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2POEV37 BOTAL Standard and Commercial. _________ ? - t VOL. IY. NO. 52. BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1876. $2,00 per Ann. Single Copy 5 Cents, T ' 1 ~ 1 1 _ . Going: Softly. S1. makes no moan above her fade 1 flowers, S le will not vainly strive against her lot, P tient she wears away the slow, sad hours, % As if the ray they had were quite forgot; While stronger fingers snatch away the sword \cd lighter footsteps pass her on tho ways, Y: (tiding submissive to the stern award That said she must go softly all her days. She knows the pulse is beating quickly yet, She knows the dream is sweet and subtle ' still, Tbat struggling from the cloud of past regret, Keady for oonfliot live hope, joy and will; 8 J ?oon, so soon to veil the eager eyes. To dull the throbbing ear to blame or praise, So soon to crush re wakening sympathies, And teach them she goes softly all her days. She will not speak or move beneath the doom, She knows she had her day and fluDg her cast? The loeerscarce the laurel may assume, Nor evening think the noonday glow can last. Only, oh, youth and love, ae in your pride Of joyous triumph your gay notes you raise, Throw one kind glance and word where, at your side, Sue creeps who must go softly all her days. MRS. GREEN'S SON-IN-LAW. 44 Well, Sarepta, I've found out all about them." Mrs. Green sat herself down in front of the fire, took off her bonnet, and shed upon her daughter a smile of great satisfaction. 44 Found out all about whom, mamma ?" Sarepta questioned, with sweet demurene88. 44 Well, upon my word, you are the most obtuse girl of my acquaintance. When you saw me come in just now, you understood that I'd been out walking, I suppose ? Yes ? Well, I'm glau you did. You know I don't often go out walking without an object, I suppose 1 ' I'm encouraged to find that you understand that, too. And you remember those two young men we met twioo Jesterday, when we went to your Aunt ane ? Of course you do ; you needn't answer that. Well, now, knowing that 9 I have been out, and with an object, does it occur to you that I went to find out all I could about these two young men f' It will be seen that Mrs. Green had the gift of speech in addition to her many other attainments. Her daughter, too/was a fair practitioner, in her native tongue, but on this occasion she rr??r?lv R>iid : " Bnt I don't see why you should ? want to find out anything about them." 44 Of course not," responded the natron. " But if I were your daughter, and you were my mother, you would understand it well enough." 44 Why, what in th^world has that got to do with it, mamma ?" But the youug lady still kept her eyes rather too persistently fixed upon ner little bit of embroidery, and it is to be feared that sue was fencing with hei parent. 44 Yon know well enough that it has everything to do with it," responded Mrs. (ireeu. 44 When two handsome young men meet us together iu the streot, and then put themselves out of the way to run against us again, you don't suppose they take such pains tc get another look at me, do you t" 44They might. I'm sure you're worth looking at twice," responded the daughter, very prettily. 44 That's nonsense, and you know it. They wanted to see yon. You're young and rather good looking, although you are not ^together my style; and there are not so many young and pretty girls in this village that strange young men are going to neglect any of them." 44 Oh, mamma! - How you talk." 441 talk like a prudent woman, and act like one; so I went out to find out all about those two young men. One of " 1* 3 J ft tiiem will ao very wen inaeeu. " Which one is it who will do ?" inqaired Sarepta, laughing, and beginning now to show a little shy interest in the subject "That one with an Ulster overooat on," replied the elder lady, shooting a very sharp glance at the young one. " Why, they both wore Uisters," put | in Sarepta, falling into the trap with great simplicity. " Aha ! I thought so," chuckled the j astute Mrs. Green. " You noticed them a little, while they noticed you a good deal. Well, it's the tallest one, I mean; the one with the dark complexion and black mustache. Charles Edgerton his name is." "The other one is much the best looking and the most gentlemanly, I think," said the daughter. " George Merton. Oh, yes; but he won't do at all. He is handsome, and has plenty of talent, too ; but he has neither money nor position. Mr. Edgerton has plenty of both, so he's the one that will do. "Why, I thought"? and then Sarepta stopped and bit her lip. " Thought what ?" "Nothing; only that we were doing a rather queer thing, discussing these two gentlemen as if they belonged to U8." "Queer, maybe, but prudent," and the prudent mother withdrew to meditate upon the advantages of a son-inlaw with ooth money and position. The fact goes without saying that there is more or less wickedness in this world. If there were not, good Mrs. Green would have been spared the surprise, mingled with hum liatioD, that fell upon her that same eveniDg. Mother aDd daughter had set themselves down beside the evenirg lamp to chat and sew, and to have an altogether cozy evening, when the bell rung, and Mr. Charles Edgerton and Mr. George Merton were shown i. to the room. Mrs. Green was almost astonished out of all courtesy in contemplating the impertinence of the young men of our day, who go calling without waiting for introductions. Her surprise was bv no means lessened, but the course of her contemplation was turned when her y daughter showed what the girls of our \iay are capable of, by welcoming tho two gentlemen very serenely, and introducing them in a very matter-of-fact to her mother[ I The explanation of it was that these c young persons had met in the merry 4 summer time in an out of the way s country nook, where Sarepta was sojourning with a city cousin, friend of the Messrs. Edgerton and Merton. Mrs. Green accepted the situation gracefully, and was pleasantly courteous I as became so polite a lady. But when c the call had ended, and mother and i daughter were left again to each other's t companionship, Sarepta listened to some f animated remarks. f 44 A nice trick you played me !" said 1 Mrs. Green. 44 Let me go out asking s questions*about those two men, and I you knew all about them all the while ! I Why didn't you tell me ?" t 14 Why, mamma, I didn't know that f ? tn loom anvthina ft Hon t i J'JU ?auww% w J 0 ? them. The first I knew you had found i out all I had to tell, and more too ; so > what was the use?" ( 44 Well, you might have told me be- g fore. And how was it you didn't recognize^them when we met on the street?" j 441 did ; I bowed and they lifted their ( hats the first time we met them. You g did not see them at all that time, for t you were busy looking at Mrs. Bunce g and her new cloak." t 44 The first time ! Did we meet them 1 three times instead of twice, then ?" i 4 41 did not oount the times, but I 1 think it must have been three." i 44 Humph ? Well, I've nothing to do e now but to see that no trouble comes g of all your smartness. To begin with, c I noticed that Mr. Merton was rather g more attentive to you this evening than g there was any necessity for. I want 1 I you to remember that he is not the one who will do." i There was no reply to this injunction, t Perhaps it was not heard, and subso- t quent facts rendered this all the more t probable. t The two young men prolonged their i stay in the village, and made frequent c calls together at Mrs. Green's house. 1 Mr. Edgerton was all that could be de- t sired in the way of friendly oourtesy, t but George Merton was that, and more i too. It became more and more apparent i that he aimed to become the one who i would do. a He came often with his friend, but t more often by himself, and one day he 1 called not on Sarepta, but upon Mrs. t Green herself. The nature of his er- i rand may be gathered from a remark 1 of that lady's during the conversation, t 441 am very sorry matters have gone i so far," she said, 41 and I tried in every 5 way to prevent it. All I can do now is t to say that I will never give my consent 1 to your marriage with my daughter. I fe esteem you very greatly, but I long t .-wl rv mr mind fhnf. mr RATI-in- S >IU UC UJUUU U^/ &UJ UAAUV4 I.MMV law must have fortune and position." f "But, my dear madam "? "I have had .my say, Mr. Merton, an J nothing will ever make me say different ly. I don't mind saying to yon that the same question from your friend would receive a very different answer." George Merton went away then, and Sarepta reoeived a little lecture from her mother. The girl was a little pale, but very quiet, and her mother thought she was going to be very sensible. She fe't a little discouraged, however, when Sc repta said, quite in her natural voice : " I know he is poor, and without position, as you call it, but I will never marry any other man as long as I live 1" and that ended the conversation. After this matters went on much the same as usual, except that George Merton came no more to Mrs. Green's house Sarepta was a little quieter than of old, i but altogether acted in a practical man ner, that gave her mother very great encouragement. One afternoon the young lady dressed to go out for a walk, and stood for a time with one foot on the fender bar, listening to her mother's talk, which ran pretty much in this strain toward the close : " I haven't seen Mr. Edgerton for a twj or three days, have you? And? t his friend seems to have disappeared t al:ogether. I must say it was very proper of him not to come here after I gave irm so decided an answer. Why, bless my8onl! Here he is now!" And there, sure enough, he was, step- ? p ng leisurely in through the open door 1 of the room. He had evidently screwed I h is couiage up, and was keeping it up N by a little bit of bravado not quite natural to him. His hat was pulled tight upou his head, his step had the least suggestion of a swagger in it, and he car- J i ried his hands in the pockets of the * short, odd looking jacket which he wore j for the apparent purpose of making him J look unnecessarily independent. * His manner put Mrs. Green on the oifensive, as if it were a challenge. Her * face took on its hard, set look, her j hands folded themselves together under ' | her apron, and she stood looking at him j very frigidly, and failed to notice that 6 ! her daughter was not so much surprised J as she ought to have been. | " Good afternoon, Mr. Merton," said c : Mrs. Green, very much as if he bad 1 ; been a sewing machine agent. " We 1 ! were just speaking of?your friend." "Ah, Charlie! Yes, poor fellow, he * ; has gone back to the city. He really ] needed a longer rest, but he couldn't ' ' " * *" - 1 Li- -ii- Ai J t taKe it witnouc losing am miauuvu, uuu he cannot afford to do that." ] " His sitnation ? Why"? ' " Yes, you know he is a bookkeeper. But, no; I remember now, my friend Mrs. Garwood got our names mixed in telling you about us." < " I see," said Mrs. Green, in a tone 1 that implied many things. * i "But come, dear, if you are ready ? ; we will go for our walk now," said 1 j George, in a queer, hurried way. "I < just dropped in, Mrs. Green, to take my t I wife out for a walk." < " Your wife ? What f" and Mrs. < Green sat down and waited for more ? breath. ] " Mamma, you will forgive us, won't i you?" pleaded Sarepta. "Perhaps it j j was wrong, but you were so firm, so we < j were married yesterday." < " Of course I forgive you, now that < there is nothing else for me to do," I j said the politio lady. "And if you 1 will wait a minute I'll go with you. It ! w 11 close people's mouths." < As they all started out together, Mrs. 1 Merton said : < " George, you ought to have told me I about this ridiculous mistake." < j "I know I ought, but you see, ray I dear, I couldn't resist tbs temptation 1 >f giving your mother a son-in-law with fortune and position,'in spite of herelf," he replied. Mr. Sommerbeck's Dog. "I love my dog," said Mr. Sommer>eck. " Man's faithful friend; always levoted to his master; always vigilant n his protection ; untiring in his efforts 0 please ; docile under discipline, forgiving in his disposition, kind and aithful, man does not half appreciate lim nor understand him. I have bought 1 dog, one that will in his infantile days >e a source of unceasing mirth to us all )y his innocent gambols, and, as age develops his sterner qualities, will be a aithful, vigilant guardian of our sleepng hours. Let us love him and deal vith him gently and tenderly, and his very life will be devoted to our service. Dome, Herzegovina, come ; come in and jet acquainted with your friends." He tied him to the back fence with a >iece of the clothesline, and sought his lowny couch. He had been in bed 1 ? TnVtnn o Vinnrl t\4 mnot lUUUb liCU 1111UUICO nucu u uuni vt iuvur inearthly import smote the air, dying iway in a prolonged, shuddering gurgle hat lifted every hair on Mr. Sommerx?ck's lgpd, and emptied all the shriekng, faintiDg women in the honse into lis room in one wailing, hysterical torent. Again and again the howl came iwelling up through the closed windows, is though it wailed out of the very walls >f the house, then one would come i series of choking, gurgling gasps and isthmatic groans that were too full of lorror to listen to without shrieking. He dressed and took the lantern and evolver and went out. Guided by the errible sounds he came to where he had ied the dog. No dog was visible, but he rope that was stretched tight across he top of the fence showed where he ?as. The docile animal had jumped >ver the fence and the rope was just ong enough to let Lis hind legs touch he ground. As long as he could stand, he dog could howl till he hushed the ailroad whistles, and when his weakenng legs buckled and let him down, the ope tightened and shut off his wind in i series of chokes and gasps and gurgles hat were too awful to think about, ffr. 8ommerbeck climbed painfully over he fence and tried to lift the dog back nto the yard, and as he pushed the lowling animal over the fence, it pawed he top of his bald head until it looked ike a map of the Sevian war. Mr. Jornmerbeck wished! the faithful dog at he Centennial. Then it crawled its lind legs down the neck of his night ibirt, and braced its fore paws against he fence and pushed back, and walked ill over Mr. Sommerbeck's upturned ace, howling all the time. Finally Mr. Jommerbeck pushed him over and heard lim drop with a heavy thump on the ground. Then ne tried to climb ^ver limself. It was a slow, painful task, or Mr. Sommerbeck is not a light veight, nor is he so young as he once vas. At last he got one leg over the op of the fence after many grunts, and nth a great groan of satisfaction bal ? i - TT* _ 33 in cod nimseii on top. ms suaaen appearance seemed to fill the dDg with error, and in a flash, jnst as Mr. Somnerbeok dropped on the inside of the enoe, the faithful dog went ap like a oekefc and shot out of sight on the >ther, and recommenced his hideous towls and gasps. Mr. Sommerbeck felt s though he couldn't groan deep enough lor fast enou-'h as he prepared to scale he dreadful fence. It was discouraging rork, but he got to the top at last, ost his balance and went down on the >ther side like a land slide, falling dump on the faithful dog and killing it o quick that the doomed animal never vhined a protest Mr. Sommerbeck imped slowly down the alley and up the treet to the front gate. He got in the louse and went to bed, and in response o the anxious inquiries of the women is to what was the matter, he merely old them to pull on the clothesline in he morning and they would find out. She Wouldn't Speak to Him. When a young Chicago man came lown stairs the other morning he renembered that his wife, who was preparing breakfast, had not spoken to him vhen she got up, and so he cheerfully (aid: "Good morning, little lady." Not a word came in reply. " Good morning," said ho, again, in a ligher key, thinking that she might not lave heard him before. " Um?'m?'m," was all that escaped "w oooloil lino on cVia t or*f nn wilh 1ULU UC/& OC?;V>U AX^TU) wu WMV VM ?? awM he work. "Why under the sun don't you aniwer me!" he exclaimed, in surprise; what's the matter ? What have I dono 0 offend you?" "Um?'m?'m," was still the only lound elicited. "Look here!" then exclaimed the msband, as he jumped up and knocked >ver a cup of coffee; " I don't swallow a nouthful of this breakfast until you tell ne what's the matter." "What's the matter?" echoed she, niddenly turning upon him with flashng eyes. ADd then she continued: John Adell Smitlison, the next time hat I dream I see you kissing another voman, I?I?I will leave this house? x>o-hoo!" A Dreaded Bandit's Death. The killing of the desperate bandit 3hato Alejandro was characteristic, says ;he San Francisco Chronicle. He commanded four hundred men. He took up 1 rv\ai firm at. FTnitTrilftfl. flol. Ucalde. of I he Federals, attacked him, and after a desperate fight, in which the Revolutionists lost forty in killed and wound3d, and the Federals fourteen killed and 3leven wounded, the Revolutionists fled, ind their leader was shot through the brain while trying to escape from ahonee in which he had taken shelter. Ohato llejandro, whose real name was Alejandro Gutierrez, had been made a brigadier-general by GeD. Diaz. On one oo3asion he kidnapped the wealthy Don 3*ntos Degollado. He asked his victim what he would give to be released, and Degollado replied that he would give svery thing in his possession. He then banded the bandit a gold watch, a sum Df money and other valuables. These the wretch pocketed, and calmly taking Dut his revol . r shot his victim through the brain. His hands w^re red with the bhvjd of his cnustrymen. A Romance of Real Life. When St. Panl was in its infancy, a yonng blacksmith and his wife lived near the junction of what is now North First street and Hennepine avenue. Not successful in business at that time, the young husband, whose real name was John Felix, though ho bore the most tender affection for his young wife, as the sequel shows, started for the far West with the det<rmination to obtain wealth and independence. Here he remained until the breaking out of the war, when he enlisted. While in the army he met a comrade who told him of the sad misgivings of his former wife, and of her marriage (who, for some reason, had never heard from him, though he had written several letters) to a second husband. Felix then informed his comrade that he should never return to bis home until he had acquired theindependent fortune he had first unsuccessfully striven to obtain. Upon the close of the war he once more turned his sorrowful footsteps toward the West, and there soon laid the basis of that fortune he had so long been searching for. Starting on a ranch in Wyoming Territory, his flock grew in number, and fortune smiled as blandly as his ambition could desire, and he was, most naturally, as time passed, overcome with the desire to visit once more the spot where his happiest momonts had been spent. About six months since he wrote to his son, who at that time happened to reside near Minneapolis, and reoeived the letter. The boy, who was an infant at the time of his father's departure, and never knew him, could not understand its meaning, and gave it to his mother, who instantly recognized the writing, and, with a woman's nature, her first love so dwelt in her heart that she told her second husband, without a moments warning, that she oould live with him no longer. John Felix, after an absence of over eighteen years, returned to St. Paul, and having - learned that she who was once his wife was k< eping a boarding house on First street, immediately went thither. He called and recognized her. He appealed to her charity by telling her that he had no money. She told him he was welcome to such fare as her home afforded. While waiting upon him he asked her numerous questions, and finally wound up by asking her if she ever knew a man named John Felix. Her curiosity being greatly aroused at having a name pronounced she had seldom heard for years, and divining through the mag * > - " i-? i netism 01 love wno me man ueiuro u? was, she threw herself into his arms and gave way to the joyfnl tears that remained nnwept through all her long waiting. John says he cried too. John further says that he intends soon to return to the land that has prospered him, and where, we are credibly informed, he is reckoned among the first of those wealthy ranchmen who inhabit the fertile plains. Withdrawing Leisurely. The Elko (Nev.) Independent tells the following: While traveling through Arizona in 1849 with an exploring party, we made our camp one evening near a canyon, the bottom of which was covered with fine sand that had drifted from the neighboring plains. While employed in arranging our camp, the botanist of the expedition, Dr. B., wandeied some distance in pursuit of plants. He returned shortly and reported that there were Indians near at hand. He was as cool as a cucumber, and didn't show any sign of anxiety or alarm. In answer to our hasty inquiries, he replied that while he was engaged in examining a fossil specimen he heard a grunt behind him, and on looking around discovered an Indian who had seized his gun, which had been placed against a rock. The Indian drew a bead on him, and in retaliation he drew his revolver and sighted*the Indian, retreating at the same time toward the oanyon, which was close at hand. Neither fired. On reaching the canyon he walked leisurely into A cot. nnt tfl U1U1 P. A piuilj imiMmww.j uvo ?- ? detel mine the possibility of danger, and discovered two Indians and a sqnaw. After capturing them they examined the vicinity in which the doctor had met with his remarkable adventure. They found his footprints, which signified a cautious retreat to the canyon. But alas 1 for the frailty of human nature; his footprints in the canyon were eight feet apart, by measurement, and not exactly indicative of the leisurely manner in which he had approached the camp. The doctor acknowledged the corn, and remarked that that was about as leisurely as he ever wished to walk under similar circumstances. Asiatic Doctors. The first care of the Sart physician is to study your general appearance and ask you about your temperament. He has learned in the " Tukhpatul Muminiu," the most common medical book here, that you must belong to one of four classes, and his treatment of^our malady is governed accordingly, wnen tie has combined your symptoms with your temperament, he will pull a bag out of his pocket, or untie the scarf which serves him for a girdle, and open an assortment of drugs in twisted bits of paper, perhaps tasting and smelling to find the right ones, and having chosen the proper medicine, will give you the usual directions about doses and diet. The medicaments employed by central Asiatic physicians are, in general, very simple, being in jnost part vegetable substances; but few animal matters and minerals being used. They are usually taken simply in the form of powders and decoctions, and when a mixed medicine is used, the physician delivers the substances to the patient and allows him to mix them for himself. This not only saves the physician trouble, but, in a certain way, soothes the suspicious feelings of the patient, who migh'. imagine, in case he did not immediately improve, that he had been poisoned by the doctor. The Popes.?The whole number of Popes to Pius IX. is 257. Of these 104 have been Romans and 103 natives of other parts of Italy, fifteen Frenchmen, nine Greeks, seven Germans, five Asiatics, three Africans, two Dalmatians, three Spaniards, one Hebrew, one Thra! dan, one Dutchman, one Portuguese, i one Caudiot, and one Englishman* Written by Itself. My life is shortly told. My first impression was the sensation of a tremendous bnt short squeeze, which instantly awoke me into life and thought. I was now spread out to the light, and a glow of intelligence completely pervaded me. My ideas were at first new, multifarious and confused?nations, politics, courts, wars, speeches, merchandise, fightings, feasts, marriages, ditties, poetry, etc., etc., made up all my thoughts, which were various and mixed. I lay in a silent state of wonder and great amazement. I soon found that I was but one of a very large family, and was ushered into this curious world at the same time. Our whole familj was laid in regular order in a pile; my situation, being one of the first born, was particularly uneasy, damp, and uncomfortable. I had a silent, intuitive longing wish to get into the world, which was at last gratified. Morning came, and I was carefully folded and laid, Moses-like, in a basket, by a boy who was called the carrier, and borne into th street. The said carrier I soon found was an object of interest and desire. He was soon accosted by an elderly looking man, with threadbare, rusty breeches. 44 Have you a spare paper this morning, my boy ?" 44 No, sir," was the short reply, and he trudged on with us, muttering: 44 Not as you know on, old gripes. You are the same chap that promised me some coppers for the paper the other morning, and ha n't paid me yet; you are too stingy to take the paper?you won't get another from me, I guess." My brethren were now fast leaving me, being deposited at their proper destination. At length my turn came, and 1 was tucked in the crevice of a shop door. The first sample of the kind was not at all alluring. I had not been long in my new situation, when a reluctant early comer, swinging a key in his hand, wistfully eyed me, and casting a look about him, feloniously seized me, and thrust me into his pocket. My rightful owner, by virtue of. advance pay, being in sight, hailed and arrested the pilferer, and with threats compelled him to relinquish his prize. He entered his store, and I soon found that I was the first object of his attention. After hastily drying me by the fire, in which process I narrowly escaped conflagration, he ran over me, and fixed his eyes upon sales at auction, advertisements, etc. I was then more particularly examined, and dismissed with condemnation. 44 Nothing but foreign news?congress and cabinet?love stories, and accidents by flood and field. A newspaper should be a commercial report, one side at least should be devoted to prices current." I was then pettishly thrown upon the counter, but was soon in requisition. A boy came in, with a 44 Please to lend me your paper for a few minutes, iust to look at the ship news ?" The reqnest was reluctantly granted, with something abont the plague of paper borrowing, and a determination to stop it. I was soon borne to a neighboring house. The good old woman, whose husband was at sea, eagerly sought the ship news, but was quite disappointed in her search. " How negligent and careless these printers are," said she; " not a word of intelligence of the Wind Bird; they print of Poland and poetry, and fill their papers with advertisements, and that is all they care ahtfut." Miss now took her turn. Sue sought the stories, poetry, and marriages, which in half an hour were all devoured with a " wonder that they put anything else in the paper." An elderly lady now took me, who, adjusting her spec tacles, surveyed me a little while, and declared me a " terrible uninteresting paper?hardly a column of dea':hs, and not more than fifteen or twenty murders and accidents." In this way I passed through all the hands of the family, and after being well soiled and somewhat torn by the little ones, was sent home. For three whole days I got no rest, but was continually borrowed and abused. At the end of this period I was supplanted by a new faoe, and was then discarded and thrown aside liko all servants when they have become useless. I was, however, again resuscitated, and employed as a wrapper to soihe merchandise, and sent intc the country. Ihere I again became the 1 ' 1 ? * -- *Ann^a nl ODjCCt U1 iliLtJICOlj >VCUb liuc xuuuuu V4 tbe neighborhood, and was a "nine days' wonder." I am now qnietly hanging up in b shattered condition, in a farmer's kitch en, from which I have written this brie] memoir. I have seen much of the world, and learned that mankind are unreason able and ungrateful, and that in a work of great variety of tastes and wishes ii is impossible to please all. The Boy and the Hot Chestnats. A small urchin just large enough U wear pants, and probably with his firs pair on with pockets, stepped up to t street stand and purchased five oenta worth of hot roast chestnuts. The chest nut vender, pitying his tender years, as sisted his customer to empty the meas ure into his little pockets. Soon th< nuts began to feel warm?they becam< uncomfortable?they burn, and the lit tie fellow could stand it no longer anc commenced to cry ana aauoe up aui down with p.'in. The chestnut vende] tried to extract the nuts, but his handi were too large to get into the pockets The cries and antics of the sufferer in creased. The Italian became excited and with commendable ingenuity seizec the boy by the heels and shook him head down, until the chestnuts rollec out on the sidewalk. With tears of joj the boy went in search of his mother. The Burning of the Dead.?The ere mation furnace at Washington, Pa. erected by Dr. Lemoyne, for the pur pose of cremating bodies after death, ii finished, and two sheep were cremated The experiment proved satisfactory ii every respect, no scent or smell escap ing, as expected there #ould be. The; are now awaiting cremation of i human corpse. MILK AND BUTTER. Oeieriptln of a Delaware Coanty (New Terlc) Dairy Farm. Mr. Willard, in - the Rural New ( Yorker, gives the following description j of a dairy farm in Delaware county, New York : < Daniel McMnllen, whom we met at , the Delhi fair, has a fine farm of 240 . acres about one mile east of Delhi, 100 , of which are flats and are devoted to , meadows and grain raising, about forty , acres are in timber, and the balance of \ the farm is in pasture. The soil on the , flats is a clay loam, but the uplands are , gravel and red slate. The course of , cultivation on the flats is to turn over , the sod and put to corn, and the second j year a crop of oats is raised and the land j seeded to grass. The average jield of j coru is about fifty bushels to the acre ( and that of oats from fifty to sixty t bushels. All the grain raised on the , farm is fed to stock. The cows are j grades, being a cross of Jersey and \ Ayrshire. Firat the native or common , stock of the country is crossed with a \ thoroughbred Ayshire bull, and then ( these grades are crossed with a thor- , oughbred Jersey bull, and the reeult is } an animal that will yield on an average I, from 175 to 200 pounds of butter per I] year. Mr. McMullen says that the , average of bis whole herd for some } years past has not been less than 175 ] pounds of butter. The cows do not get i any grain during the season of pasturage; ] but as grass begins to depreciate they ] are fed sowed oorn, and for this pur- j pose from three to four acres are raised j every year. The sowed oorn usually < lasts from five to six weeks, when the j cows go upon the afterfeed. Mr. ] McMullen says he has experimented by | feeding sour milk and middlings?say i about six quarts of milk and two quarts j of middlings to each cow per day ; but ^ he finds as much milk and of as good j quality can be made from sowed corn as , from the above. The sour milk is now j fed to hogs and calves, ten of the former ] and fifteen of the latter being kept. < About one ton of corn meal is used in j connection with the sour milk, the meal ; being cooked for the hog-% but not for the calves, lhe fifteen oalves get from ; four to five quarts of meal mixed with ( the milk daily, and in this way very fine i calves are raised. Some of the calves < this year, when fattened, have been sold i for the New York market at three and ( one-half oents per pound, live weight, j and have averaged $8 per head and up- ] ward. I The milk in this dairy is set in Jewett i pans, and the aim is to reduoe the tern- , perature to from sixty-two to sixjy-fivo | degrees Fah. The milk remains in the 4 pans from thirty six to forty-eight hours, < acoording to the state of the weather? 1 the less time in hot weather?when it is 1 skimmed. The churning is done in the 1 morning, in a dash chum, and the but i ter washed, worked and salted in the 1 usual manner and packed in pails and firkins. This year he oommenoed shipping butter in pails at forty-four to forty-five cents per pound, and the price run down in July to thirty cents. Since 4>1,A Vinftai* hftfl hflftU held. blldV VUV MUVWJk m--nn - , There were some remarkably good batter cows shown at the Delhi fair, among the most notable of which were the thoroughbred Jerseys belonging to Edward Edgerton. One oow ont of this herd, five years of age, dropped a calf on the ninth of Febrnary last, and from the twelfth of that momth to the first of Jaly she gave 3,748} pounds of milk, thirteen and one-half pounds of which, on an average, made one pound of but ter. She produoed during the 141 days 281 pounds and ten ounces of butter, and her calf sold for $50. Since the first of Jaly her average of milk has been twenty pounds per day. The feed of this oow during the season has been as follows: Up to the twelfth of May she got hay, and in addition three quarts i of corn and oat meal per day, the mixture being in equal parts. After the twelfth of May she was fed nothing but , grass. A sister of this oow was also shown at the fair, which has produoed i on an average a pound of butter from fifteen pounds of milk. When we con' sider that a fair average herd will yield only at the rate of 175 to 200 pounds of i bntter per head daring the season, the i difference between a good and an averi age oow, it will be seen, is sufficient to make an important differenoe on the > profit side of the ledger. I * f ? From the North Pole. i The steamer Alert of the British Arc. tie expedition arrived at Valencia, being I the first land made since leaving the frozen regions. She parted company ! with the steamer Discovery in the AtianI tic. Progress to the north pole was t found to be impracticable. Captain Nares reports that no land could be discovered to the north of the highest latitude reached, namely, eighty-three deg. twenty min., but in other respects the expedition was successful. The Alert > has gone to Queenstown, and Captain [. Nares to London. All are well. , The Alert amd Discovery left Port ? Foulke on July 29, 1875, and entered . the ice off Cape Sable. After a severe . and continuous struggle they reached the north side of Lady Franklin bay, m,">? "Diu/vwprv was left in winter } VT UU&U VUV ^ q oarters. The Alert poshed on and reached the limit of navigation on the j shore of the Polar sea. The ice varied I in thickness, being in some places 160 r feet deep. President Land does not } exist. The Alert wintered in latitude eighty-two deg. twenty-seven min. The j, son was invisible 142 days, and temperature the lowest ever recorded was | experienced. A detachment with sledges was dispatched northward. It was ab| sent seventy days. Another party rounded . Gape Colombia, the northernmost part of America, and traced 220 miles westward from Greenland, and also explored far to the eastward. These sledge par ties met with no game, and suffered , from scurvy. Hans Peterson died from frost bite. John Porter of the Alert, 9 and James Hans and Obarles Paul of . the Discovery died on the sledging exl pedition. No Esquimaux were seen, nor were jr any icebergs met with beyond Cape a Union. The expedition experienced great difficulties in returning, Lire At Brignion. It would be quite impossible for anybody to feel dull in Brighton, says a World correspondent. There is not only the long road or esplanade in front of the sea, so full of life and character, but there are also two piers running out into the sea?one of them nearly 1,200 feet in length and 140 feet in width. On this latter pier people are lounging from sunrise to sunset?ladies take their werk, or sit and read there; men go and smoke and look over the papers, and a rery exoellent band plays there two or three times a day. There are little ihops and refreshment-rooms on this pier, and the upper end of it is well screened from the winds by sheets of plate glass at the sides. A more comfortable spot for idling aways a leisure hour cannot well be imagined. It is just like being on the deck of a magnificent ship on a fine day, with sea and sky of a radiant blue, and not a movement of the waters to disturb the feeblest of travelers. From this pier a magnificent view is obtained of the * - - - * - ? ? ?i. esplanade and the city at the bacic, wnue to the east the high cliffs and the ridge the South Downs give a picturesque uid varied appearance to the scene. It must not be supposed that nature has .ione everything for this place and man nothing. The line of the esplanade would long since have been encroached ipon by the sea, as the road at Long Branch is every winter, if a substantial vail of concrete had not been built to keep back the enemy. Over ?100,000 tiave been spent on this wall alone. It is twenty-three feet thick at the base, ind three teet at the top. On the " East CJliff," which stands higher than the main part of Brighton, an i consequently has a slope from the edge of the road k> the sea, green lawns have been made, (rifch well kept walks running through hem. In short, nothing is left undone prhich is calculated to increase the attractiveness of Brighton; and thispolioy on the part of the inhabitants has oroved to be a paying one, for the value of house property has gone up immensely ot late years, and now you have to pay more for a good house at Brighton than fer a similar house in London. The great drawback te the plaoe, in my opinion, is the beach, which consists of hard, round stones, or shingle, and is, therefore, impracticable for walking or riding. Hence, I do not consider Brighton a good place for children. They like to dig and roll about in the sand all ^ay, and here von oould cot collect a spoonful of sand if yon were to walk from Kemp Town to Howe. In this respect Brighton presents a great contrast to those "vulgar" but most healthy and beautifully situated watering places, Bamsgate and Margate. child who is told that he is going to the sea side, and duly provides himself with the indispensable outfit of spade and pail, and then finds thatthere is no sand, thinks the whole plaoe a " humbug " and cries to be taken home. Thus Brighton would probably be a very unpopular plaoe with the juveniles if it were not for one ' institution " which has oompletely redeemed its character in their eyes, and which most of our readers have doubtless heard or read of as "the Aquarium." An African King's Reception. Colonel C. C. Long, of the Egyptian army, now visiting with his family friends in St. Louis, gives the following account of his reception at the court of King M'tesa, to whioh he had penetrated with two attendants only: My reoeption by this strange and mysterious king was unique. Covering the hilltops that characterize the mountainous districts of the lake regions were thousands of the people of Uganda assembled to weloome " the Great White Prinoe," as they called me. King M'tesa, surrounded by his courtiers and harem, as I arrived, sent a messenger to ask me to appear before him and show him the strange animal upon which I was mounted. I was riding the first horse that had ever been seen iu Uganda. At a quickened pace advancing toward the king and courtiers tbey fled precipitate* 1 ' ? - ? '''a T tnminff mv iy neiurt) mo, nunc 0 ?^ horse, regained the hill from which I had descended, and, throwing my foot from thejsfcirrup,in the act of dismounting, I was surprised to see the people scatter in every direction in dismay. I learned from the interpreter that they had supposed, up to thAt moment, that I and the horse were one animal?that I was a kind of a centaur. I was presented the next day to the king?a tall, graceful man, dressed in a flowing Arabic robe, bound at the waist by a girdle to which a scimetar was suspended, and with sandaled feet, who eyed my horse with affrighted glance and retreated toward his throne. Prostrate bodies covered the entrance and floor of the hut. It was here that the king held audienoe with his different sheiks and obiefs, and the heads of the different branches of his government The ceremony ended in'a slight inclination of the head of the king to his messengers, who, unrolling from their heads neatly bound oords, threw them aronnd the necks of the assembled throng at the door, and dragged them, holloaing and struggling, away to an executioner, who, as the fancy struck him, had them poinarded or choked to death, or had their brains dashed out This is a sacrifice which is made to all African kings. One Way to be Miserable. If you want to be miserable think constantly about yourself, your woes and your cares, your trials and your tribulations, pity yourself for the troubles you must bear and the evils that afflict you. Magnify every ill, see no comfort or blessing in the path of life stern destiny has planted your feet in. And If you want to make your friends miserable, too, keep your sad fate ever before them; forget that they may have bitter trials of their own, and insist upon entertaining them with a recital of your peculiar troubles, and seek for their constant sympathy and condolence. You will aooomplish your amiable purpose bv this course; but before long you will find yourself your only sympathizer, for your friends will vote you an unmitigated bore, and seek more congenial society, avoiding yours like the pestilence.