vuur otaiu l j to conduct the inquiry under his direc-1 j tion, he to supply the material, etc., j j and publish results. If you have a J General Assembly with intelligence and j j statesmanship enough, get them to es- j i tablish one or more experimental sta- j ! tions in your State with your money j j which you pay for the support of your j I government, to bo administered by your j servants(?). If you farmers who read i and think and know the needs of the ' productive industries of your States, will wield tho influence you should and i can if you will, you can instruct your ' brethren of tho plow firs', and then your servant* who make the laics.?SouthI em Planter and Farvier, Recipe*. Me t Pie.?Take mashed potitoes, seasoned with salt, butter and milk, and lino a b'kiug dish. Lay upon it slices of cola meat of any kind; add salt, pepper, catsup and butter, or any cold gravy ; put in a layer of potatoes and another layer of meat in the same way till the dish is full; have a layer of po- j tatoes on the top. Bake it until it is I thoroughly heated through. : Rice Pudding.?Rice pudding is be yond comparison tho best ever made, in : spite of the fact that it is the cheapest. 1 The secret of its perfection is in the | long cooking it gets. For a six o'clock dinner, the rice and milk should be put on the stove early in the forenoon. The best thing to cook it in is a d-uble kettle. Add to a quart of milk two heaping tablespooufuls of rice. Let it simmer on the back of the stove?it must never boil?until a couple of hours before dinner. It will then be a thick, creamy substance. Then salt and sweeten to taste, put it into a pudding dish, and bake it in a moderate oven 1 until it is of a jell.v-like thickness and the top is slightly browned. It can be I oaten either hot or cold. If the latter J is preferred, tho pudding may be made I the day before, if that is most convenient. if desired, a flavor may be added. ' This is emphatically the perfect pud- 1 ding of its kind. 1 Curious Pets. There lives in Sandwich, Mass , on 1 the borders of one of the most charming lakes in America, Mrs. F. H. Burgess, i who is at prese-nt attracting no little notoriety through the relation sLo sus- ( tains to the inhabitants of this lake. It has been her custom once or twice a . day for quite a period to feed the fish 1 in this lake, and a few days ago we /..?...I ? :L1. ? : :l- C UUUUtCU IU UO ltt>UiCU YfVjll UU lilYlia? * tion to witness this novel feast of the finny tribe. t She first splashes tho water with hei hand, when in a moment there may be ? seen approaching from every direction hundreds of largo shiners, then-eels varying in size from one to three feet in length, may be seen cautiously approaching. rfext turtles appear on the . surface, ton, twenty and thirty feet 1 away, their necks stretched apparently * to see whether it is friend or foe who is disturbing the waters. In less than ^ three minutes these various species had < collected directly before her, and i as fihe commences to feed the j i water is fairly alive with them. ] They take bread directly from j her hands, and turtles would al- ( low her to take them entirely out of the t water, and while she held them in ono j hand they would eat with the greatest! . voracity from tho other. But the eels 11 amused us the most. There was one ; c she called Quinn, measuring about three | feet in length, that repeatedly came to j ? the surface, and would glide back and * forth through her bands and several j times she lifted him partially out of the j d water, but ho was careful to keep Mb j j head under. Ho seemed to feel that | she would take no undue liberties with ! f him so long as his head was in its j * natural element, but the moment be i saw daylight ho would dart back as j only an eel could. Another email ono, about a foot in ! 0 length, seemed to be particularly fond , Df her caresses and conld bo handled i a about as she pleased, it being tinder- j 4 stood that she was to remain uuder j water though. [ c Taken altogether it was one of the j a most novel entertainments we hare ever 1 witnessed, and visicors to this locality j ^ should not fail to ask the favor granted l i; to the writer. Tbe lady is evidently much attached 1 to her pets, and takes pride, as well she | may, in showing them.?Marlboro \ j Mirror-Journal. The Chirk*a*dcc nral the Eagle-A Fable. 1 Once upon a timo a Cbick-a-dee and I an Eagle had nests in the same forest. | The forest was plenty large enough for j both, and peace and harmony might, i * hftvo prevailed but for the jealousy of I ' the C'lick a dee. Having been created I by nature for a small bij d, and having j i digestive organs for only bags and ' e worms, it made him wroth to behold : a the Eagle having such spread of wings i and such appetite for large game. I v One day, after the Chick-a-dee had ! u put in ten hours' hard work lor grub*, j 8 he beheld the majestic Eagle pounce j rid an -ind KAnura in a moment a tiish , largo enough to last him thrco days. }JThis capped the climax, and the Chick-'' !i-deo tiow higher up in the tree to con-! suit the Buzzard as to what could be , 1 done. " I'd lie about him," was the advice : * of the Buzzard, after thinking it over, i ^ The Cliick-a-dee thereforo flew F through the forest spreading lies and j * slanders regarding the Eagle, but tho jresults were not satisfactory. No one j seemed to believe them, and many ad- j vised the Cliick-a-dee to continue his 1 . stubbing and let other Birds do as 11: pleased them best. In this emergency i v the tiny Bird again applied to the Biri-'* jard for advice. The unclean Bird ! ' picked his teeth over tho subjected i 1 replied: j ' "You must go to the Eagle and tell 11 liim what you think of him." j ^ Early the next morning the Chick-a Jee set out on bis mission. Meeting ; tho Eagle in mid-air he began a tirade : " sf abuse, but the Eagle did not eeom to | : hear. Enraged and exasperated, tho I j Dhick-a-deo used still strocger lan- i 1 juage, but the result was tho same. , ? "Say! pay! I'm abusing you!" he;? llnally called out, " I've slandered you, | _ lied about you, and now I insult you, , ~ xud yon dure no1' resent it." * " Littlo atom," replied the Eagle, as (l bo (-lowed up a little, "if struck by an ; , [ingle I should strike back. When a j ? jird of your size bothers mo I cannot j ^ sveu afford tim j to stop and eat him." ! * moral. t] A chick-a-deo can't increase his own j p julk by slandering the size of an eagle. 1 oi ?Detroit Free I'ress. d ! p( The Olilest of Mummies. I ui 8 Among tlu> royal mummies the oldes ; 0j s Kinc Raskenen, one of tho latest! ^ nonatohs of the seventeenth dynasty, j ? iceording to JTai'lette, this (\ nasty j i] *nded Ji. C. 170!'. As Easkenen was :iot tlui last of this line, wo shall net lie | J far out of the way in saving that his ( mummy, with its lino linen shroud and n, its three carved cases fitting together tj, liko a nest of boxes,is about H.TOUyears nld. Four hundred years before the Israelites crossed the Ked sea this ruon- ! ireh ruled in Thebes. Nearly all that j V we know of I lie doings of humanity | ai upon tho earth has taken place since he i n was oiled and per.'utued and laid away ai in his painted boxes. Yet we can touch o] his hands to-day and look into liis face k and read liis history written all ov?r Ins? g noffin.?York Tribuw. j jc FOR THE LADIES. Women m Hotel ClerltH. The Chicago Netrs says: A new field in an entirely unexpected quarter lias, been opened up for woman's labor in Chicago. In all the agitation that has beeu made for the broadening of the sphere of woman's work, it baa never been suggested that a place might be fouud for them in clerical positions of trust in our leading hotels. The first, man to move in the direction has been Potter Palmer, and the experiment has.i proven to be a success in one of the.-; finest hotels in the world. The appearance at the cashier's desk ! of the Palmer house of a bright young lady, who discharged the duties of the*; position with all the expedition and ' complacency of a man of trained ex- j perience, challenged public, attention. ) To a reporter Mr Palmer explained yes- j terday the reasons which induced him ;j to introduce ttie innovation. He says jj that for eotne time he has be^n con- 5 vinced that for such positions women ? were more apt to give complete satis- j faction than men, and recently he and f his partner determined to make the ex-1 periment. He continued: " We concluded to ofl'er such a salary as would command the best talent "Of course this was flying in the prejudice of a very large class of very excellent people who do not believe that ladies should be employed in public capacities at all. The nuccess of our experiment has shown the fallacy of tlmt theory. At present we give employment to three ladies in our office. Two uf them are cashiers and one o bookkeeper. To one of these JacMes at the cashier's desk we pay 81,000 a year and board, to another ?900 per year and board, and to our bookkeeper we pay SG00 and board. If they choose to iivej away from the hotel we pive them sal additional allowance of ?500 per y ear,! These salaries look big for ladies, lxnt they have the talent, do the work, aad we are u:uch better saiisfied than xve were with our male employes. Of coarse we cannot make room-clerk-s of ladies, but the trial that we have r jade has been 60 satisfactory that whe rever I they may be properly employed in tho j Palmer house, we shall substitute them I for men." Fiom another source it was ascertained that the apartments assigned to the ladies in the house are very elegantly furnished, and in quite as ffood locations as those set apart for distinguished guests. The proprietors of the Palmer feel satisfied that their sample will be followed before long by the most prominent hotel proprietors in this country. Panbion Notes. Orange in small dashes or sfci ipes is a rery effective color. Metallic threads are thrown into the veb of now stockings. Buckles and clasps will be much worn ra all parts of costumes. Hair lines of gold in striped stockngs match those in now goods. Wreaths of flowers around the head i ivo fnv rtvornnor trcor Shaded and mixed effects appear in be new ostrich plumes and tufts. He^uer mixture in stockiogs correipond with those in new cheviots. Some bonnets have narrow ribbon it rings, but the majority have very wide >nes. Coarse, ill-finished beads introduced n trimmings are considered in very bad aste. Diadem wreaths of artificial flowers vill be very fashionable for full evening Jress. Derby felt hats come out under the* lames of Ascot, Cornell, Elswick and 3ristol. Little roosters have taken the place )f little pigs and baby elephants as shain trinkets. Scarfs of chenille and of black fjpansh lace are very fashionable to wear iver light dresses. The "John" redingote, an Euglish flair, resembling a coachman's livery, s still in great favor. garnitures, Deluding the dialem garland for the head, are'being prepared for ball toilets. Pnffi of burah instead of frills are requently seen in the neck and at the prists of imported dresses. ATonnnrrama /?mViAva and initials nlftv prominent part in the ornamentation 1 f toilets and their accessories. Birds, cut in half from beak to tail, 1 re used for hat trimmings, laid flat on J he tide of the crown and brim. Straight linen bands are revived for j ollara; the. cuffs to match are square, nd fastened with linked buttons. Neckerchiefs of bright foulard have ' tretty lace bordeis appliqued on with ] ight gold embroidery in chain stitch. Large crosses are again very fashionble as peudants, supported by a large able chain half resting on the shouU lers. All large bonnets are classed as okes ; small ones as turbans and cot- 1 age shapes. There are no Fanc-hons a jet. * The now beaded trimmings aro made < tighly artistic in finish by the use of leads of graduated sizes and of the ineht q'lahty. Now bias ties of gay plaid and soft ' willed silk, in bright stripes, are worn ither as cravat bows or scarfs passed round the neck. ?i The new striped novelty goods, shot) nth gulden hair lines, can be used to j dvautage in inakiug up with old plain |. tuffs of lass winter's dresses. ]; rTI>ti >vw\cf ?Anii1oi? flATTrtro -TAT l^AHTiAf. I J. u>; iiiuo? ? ?~ | rimming* at the moment aro pansies. j rises, palxrgoniums, nasturtiums and I zaleas of velvet, richly tinted accord- ' Qg to nature. j Mauy fall bonnets of large size aro ' rimmed with a wreath of rjses or other } lowers within the brim, while f<*thers, ;. lompons, plush or wide ribbons trim '< ho outside. j1 11 i Some Familiar Sayings. I Shakespeare gives us more pithy say- ( ags than any other author. From him ^ re cull: "Count their chickens ere hoy are ha'.cbrd," "Make assurance 1 oubly sure," Look before you leap," j ( 'Christmas comes but onee a year."! ' VasliingtoD TrviDg gives us the "AK|l lighty l>ollar." Tiiomas Nortonj neried long ago ""What will Mrs. | Jrundy sav?" while Goldsmith answers i Ask me no questions and I'll tell you | e n f.hc." Thomas Tnsser. a writer of ! !: lio sixteenth century, gives us "It's en j t II wiud that turns no good," "Better j b itethan never," "Look ere thoaleap," | r ud "The stono that is rolling will j a ather no moss." "All cry and nojy 'ool" is found in Butler's "Hudibras." i )rjden says: "None but the brave; _ eserves the lair," " Men are but chil- i F ren of a larger growth," "Through \y hick and thin.' "Of two evils I have j A liosen the least," and " *1 lie end must j J islify the means," are from Matthew j j rior. Wo aro indebted to Colley i \ ibber for the agreeable intelligence ] lat "Bichard is himself aerain." Cow- . pr tells us tlir.t "Variety is the spico ; f life." To Milton woowo "ThePara-! o iso of Fools." ; 1< From Bacon comrs "Knowledge is \ e ower," aDd Thomas Sontherne reminds! t! t that "Pity's akin to love." Dean j li wift thought that "Bread is the staff c ; life." Campbell found that " Cominp t ,-ents cast, their shadows before," and o 'Tis distance lends enchantment to v !0 view." "A thing of beauty is a i t y fon-ver." is from Keats. Franklin! fi iys " God helps those who help tiieru- li Ives." and Lawrence Sterne comforts t i with the thought, that " God temper- j ii 10 wind to the shorn lamb " v Ml ' IX Mrs. Julia Van Kstep, of Forrcstville, ' ^ a., is ninety-one rears ot ucce, and has i v "i army of descend ints. She is the j j, tot her of tw? lvo children, nine sons i 0 id thr.->o daughters; the grandmother) v S figtity-six cliiiilruu, tlie great-f> rami- j [Other of 146 children, the gres'.-grreat-1 randinothtr of ten childyea?2.>i soiilu i c ) a!]. s Troubled. H My mind was ruffled wi'.h small cam to-draB And I said pettish word and did not keej*flfl Long stiffjring patience well; and now.^H My trouble for this ein I In vain I weep Jjjjfi For foolish words I never can unsay. Yet not in vain, Ob, sorely not io vain ! This eorrow must compel me to take hfled?:^H iAnd surely I shall learn how much.I noedJ^B Thy constant strength my own to supenq^Hj | And all my thoughts to patience to const^H |j Fes, I shall learn at last, though I neglect jfH | Day after day, to seek my help from theej '^^H | Oh, aid me, that I always retollect , j This gentle heartedness; and Oh correct S HB I Whatever else of ein thou seest i*nie ! HUMOR OF TIIE DAY, Missonri train robbers are meujjH iron nerve and stear disposition. | 9| "A fellow feeling makes as Wtiifi drons kind," unless the fellow isfeifl ing in our pocket for our Salem Sunbeam, H There was a large attendance schools to-day. Every boy who hadjtfl lost pji eye brought two pupils.?PAj|H delphia Okronicle. 36 Brow* loudly boasts that his hes^^H alway? in his hand. Fogg says tihfl BrG?ra is so close-fisted that he is injfl d injer of ever losing it ?Boston Tram "When you are telling a friend a jdjfl poke him in the ribs. He'll be momJS terested in the yarn, and can pnfc* mustard plaster on the sore spot vrhjH he goes home.?Keokuk Qnle Ciiy, A housepainter recently wantedjH join the (ire department, bat as it tp$jw htm over fifteen minutes to climb* (adder, and then he had to go doi|H again for something he had forgotteijS they didn't employ him.?Boston PotLm Jumping over a fence in the'mid of the night and meeting a bulldcM that is a total stranger to yon, is one ofl those exciting little incidents oi liffl which go far to break the monoto^H and rob existence of a tiresome Ottiwj A man called ont to his credifcdjtS "Get out, you Ornithorhynchns?" . Tin man departed meekly. " Who's thafcffl innnirpd n frioml r\t ilia onanlto* Ornitborhynchns" "Hows that? "Well, Webster defineshim as 'abeaU witb a bill."'?Yale Couraiit. s 'J I This is alleged to be the way a Van ear giil tells a joke: "Oh, girls! IheaaM just the best thing to-day. It was ffM fanny. I can't remember Low it caajjjfl about, but one of the girls said to ProH essor Mitcb ?U?oh, dear, I can'ttvM "member jnf.t what she said; but ProfaijH sor Mitchell's answer was funny foe anything Y'?lyracust JterajBM A "Wedding in Wjomlng^ fil m Camping near the town, we seotuaH our stock aud then went in. EnteriaW the leading store, I introduced to Mr. Stiles, cne of tho proprietOnB and the postmaster. fl " It is now half-past 2, and atJH there's to be a wedding down the at J anas Burton's. Old Jonas isailwflH old coon that we elected peace about a month ago, and, mmmI will behis first attempt at marriage,!? think we will see some fun. Come ayM go down with me." fl We went to the old 'squire's cabin? We found him poring over a large umuui me suuuieu ui TY juiuiug, bwcu ing like a horse and looking tenilnfl auxious. After greeting us he eaid:$ ? " Siiles, the galoots tbet got up thou 'yer laws hadn't gumption cnougH-^9 last 'em over night. I've run throvglta the blamed book a half a dozen timejfgw an' can't find a dod blasted word abooaa metermony, or how the hitchin* pro-* cess is proceeded with. I've just gdtl ter put the clamps on this couple, hi?fl or miss,an' ef I don't yoke 'em up legjufl I can't help it." S "Oh," said Stiles, "jast do thebettl you can. Any kind of a ceremony do in this country, for people*11 nerqgj question the legality of the thing. Mrl post you as well as I can." 1 StiJes then explained to him aboofcS how he should proceed, and the olflj Kan finally ihoaght he could wortjfj through in tolerable shape. Ere longH tho couple appeared, followed bys;$^ crowd of the citizens of the camp. Theil candidates stood up before the squipriftfl tvho began: I " Feller citizens, this 'yar man aa*X this ''yar woman have appeared befowjS the conrt to be hitched in the legwEJ bands of wedlock. If any galoot in tmi^ mou snows ?? anyiningiuai muui rhe game cf tuk to a higher court lethim now toot his bazoo or else keep hi*" jaw <x> himself now and forevermowi; A. 11 in favor o' me perceedin' as orihorr^ isftd by thfelaw, say 41."' Everybody said " I." "Contaiy,'tio.'" Nobody said "no." " The motion's carried unan'mouslj^ an' the court rales tliat thar hain't nothj? in' to pervent the tryin' of the case*' Grip yer fins." ' . The candidates joined hands. "Aaaos Peabodv, dy you solemnly swa'ar that ye'H fjet-z^ to 'Mandy furaver an' everf" That ye'll love 'er an' pervide fur'eranV treat 'er fqnar an' white, accordin* the rules *n regula'mns fiot down to. govern wch -capes "in the laws of thftj United States so help yer GudiT' " Yaas, sir ; I do, sir." " That ftxes your end o' the bargain, i "Mandy Thomas, do yon solemnly swa'ar that ye'll hang on to Amos for all^ comin' time, that you'll nuss him*in. sickuess an' be ^uar' to him in we!l-;. ness, that ye'll always be to him a good,,, triia, houesf> up an'-up wife under th<? penalties prescribed by the laws for ths-) punishment for such offenses ; do y swa'ar thi*, so help yer God ?" " I swa'ar I will." " Then by the power in me vested justice o' the peace, in an' iur thfcs pre?4 einct, I pronounce you, A**os Peabodj^ husband, an' you, 'Mandy Thomas, wif?^ and legalizo yo fro remain as sich noir* an' i'urevermotxs an' ye'll stand com-ij initted till the fees an' costs in the case : be paid in fell, an' may God have mercy 1 on your soul an' bless* this union with tiis heftiest blessin's." The fees and costs were adju4tti&* ind, after receiving the congratulations, ' tf the assembly, the newly made has* mnd and wife departed for their cabin v :p the creek.?Oil CUv Derrick. Meteorological. Dr. Draper, a well-known New York cientist, does not think that the comets lail anything to do with the peculiari- ; ies of this year, which will long be remembered on account of the very light \ ainfall. He gives a statement of the. * veiage monthly rainfall for forty-one ears, in comparison with that of 188lt-, 41 Yean*. 1881. "A Inches. Inches,. ^ anuarv 3..W 4 80 i ebruary 3.40 4,93 [arch 3.7G 5.81 k .pi il 3.80 .95 | lay....' 4,r>l 8.20 lino 4.13 5 85 ^ uly 4.03 1.2&J "8'i-t 4.74 .86 *, Average total 31.CC 27.15 5 It will be observed that the total fall f rain so far this year is not much be-jw the average. Up to April it was in xcess. In Jane it was in excess. But lie dryness of April, July and August ? D we red the average, ar.d, *hat is worse, au>ed incalculable mischief. Hud th'e L.tal fall of rain been equally distributed ver the whole eight months there nld have been r?o drought In disincfion to lbSl, the year 1843 is famous r>r its expensive rains during August, leing J.j 2<> indies, against .50 looues Lis year. Iu April, 1857, tbere was 9 05 aches of rain, compared with .93 this J ear. The drongtit that has existed :so ir. France and Gt man? this summer j H'onh this consolation, that its presence -j ere is prjbab.'y due to general can*^ >"hich may not recur again for centuries, ! ijstead of to peculiari'ic*s of geography] r climate tendering this continent vVgj pecificallr Liable to it. The world knows no victory to be oiupared with that aver our own y&fr ions ttt?d failings.