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Or THE BEAUFORT TRIBUNE AND POET EOYAL COMMERCIAL. VOL. V. NO. 36. BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST 9, 1877. 12.10 jer Hun. Suit Cm i Can ? - ? " t The Country Las*. Although I am a country lass, A lofty mind I bear ; I think myself as good as those Who gay apparel wear. My dress is made of homely gray, Yet is my skin as soft As those who using choice perfumes Do scent their garments oft. At times I keep my father's sheep, A thing that must be done ; A garland 01 the fairest flowers Oft shades me from the sun. And when I see them feeding by, Where grass and flowers spring, Close by a crystal fountain clear, I sit me down and sing. I take my part in household work, I card, I sew, I spin, I milk the cows at early morn, Kind Robin's smile I win ; I bake and brew with sister Sue, My brother's hose I darn ; At harvest time the sickle wield, And winnow in the barn. My ruddy cheeks with glow of health Seek neither paint nor patching; At church I have my duty learnt, And need no constant watching. With Robin at the Whitsuntide I dance upon the green, While pipe and tabor cheer the throng, A merry set, I ween. I envy not the ladies fine, With skirts that sweep the ground, Nor trained to any useful art, They're gojd for nothing found. In idleness their days are spent Abroad for recreation; We country lasses bate their pride, And keep the country fashion. Then, do not scorn the country lass, Though she go plain and meanly ; Who takes a country gy^l to wife That goeth neat and cleanly, Is better sped than if he wed A lady from the city, For there they are so idly bred, They're only worth our pity. ________ ELINOR MARCELON'S LOVER. " Is that you, Elinor?" The pale face j was raised eagerly and turned toward ! the door, as though the bandaged eyes j could see through their covering, and then, as the newcomer came swiftly ! across the room and sat down on the low seat beside the sofa, the disheveled head ; settled back on the tumbled pillows with i a sigli of relief ami satisfaction although she had been gone from the room only a few moments. " Yes, it is I;" and the deft fingers straightened out' the cushions and smoothed back the rough hair from his forehead as they did so many weary times daily. " How are the poor eyes? ( ? it is time to attend to them now;" and i the same light, skillful hands adjusted the bandage quickly, but tenderly. "The doctor says yon are improving every hour?it is only patience that you ! need now, for a little time?and then? | oh, Max?I am so thankful!" and the ! cheerful voice broke down suddenly, as 1 Max Valentine's arm drew her close, and | the bright face was hidden for a moment' on his bosom. " And I owe it all to you," he whispered, holding her closer yet "No other could have brought me through it! us you have done, dealing !" And Elinor i Marcelon, as she rested her tired head ! there, felt that she was more than repaid 1 for all the work and worry and unrest of the past weeks?all the weariness aud misery of it?now that he was so nearly j well again. It was a very narrow escape this of Mhx Valentine's?a long, hard struggle Tor life it had been; but with Elinor to help and pray for him, he had con-1 quered. ; Fortunate it was for him that he had j fallen into such hands; for, although j Paul Marcelon's household and housekeeping was of rather a "mixed" and Bohemian style, he was honestly fond of his friend, and, when he saw (he illness coming on, had taken him in and given him the best of everything?even to the only spare chamber, and his own sister for a nurse. " Don't send for nhy one." That was Max's cry from the first. 'fThey will kill me if they come sniveling around Promise that you won't let any one know unless you must;" and that promise being made, he gave himself up to delirium ; and fever, and Elinor Marcelon nursed j him through it, and brought him almost; out of the "valley of the shadow of death," feeling, with every hour that she passed by his sick-bed, that he grew nearer and dearer to her. He had made love to her in a light, careless way eVer since he first began to drop into Paul's 6tudio now and then ; and she, being quite used to that style of thing from most of Paul's numerous acquaintances ever since her childhood, had accepted it as a matter of oourse / until he was taken ill ; then it came to j her suddenly and clearly that he was me j one man in all this world to her, and now she knew that she had saved him, j and was thankful. "I've some news for vou, Max," 6he j said, suddenly breaking the little silence which had fallen between them. "Ij know you long for something of the kind, shut up in this dreary room. We J have a new arrival?a far-away cousin i of outb?who has taken a fancy to study art under Paul's guidance, and is to stay with us all winter." "I hate new people," Max answered savagely. "I hope he doesn't intend to monopolize you, Nellie. I purpose doing that myself." " ' He ?' " laughed Nellie. " I don't think ' he' cherishes any such intention. ' He ' is a young lady, Max, and one of the loveliest ones I ever saw?Alice Borden. I am sure you will like her." "I trust so, "'answered Max, dryly; " but on general principles. I hate uew people." And then the subject was dropped. After this, Max grew rapidly better. But even after the bandage was taken from his eyes, and he was able to walk up and down the dimly-lighted room without assistance, Elinor was in constant requisition. Like most petted individuals, he grew very exacting, but Elinor was only too glad to feel that she was a help and a comfort to bim. Once or twice the new cousin came up to sit with him and Elinor for a while, but she declared the dimly-lighted room "poky" J and the patient "cross," and he never i took the trouble to urge her to stay. " We r?re happier alone," he said, when Elinor gently remonstrated with him for his plainly evinced indifference. " But you have not seen her vet," persisted Elinor. She is just lovely, Max? they all rave about her in the studio"? but Max was loftily uninterested. The first day that Max ventured downstairs with his hand resting heavily%on Elinor's shoulder, he came suddenly upon the "new cousin" sitting in the sun snmy, uuuuy mut: Euuuug-iuviu, mui i Mrs. Paul's baby in lier arms. He had | thought very little about the "new j cousin," and this sudden meeting was a j revelation. He had seen many beautiful women, but this woman, with her fair face, her great dark eyes and her wonderful crown of glittering golden hair, was even to him a surprise and a wonder. The bright sunlight fell on her bowed head, and on the pure, sweet, almost unreal face, and she looked up and smiled. For a moment he gazed at her as though spellbound; then with a sudden, awkward consciousness of having expressed in his look ap admiration which ho had no right either to feel or show. He greeted her lightly, and in a moment was his whimsical quizzical self again; laughing and jesting as in the old days before the dreary sick-room was even thought of. That night Elinor, watching Alice as she brushed out the glittering waves of her hair before the little looking-glass in their chamber, felt a new, sudden pang of?was it ??jealousy in her heart; and when Alice, turning suddenly, 6miled down at her through the golden veil, sho shrank back in the shadow, half fearing the great, dark eyes would read her thoughts. " A fine fellow, that Max Valentine," said Alice, as though following out a train of thought ; " odd for him to come here to be ill. He is his uncle's favorite nephew, and will have a mint of money sometime. You didn't know it ? You i are the oddest people, you and Paul, that I ever saw. I haven't been here two weeks yet, and I know more about all your friends than you do. However, it's so;" and the white elbows were placed on the shabby bureau, the dimpled chin resting on the pink palms, and ? ? ft\nn rroto/1 of if (/lit; OW11W Ol llic pcncvn in\.o v. ?v > i long and earnestly in the mirror, J while Elinor sank into an astonishingly sudden and deep slumber, from which she awoke as suddenly when Alice was at last asleep beside her. Those next days were very dreary ones to Elinor. Her loyal heart refused 1 to believe at first that Max could be untrue to her even in thought; but daily Alice's fascinations were exerted, until at last, even Paul noticed it, and spoke ' of it in his rough way. "The girl shall go," lie said ; "she shall not ruin your life in this way, Nellie. Max does not really care for her, but she monopolizes him-; and, if it comes to that, he is yours in honor boundbut Elinor pleaded with him. "I care for him, she said, "more than for all the world?so much that my happiness is nothing if he be not content. Would you have your sister marry a man who cares for another woman, Paul ? Let him choose between us, if it comes to that." And so Paul was silenced; but, one day, Max returning from a walk with Alice, called " Nellie " in vain, and Mrs. Paul, with the ever-present baby in her arms, handed him a little missive directed to him in Elinor's clear hand: "Dear Max (the note said)?I am going away for a time. Don't come for me, don't write to me, until you are sure of your own heart. Remember that you can do me no more cruel injury than to many me when you love another. Let no false idea of honor influence you. You know me thoroughly. Learn to know her, and if you love her, God bless you both. Think of this well for a month, and then do as your heart tells you. As ever, Elinor." Slowly the days went by, dragging wretchedly along to Elinor?slowly, all too slowly, to Max Valentine, although he was Alice Barden's constant companion all the while. He missed Elinor's bright smile, her ready, helpful hands; he missed the long, quiet evening talks; - - ? i i _ /> in fact?and every day maae nun sure oi it?he missed Elinor. At last, one morning, as Paul Marcelon was working industriously (for a wonder) in his studio, he was interrupted by the advent of Max Valentine, pale but very determined. " What is it, old fellow ?" said Paul, looking back over his shoulder, with a brush uplifted; and then Max brokeout, savagely : "I'll be hanged if I can stand this kind of thing any longer, Marcelon. Tell me where Nellie is. I must go and bring her back. She told me to do as my heart told me, and my heart tells me that she is the only woman in the world whom I can love." The uplifted brush fell to the floor, and Paul Marcelon's hand, adorned with divers daubs of paint, grasped Max Valentine's heartily. "I was sure of it !" he said, enthusi-j astically. " I knew it would come out j all rightand before another day had I passed Elinor Marcelon knew that all j distrust was at an end, and that her lover ! was hers, and here alone, in very truth, j A Festive Turk. A war correspondent writes: I have an item relative to the Turkish commander of the Danube army, Abdul Kerim. The ! old man has the most gigantic appetite | in Europe. His dinner ordinarily consists of an entire roast kid, twenty-live i ! or thirty boiled eggs, and, when in g?>od form, he tops off with a goose or a j chicken. I have this officially. When ! not occupied with digesting* a small j j lunch of this character, the venerable j j warrior is supposed to be looking after ' the movements of the Muscovites. A Core for Burns. People generally will be glad to know that charcoal has been discoverd to be a sure cure for bums. By laying a small j piece of cold charcoal 011 the bum the ; pain subsides immediately. By leaving I the charcoal on for au hour the'wound is healed, as has been demonstrated ??u , psveral occasion* TRAIN WRECKERS DETECTED. How n Faithful Engineer Went Down to 111m ! Death?* I Could have Jumped nnd Saved .Myself, but the Trnin Would havo Gone j Down." The cases of Leroy Oliver, George B. Gibson, James Long, and Allen M. Greenstreet, the four desperadoes who are held as the wreckers of the Texas express upon the St. Louis and San Francisco railroad, on the night of June 2, were called before a grand jury at Dixon, the county seat of Pulaski county, Missouri, a special session of that body having been ordered. The details of the affair were slow in developing, owing to the suppression of the facts up to the time of the capture of the four men. bank to wnere tne wrecaeu engine iaj. emitting angry volumes of steam. Word passed that there weae men beneath. Willing hands set to work. The body of the fireman was taken out, burned, scalded, and mangled. He must have died instantly. Next the searchers secured the remains of Dr. Atkinson. Then they came to poor Frank Caton, the engineer. He was burned, scalded, and crushed, but he was still alive. He clung to life with a tenacity that was wonderful, and it was full two hours be- i fore death put an end to his sufferings. Speaking slowly and with an effort that was agonizing, he told those who gathered about him how he had noticed the obstructions, how he had tried to save the train, and how he and his companion had gone down to death. When he had told his story he feebly gasped: " I could have jumped and saved myself, but the train would have gone down." These were his last words. , i Drowned in the Surf. Moore Beatty, a wealthy builder of Philadelphia, was drowned at Atlantic City while attempting to rescue Mrs. Matilda Phillips, of New York city, who had gotten beyond her depth. Just be- i fore the accident Mr. Beatty, with his | wife and little daughter, were sitting in ; the Surf House watching the bathers. Suddenly Mrs. Beatty exclaimed: "I believe that woman is drowning," pointing toward Mi's. Phillips, who was some j distance beyond the other bathers. Answering: " I believe she is," and j throwing off his coat and boots, Mr. j Beatty plunged into the water and swam out to her. He got hold of her and made i 1 a desperate attempt to bring her to shore, but the drowning woman seized j his legs and dragged him under. By I this time a large crowd had collected on ! the beacli and boats put out to their ! assistance. The two did not sink, but | were hauled on board one of the boats, i At first it was thought life was extinct, 1 but when the boat reached the shore j ' both began to gasp. A physician was ' sent for, and means were takeu to resus- I j citate them. But though they con1 tinned to gasp for nearly an hour, both ! i ; On the night of June second, wiien the Texas express entered the gloom of the Ozark mountains, a terrific storm of wind ami rain was raging. The storm was a tempest in force. Little streams had swollen to torrents. In the cab of the engine, Frank Caton, the engineer, stood with his hand upon the throttle and peered into the tempest, keeping a sharp lookout for any obstructions that the storm might have thrown upon the track. By his side was Sam Richardson, a hardy young fellow, the fireman of the engine. There was one other man on the engine, a friend of Caton's, Dr. E. L. j Atkinson, who had stepped aboard to ride a few miles. The train was on a fill. Forty feet below was the level of the grouud.. The engineer observed a heap ; of rubbish and leaves upon the track. , At the same instant his eye, accustomed to dark nights and the distinguishing of , objects in dim light, saw the form of a man stealing into the deeper darkness, | away from the light of the engine's bea- ( con, far down at the base of the hill. He ( suspected foul play. With one hand he pulled the cord, and the engine gave a , warning shriek. Then he seized the reverse lever, and, with a desperate pull, ' reversed the engine and applied the air J brake. Too late ! With his hands yet upon the lever, he went to his death. 1 The engine reached the seeming obstruc- I tions. A trap had been laid. Two rails had been loosened at one end, and their ! course diverted. The intention of those who did it was to plunge the train into4 the depths below. The engine passed over the brow of the hill. It rolled down the embankment to the very base and J stopped with the wheels in the air. Tiie three occupants of the cab were beneath j it, crushed and mangled. When the engine left the track and ( started upon the path made by the mis- . placed rails, it gave a wild plunge and ' bound. The coupling between the ten- i der and the baggage car gave way, but . not until the heavy car turned upon its j side. The remainder of the train came ^ to a dead stand still, safe upon the track. There were but few passengers on ' board. The traffic is generally Light on Saturday night. Some of them were doz- 1 ing in their seats. Others sat looking ( out into the gloom, listening to the howling of the storm. When the warning shriek of the engine was followed by the "" - v J J # it. _ j! *? sudden and violent stoppage 01 me train, the passengers sprang to the windows to jiscertain what was the matter. A. H. Wilson, the conductor of the train, was seated in a rear car. He seized the lantern, and jumping from the platform, started forward. He had struggled through the mud and weeds at the side of the track but a few feet when a pistol shot was heard. A bullet passed through his hat. The bullet came within au eighth of an inch of his scalp. The sensation stunned him partially, and he fell to the ground. His lantern was extinguished. Seven more shots were fired in quick succession, and then everything was quiet. The 6hots came from the ravine upon the side of the fill down which the engine had plunged. One passenger, with his face close to a window, saw by the flashes of the pistol five men, huddled together in the shadows. It became evident that the parties who had done the firing had fled, and the passengers came out of the cars. Walking forward, they saw at a glance how the rails had been tampered with. One man picked up a new monkey-wrench, a claw hammer, and a common laborer's pickaxe. These had been used to tear the rails from their strong fasteniugs. All hands groped down the muddy * 1_ _ J ! 1 FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. Keclpes. Spioe Cookies.?Three cups of sugar, one cup of butter, four eggs, four tablespoonfuls each of cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg, one cup of currants, sufficient flour to make it stiff enough to roll out. A Good Custabd. ?Scald a quart of milk, take off the scum, and pour it hot on the beaten eggs. Take live eggs; throw out the yelks of two; three tablespoonfuls of sugar, a pinch of salt, a chip or two of lemon or orange and a little vanilla. Set it to steaming in a vpHsftl. and steam five or UAV/UVr w f V/* w* ? 1 ? . ix minutes; then set it on ice, and it certainly is delicious. Pickled Onioxs.?Take some small onions, peel and throw them into a stewpan of boiling water, set them over the tire, and let them remain until quite clear; then take them out quickly and lay them between f^wo cloths to dry. Boil some vinegar with ginger and a whole pepper, and, when cold, pour it over the onions in glass jars, and tie them cloeely over. Bbown Bread.?In a gallon crock mix one quart Graham flour and one quart white flour. Make a hole in the center, put in two tablespoonfuls of molasses and two of brown sugar, a pinch of salt and a cup of warm water. Stir thoroughly and add half a cup of good yeast. Set this sponge at night; in the morning add a little warm water, mix stiff and raise again, mould into loaves, and, when sufficiently light, bake two hours in a slow oven. Jams. ? In making jams the fruit should be carefully cleaned and thoroughly bruised, as mashing it before cooking prevents it from becoming hard. Boil fifteen or twenty minutes before J adding the sugar, as tiie flavor 01 ine fruit is thus better preserved (usually allowing three-quarters of .a pound of sugar to a pound of fruit), and then boil half an hour longer. Jams require almost constant stirring, and every housekeeper should be provided with a small paddle with handle at right angles with the blade (similar to an apple-butter ''stirrer," only smaller), to be used in making jams and marmalades. To tell when any jam or marmalade is sufficiently cooked, take out some of it on a plate and let it cool. If no juice or moisture gathers about it, and it looks dry and glistening, it is doue thoroughly. Put up in glass or small stone jars, and seal :>r secure like jellies. Keep jellies and jams in a cool, dark and dry place. Farm Notes. Asses.?Do not allow ashes of any kind to be wasted. It will pay to haul Leached ashes several miles, when one HasTEs own team and a laborer at fair wages. Goal ashea when spread around berry bushes of any sort, or around grape vines, will aid materially in producing large and fair fruit. A correspondent of the Pacific Rural Press says: "The only effectual remedy for wire-worm I know of is a thorough cultivation of the soil. Those that are troubled with them will find by examining their soil that it is cold, and by stir ring it tnorougiiiy it win get warmer. By so doing they will kill the wire-worm, its it cannot live in warm ground." Prevention of Swarming.?A correspondent of the Bee Keeper* Magazine, iu relation to the swarming of bees, says : "After I have had all the increase I desire, when a hive shows an inclina tion to swarm I move it to the place of some weaker hive. In that way I make all my colonies strong, and when I have accomplished that object but still have a hive that threatens to swarm I change places with another, that may also show signs of swarming. The change of workers destroys the propensity of swarming for the time being, and by giving them plenty of box room they will store honey, and if they are again inclined to swarm, you may move back again and it will have the effect." Keeping Down the Weeds.?The London Garden remaks: "The only remedy for weeds is prompt destruction in a young state. Weeds are easily eradicated if never allowed to advauce beyond the seed-leaf. Once let their roots run deep and wide, and their tops rise high, and then the weeds are mas-1 ter3 in the garden. It provokes one to see the complacency with which some cultivators allow weeds to establish themselves in flower beds or borders, or on roads and walks,and their subsequent futile efforts to subjjigate them. Prompt destruction will vanquish the very worst of them. Plantains, grass, thistles and docks, are perhaps the most difficult to eradicate. But if by any neglect these have gained a strong footing iu any garden, constant beheading alone will destroy them. No plant can live long if never allowed to form leaves or stems, and the shortest, surest, easiest way to eradicate the worst weeds is by incessant cutting off all their visible parts." Canning Cold Berrien. Mrs. L. C. Pennell, the inventor, lias been successful in canning cold berries and fruit so that they will keep the season through, and housekeepers generally will be glad to learn how she does it. Taking berries, peas, beans, or corn, she fills the jar, bottle or tumbler brimful of the raw, fresh and perfectly sound fruit. She then pours in clear cold water to fill the interstices, screws on the cover or puts in the cork, turns the vessel upside down, and that is all. If by accident any of the fruit show signs of - 1 - 1- - 1 ?1 11 fermenting, it can ne cooaea in ine oiu way. . The Miller and the Camel. The Arabs have a fable of n miller who was one Jay startled by u camel's nose thrust in the window of a room where he was sleeping. "It is very cold outside," said the camel, " I ouly want to get ray nose in." The nose was let in, then the neck, and finally the whole body. Presently the miller began to be extremely inconvenienced at the ungainly companion lie had obtained, in a room certainly not large enough for Both. "If you are inconvenienced you may leave," said the camel; "as for myself, I shall stay where lam." The moral of the fable concerns all. When temptation occurs we must not yield to it. We must not allow so much as its "nose" to come in. Everything like sin is to be turned away from. He who yields, even in the smallest degree, will soon lie overcome, Fashion Notes. Bunting is the seaside dress. The new shade of pink is rose tremicre. The latest notion in kid gloves is half, fingers. Ivory white berrgc is in favor for evening wear. The latest novelty fti printed cambrics i is Indiennes. The Serbian costume is the rival of the | Breton. Black lace mitts are worn with all kinds , of dresses. Embroidery appears on nearly ail summer dress toilets. Plaided and plain hosiery is more fash-1 ionable than striped. Lace fichus and collerettes, with cuffs to match, grow in favor. Grenadine is full dress for matrons,but not for young girls. The French twist is still the most fashionable morning coiffure. Black satin shoes covered with embroideries are very fashionable. The most fashionable lawn dresses are : moonlight blue and sorrel green. Handkerchiefs and neckties for morning wear are trimmed with colored torchon laces. Narrow bands of black velvet ribbon worn around the hair in Grecian style are coming in vogue. Navy blue percale, trimmed with white ! embroidery and Clovis lace, is the cos- ! tume of the moment. TTkrt ooaai^a Viafn arA nf whitd JLiiO picvuvov CVW?WV I Panama, trimmed with white bunting i scarfs and deep red roses. A stylish costume is effected by trimming colored cambric with salmon colored torchon lace and salmon ribbon bows. Ivory mohair braids, embroidered in black or in color to suit the materials, appear on many of the most stylish summer suits. White bercge evening dresses are prettily brighted up with colored ribbon ! bows, such as ruby, Mandarin, or tur- j quoise color. Dentellc filet is a new, durable lace, of; the character of guipure d'art,which, to j some extent,is taking the place of torchon ' for underwear. Fine white torchon laces edged with | oolor?blue, red, pink, tilleul, or black? is made up into fichus, collars, and cuffs of various styles. Some of th% newest balageunee are of white plaited muslin,embroidered on the edge jn^color to match the- dress with which they are worn, or edged with colored torchon or Clovis lace. There is a run upon green; we have j had Holbein, sage, myrtle, willow, I bronze, and moss green, and now we I have Oseillc cuite (cooked sorrel), a yellowish green shade, which combines with singularly stylish effect with either pale blue or pink. The mousquetaire cuffs of lace to be worn outside the sleeve have been herfnr Rnmft time, and are now found among the importations. They are six ! inches deep, and square, or else they are closetl in gauntlet shape for the hand to be slipped through. At present they are only shown in the white and colored torchon laces that are worn with summer costumes. Accompanying these are broad collerettes that fasten behind and have long jabots in front. Diamonds inJBrazil. The operation of working for these ! precious gems is a very simple one. The alluvia soil (the cascalhoa) is dng up from the bed of the river and removed to a convenient spot on the banks for working. The process is as follows: A rancho is erected about a hundred feet long, and half that distance in width ; down the middle of the area is conveyed a canal covered with earth; on the other side of the area a flooring of planks about sixteen feet in length, extending the whole length of the shed, and to which an inclined direction is given; this flooring is divided into troughs, into which is thrown a portion of cascalhoa; the water is then let in, and the earth raked until the water becomes clear; the earthly particles having been washed away, the gravel is raked up to the end of the trough; the largest stones are tlirown out, and afterward the smaller ones; the whole is then examined with great care for diamonds. When a negro finds one, he claps his hands, stands in an erect posture, holding the diamcnd between 1 his fore-finger and thumb; it is received by one of the overseers posted on lofty seats, at equal distances, along the line of the work. Ou the conclusion of the work, the diamonds found during the day are weighed and registered by the overseer en chef. If a negro has a good fortune to find a stone weighing upwards of seventeen carats, he is immediately ! manumitted, and for smaller stones proportionate premiums are given. A Cossack and His Horse. Many stories are told of the cleverness of the Cossacks in obtaining what they need for themselves or horses, and all tend to show that their morality is of a different type to that of European civilization generally. Some of the stories may possibly have been invented, but they j show the general tone of feeling, and ' what is expected from these quaint, ' reckless, merry troops. Passing through the streets of Galatz, the thin, wearyi looking horse of a Cossack fell suddenly, | and lay apparently lifeless on the I ground. Its master was moved even to ! tears, and bewailed the unhappy fate which had not only deprived him of a i favorite, but left him horseless just at the most interesting moment of the war. A crowd gathered around, and in it were men whose kind hearts would not suffer them to leave the poor man without some practical expression of their pity. A subscription was made, aud the man, taking the saddle from the lifeless animal, went on his way with dried tears, for lie had actually wept. As the crowd were bending over the little horse in pure sympathy, a whistle was heard at the other end of the street. The horse sprang to his feet, and with a joyful neigh joined his master, whose trick was i much admired, even by Hiram whosnfI fered by ii PROFITS OF LITERATURE. Well-Known Authors, and What they I.ive On?Interesting Figures. Longfellow is independent in circumstances?probably worth $100,000 to $200,000 ; but the greatest part of it has como to him through his wife, long since deceased, who was rich in her own right. Emerson has not made, from his remarkable little volumes, over $20,000. He has gained nearly as much more by lecturing; and yet, by excellent management, which one might not expect from the high idealist, and by a serene philosophy of a practical sort, he continues to live on his small property. won!- ia /->ffon as an instance of I nijauu xo viwu vivv\* . _ ? a rich author. He is rich, but not by authorship. All the money he has directly earned by his pen, outside of his journal, would not exceed, in all probability, $25,000, notwithstanding his estate is estimated at $500,000. Hawthorne was poor to his dying day, and might hav? suffered but for his appointment to the consulship at Liverpool by his friend, President Pierce. Lowell is independent in circumstances?no thanks to his fine poetry and essays, however. Whittier, like most thrifty New Engenders, owns his own house, and beneath its humble roof, it is said, he has sometimes subsisted?he is a bachelor? on $500 a year. Holmes is well off bv the practice of the medical profession, f)v marriage and inheritance, albeit not by poems, lectures, novels, nor "Autocrats of the Breakfast Table." All that he has written has not brought him $25,000. J. G. Holland is frequently named as "" TrrV>r\ Vino nmaoaml vpaHIi. Hl8 Oil OUUiUl TT UU UUM m??*./uvv. ^ books have sold as largely as those of any American -writer, and, whatever may be thought of his ability, he still has a vast constituency. He is not at all rich in the New York sense ; he may be worth 8200,000, but most of this he got by his partnership in the Springfield Republican. George William Curtis is dependent on his salary from the Harpers ; so is Mr. William D. Howells dependent upon his editorship of the Atlantic. Bret Harte, T. B. Aldrich, James Parton, J. T. Trowbridge, B. H. Stoddard, T. W. Higginson, mainly upon fugitive writing. Thoughts for Satorday Night. Through woe we are taught to reflect, and we gather the honey of worldly wisdom not from flowers, but thorns. Frowns blight young children as frostly nights blight young plants. The surest remedy against scandal is to live it down. A good man will be doing good wheresoever he is. His trade is a compound of charity and justice. The vices of the rich and great are mistaken for errors, and those of the poor and lowly for crimes. The current coin of life is plain sound sense. We drive a more substantial and thriving trade with that than aught else. The moral courage that will face obloquy in a good cause is a much rarer gift than the bodily valor that will confront death in a bad one. Never seek to be entrusted with your friend's secret; for no matter how faithfully you may keep it, you may be liable | in a thousand contingencies to tiie suspicion of having betrayed it. We ought never to believe evil of anyone till we are certain of it We ought not to say anything that is rude and displeasing even in a joke ; and we ought never to carry jokes too far. It is the most beautiful truth in morals, that we have no such thing as a distinct or divided interest from our race. In their welfare, is ours, and by choosing the broadest paths to effect their happiness, we choose the surest and the shortest to our own. It is a great misfortune to have a fretful disposition. # It takes the fragrance out of one's life, and leaves only weeds where a cheerful dispoaitition would cause flowers to bloom. The habit of fretting is one that grows rapidly unless it be sternly repressed; and the best way to overcome it is to try always to look on the cheerful side of things. 1 Turkish Town in Asia Minor. The streets of Erzeoum are compared by a correspondent to a net of wriggling eels. No squares, no good-looking houses, offer anywhere a means of setting oneself right; everywhere nothing but houses, rising* slightly from the ground, with grass roofs, on which may frequently be seen muffied-up women, children at play and lambs frisking about. Children and lambs sometimes fall through the chimney into the house, in which men, horses, oxen, cows and sheep live together. In bad weather the chimneys are covered with flat stones, and then the smoke fills the room or stable, whichever one chooses to call it. A small part of this room, devoid of light or air, in which a fire made of dung and finely-cut straw burns, is separated by a railing. Here paterfamilias sits on a rug, smoking his chibougue or nargileh, ! and receives guests. The preparation of l food gives little trouble; a penny a day j suffices to satisfy the palate and stomach, i i even in wealthv families. A little bread ! and cheese, perhaps a cuqnmber, nnder favorable circumstances a pilaff, on feast days a piece of mutton, which the Armenian women roast particularly wellthat is the whole bill of fare. Large Wheat Yield* ' ! The Dayton (Ohio) Democrat says : On the second of July a farmer named Long, who resides several miles south of this city, began to harvest his wheat, a twenty-acre field of nice grain. Being in want of cash, he shelled some of the grain and took a sample of it to a miller and asked what he would give him for his crop per bushel. He struck a bargain at SI.65 per bushel. On inquiring how much his crop would yield, Mr. Long said it ought to be fully 400 bushels. But he was most agreeably astonished when the threshing was completed, and the grain measured in the field, and it turned out to be almost 800 bushels instead of 400, yielding almost forty bushels to the acre. Mr. Long informs us that there ure a number of fields of wheat in his region which are quite as heaVy, or heavier than hi?t She Came to He. She came to me, And her coming seemed to be Like the coming of the daw? O'er a dark and silent sea ; Like a swell of music, born In perfect harmony. She came to me, And her ooming seemed to be Like the blooming of the rose. Fraught with sweets alone for me: Like the falling of the snows, In spotless parity. She came to me, iVnd could I her slave bnt be? TLe deep love light in her eyes, On her lips the laoghter free, Bade my slumbering soul arise, * s ~s t I.J Ana sing in uieiuuj. She came to me? Mine, my sweet through life to be, Nor death the bonds can sever? My beauteous mystery, My soul's sole queen, my erer Peerless divinity. Items of Interest. When are eyes not eyes ? When the wind makes them water. Woe to the inexperienced little fish who goes ont to enjoy himself on his own hook. Thinness is sn unpardonable fault in Turkish women, ana is considered as good a ground for divorce as snoring or grinding the teeth in sleep. "The worm will turn." Quite so; but the Italian organ grinders are not aware of it, or assuredly they would impress him into their service. There were 25,527 dozens of eggs, " * ? 11 Ar OKA LT 31,488 pounds 01 ouwer, ao,ouv ultub and 10,220 boxes of berries consumed in a Chicago hotel in one season. There are at least eight smart young ladies in Macon, Ga. They graduated in gowns of their own make, and then put into type their "compositions" for publication. If the czar just wishes to perfectly annhilate the Turks, he should arm his soldiers with firearms "suppoeed to W empty." They do more damage now-adays than any other weapon. " Would you believe," said a thriftless young man to a friend, " that I had a fortune in my grasp the other evening?" " How so ?" asked the friend. " I shook hands with a girl whose fingers were covered with diamonds." A Miss Buchanan, once rallying a brave soldier on his courage, said: " Now Captain , do you really fn??n to tell me you can walk up to the cannon's mouth without fear ?" "Yes," was the prompt reply, "or a Buchanan's, either." And he did it. "Suppose we pass a law," said, a se1 vere father to his daughters, "that no girl eighteen years old who can't cook a good meal shall get manled till she learns how to do it ?" " Why, then, we'd all get married at seventeen," responded the girls in a sweet chorus. How Mr. and Mrs. Fly Take a Wash. The toilet of the fly is as carefully attended to as that of the most frivolous of human insects. With a contempt for the looking-glass?an article whicn he reserves for the most ignoble uses?he brushes himself up and wabbles his little round head, cliuclu full of vanity, wherever he happens to be, Some-' times, after i long day of dissipation and flirting, with his six small legs and little round belly all soiled with syrup and butter and cream, he passes out of the diifing-room and wings his way to the clean white cord along which the morn* ?'* " ?n iVtia lug giones mimu^ uuu m vu&o av?uv^ spot, heedless of the crafty spider that is practicing gymnastics a few feet above him, he proceeds to purify and sweeten himself for the refreshing repose and soft dreams of the balmy snmmer night, so necessary to one who is expected to be early at breakfast. It is a wonderful toilet. Besting himself on his front and middle legs he throws his hind legs rapidly over his body, binding down Ins frail wings for an instant with the pressure, then raking them over with a backward motion, which he repeats until they are bright and clear. Then he pushes the two legs along his body under his wings, giving that queer structure a thorough currying, every now and then throwing the legs out ana rubbing them together to remove what he has collected from his corporeal surface. Next he goes to work upon his van. Restiug on his hind legs and mid- * ^ die logs, he raises his two forelegs and begins a vigorous scraping of his head and shoulders, using his proboscis every little while to push the accumulation from his limbs. At times he is so energetic that it seems as if he were trying to pull his head off, but no fly ever committed suicide. Some of his motions very much resemble those of pussy at her toilet. It is plain, even to the naked eye, that he does his work thoroughly, for when he has finished he looks like a new fly, so clean and neat has he made himseif within a few minutes. The I white cord is defiled, but floppy is himself again, and he bids the morningglories a very good evening. Origin of 6eniit?. Columbus was the son of a weaver, and a weaver himself. Claude Lorraine was brought up a pastry cook. Moliere, the great French comic writer, was the son of a tapestry maker. Cervantes served as a common soldier. Homer was - 11 a beggar. Hesiod was the son 01 a smaa farmer; Demosthenes of a cutler. Terence, the Latin comic writer, was a slave. Oliver Cromwell was the son of a brewer. Howard, the philanthropist, was an j apprentice to a grocer; Benjamin Franklin, the son of a tallow chandler: Dr. Bishop, of Worcester, son of a linen draper. De Foe, the great En0lish political writer, was the son of a butcher. Whitefleld was the son of an innkeeper at Gloucester; Cardinal Wolsey the son of a butcher. Ferguson was a shepherd. Virgil was the son of a porter; Shakespeare, of a wool dealer; Horace, of a shopkeeper; Lucian, of a stationer. Hogarth was an apprentice to an engraver; Dean Tucker, of a small farmer, and came to Oxford on foot Bishop Prideaux worked in the kitchen at Exeter College. Edmund Halley was the son of a soap ! boiler. /