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* TRPWEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORIO, S. C.9 MAY 14, 1881 SALSE 8 4,I W AIF'. If only the rain would cease to beat. t It only the winds w( uld ceaso to blow, t If only the clouds would but retreat, And the summer sun-ahine glance and glow, I should be perfectly hafpy I linow. All day and every day, I wait Vor something or other to como and go To make my pleasure a perfect state, 'o uake my heart a summer glow Of sure delight that will never go. But all day, aid every day, I wait, And the dayd run by, and the days run low, And everything scens too soon or too late, And I never flnd what I seek, you know, Never get just wI at I want, you know. There'& always something or other amiss, a The tido is at ebb when I want it at flow, A flock and a flaw to mar the blis That might be easily I erfeot I know, If I could but mako th.ngs come and go! I've waited now so long and so late, That the hope I had, liko the tido runs low, And I begin to think that I shall wait Forever and ever like this, you know, For things to a .me, that always go. And I begin to think that perhaps, perhapa, When time is so swift and joy so low, I'd bettor make mo.t of the hours that elapso. 11 And the btst of the days that come and go, Or tue years %ill be gone oro ever I know, And I shall sit weary, old and sad, .iko a weary old woman I know, a And think of the days i might have boon glad, Of the ph asures I dropped and the things I L go, For the things E never could filud you know. The Broken Boat. It is too bad,' nsid Alice Ford, with a quiver of her scarlet lower lip. 'It is what might be expected,' 8a1( Mrs. Ford, sitting serenely at the breakfast table, 'when at girl will flirt with two gen tlemen at once. 'But I haven't flirted,' said Alice, ready d to cry. 1I don't know what else you can call it,' t said Mrs. FCrd. 'Will you have another cup of tea, Alice?' 'Teal' flashed out the girl; 'as if one t could drink tea when one's heart is break- : ingi Oh, aunt, if Mr. Errett were a gen- ii tileman he would release me from this galling engagement.' . 'ou promised him, my dear?' said Mrs. Ford. Yes; hut I hadn't met Arthur Kelhain then; and I have written to Mr. Errett,and 1 implored him to releasenie from this hate- a f ul bond,' cried poor Alice. 'I have told him that since our engagement-an en. gagement that was your doing, aunt-' 1I know it,' said Mrs. Ford, 'and I am < proud of it.' ( That since that engegement,' went on tj Alice, 'I have discovered that my heart is not my own; and lie has written back that 8 Ie sees no necessity for altering the origi- 0 nal state of things, and thit if it is agree able to me-agreeable indeedl-the wed- y (ing may still take place on the sixth of October. Horrible, cold hearted, calculat- ( ing old-' 'Good morning, ladies; I hope I see you V welli' And Alicl' tirade was unexpectedly cut short by the apprition of Mr. Bartholo- f 'i. mew Errctt. She had scarcely uittered a a disjoirted wvord or two of greeting when ~~' the maid opened~ an opposite dooer and ainnouncedi: 'Please, Miss Alice, Mr. Kelham.' ,, ~?And Arthur Kelhami came in, youne:, mature rival as Is blooming May to ripeneda September. lM Errnd put up his eye glass at Arthur I KelamandArthur Kelham staredi Mr'. Irrett full In the face with wceil-bred amaze 'Sir,' saidl Mr. Errett, 'I am at a loss to 'y imagine what br'ings you hered' S'Sir,' retorted Mr. Kelhnan, 'I suppose I S have as good right to visit my friends ast S[ you have to call oii yours I' 'You mistake,' naid Mr. Errett; 'I am engaged to Miss Ford.' 'Do you mean to say,' reto'rtedi Kelham, v hotly, 'that you would marry the girl Sagainst her wvill? Why, you might as well be a TLurkish slave-driver at oncel' 'Sirn' gasped Bartholomew Errett, turn- a in' lg a livid pallor, 'I am at a loss to con ceive what business all this Is of yoursl' Alice stoppied bet~ween them. *, 'You shall not quarrel about me,' saidi she, with a dignity that would scarcely hnave been expected from one so small and slight. 'Arthur, I have carved out, my 1 own destiny andl must abide by it. Mr.n Frrett, I beg you to renmember that you are in the pl'esence of ladies' 'Am 1 to stand here and see you insul ted'(?' diemnalnded Kelhamn,wvith flushed b~row. 'I have promisedi to be his wife,' saidl I Alice; 'and until he hinself absolves me from my wo'rd, I have no power to assert my freedom.' 'D~o you then bId mec go?' 'Yes,' the girl answered, alumost inmidi b)Iy. And Arthur Kelham turnedl and left the field In triumphant possession of Mr. Ba~r tholoimew Errett,. 'Mr. Eirrottl' * * * 'Ehd' aaidl thidl-gdwmer'it it you. Keihain? Boating, elh?' EYes. Do you thmak it's quite safe for you to be here, so far from hand? You Sare not afraid of that r,hark, then?' 'Ot the-wlet?' said Mr. Errett.c 'haven't yo u heard? - hr has been at Sshark along tlts shore slice yesterday;and, by JIngo! I believe he is there now. Don 't you see something that shines white through hespray?' Mt, Errett reared hImself up In thae 1 'ater like a new species of sea-serpent. 'Good [leaven!' said he, 'there is soni king like a shark there. Why didn't they il m1e? Why did they allow me - 'I wouldn't be nervous,' said Kelhan, oolly. 'Periaps he don't see you.' see mel Why those follows can scent umian 11e.h a mile off I I should have cen a deau man in ten minutes if you adn't come along.' And he began to paddle ingloriously to vard the little boat in which Arthur Kel am was sitting. 'Ilallol' said Kelhmr a, putting an oar's ongth between himself and the swimer, what are you about?' 'I am going to get into your boat, to be tire.' 'Are you though, ' said Keliam; 'there lay be two opinions about that.' 'Elil' said Errett. 'What should I take you back to land Lr?' demanded Kelman. - 'If the shark ats you up, I'm all right with Alice.' 'Man a.ivel' gasped Mr. Errett, 'you rouldn't leave rme to die a horrilble death, vould you?' 'An I remember,' coolly remarked Ar Irur Kelham, 'you hadn't much mercy on le.' 'That was different.' 'I don't see how,' with another stroke of is oars, just as Errctt was about to clutch t the side of the boat. 'Don't hurry ow don't.I 'I say. Kelhan, look here,' cried Errett, lith a scared glance over his left shoulder ,wards the suspicious white object. 'lold n11, I say.' 'Well?' said Kelham. 'I-I ain't so very particular about the irl. Iord on.' He was beginning to lose breath in the attle with the waves. and said: 'If you really iusist-' 'Oh, I don't insist. I don't care to peril Irs. Ford's fortune by getting Alice into isgrace with her. I must have a volun iry cession ol all your rights or none.' 'It-it shall be voluntary,' cried Mr. Irrett with chattering teetlh. 'I will tell lie old lady I've changed my iund; I wili mike any statement you wish; only save iy life.' 'I have your word of honor?' said Kel am. 'My word of honor,' replied Errett. 'Jump in, then.' And Bartholomew Errett scrambled, iore dead than alive, into the other's boat ud was pulled to the shore. 'I'll just leave you here on the beach till our man comes,' said Kelham,hialf laugh ig at Mr. E rrett's doleful appearance. '1 3e his boat now rounding the point. lood afternoon. I sincerely hope you will ike no cold.' When Philip Gaul pulled up on the ilngly sand his employer hailed him with pprobrious epithets. 'You villami' cried Errett; 'why dida 't ou tell me of the shark?' 'Of the what, master?' demanded old aul, scratching his grizzled head. 'Of the shark; you can see him now then the sun strikes the point. Good icaveni to think of the peril I have run.' 'Lawk, master,' said old Gaul, his hard Datires relaxing into a grin; 'that ain't no hark. That's Boon's broken boat,stranded here on a bit of reef. 1 could shrow it to ou plain if I only hadi ray spy glass.' Mr. Errett's lower jaw fell. 'Are you sure?' saidl he. 'Quite sure, master. I seen it as I come y this morning. Sharks indeedi Tlhere in't never no sharks about here.' Mr. Errett resumed hris garments ini sr once, feeling that hre had becen out-gene aledl by his enterprising rival. 'But after all,' said ire to imiself, 'if tire irl don't like rue--Gaul, look here. low much (10 I owe you? -because I shrill ot nec dI your boat any moire.' 'Gloirng away from hero?' asked the as Dtundedl railer. 'Yes,' was thre relol. And so Mr~. Errett left thre co:rnrt clear for rtlrtur Kelham, to Alhce's inlirte derght. 'Wasn't it good of him, dear?' said ahe o her lover. 'Very,' saidl Arthur But hre kept hris own counsel about the bark and how he hrad out-generaled lIar hiolomew Errett. An qid-TIimen senator. General George WV. Jones of Iowa, left lie United States Senarte on Marrcb 4tih, 859). On the 4th of Marrch, 1881, ire wvas n honored guest of tire Senrate, entitled as n ex-senrator to the privileges of tire Moor. tIl tire members wvere new to him excep~t no, Mr. ilamlin of Maine, and thre next lay even hre wvas gone amd a youiiger manr vas in ihis seat. General Jones is t-dayv lhe most histoirie aimi, pecrhap~s, tihe most re narkable character inm thre west. le sat In le Serrate with Clay and Websier and Cail noun, wilth Silas Wright, Bemonm, Critteni len and~ Jeff D)avis, with Sumner, Seward, blase andl 1)ouighs. .in thre early part, of hre ceintury, when General Jackson was resident, hre sat in .hre lloise of Itepresen.. atives with Ilenry A. Wise andl John luilney &udamsr. HIs (district includedi all >a Michigan, WV lsconshii, Iowa and Minne otar ; it inowv has ever thirry represenlittes n congress. Ile left tihe senate, rnot, be ause of personanl defeiat, but bnecause iris >arty had gone out of power in Iowa. Th'le ntimnate and( trusted friend of Andrew ,rckson, tire partner of D~aniel Webster, hie ernenmbeis Jeffereon. On termrs of p~er ('nal aicquaiintance with rteaily all of our eiebrarted wvarriors and~ statesmen, he numa ers among his friends and enemies tire ghrty red kings Black ilawk, Keokurk rid I'oweshick. A edidier. in the war of 812, General Jones Is a young man yet; Ie walks erect, without a cane, with a ight and springy step, and1 claims none of lA Inrdulgrence n inn1nmunne nf ol age. RagpItctOr's Town. Although this strange locality in Paris, is more widely known than some others to which we may presently refer, it is yet so much out of of the way as to make it worth while to describe its exect witereabouts. It lies, then, beyond the northern slope of the hill of Montmartre; it is bounded to the south by the Rue des Cloys and to the north by the Rue Marcadet, and ie com pletely surrounded by a high stone wall. t covers a considerable tract of ground, and was used during the Commune as an artillery park. The entrance to it is through i .arge wooden door in the Rue Marcadet, opposite the cemetery of Mont- I martre. Before we go any farther, it will he well to warn any intending visitor that the inhabitants, although a very toleraut t folk, cannot endure the sight of decent clothes, and that amongst Many healthy symptons to be noted in them, the most prominent is a deadly abhorrence of the tall hat of civilization. To attempt to take them in, on the other hand, by any assumption of 'blouse' or of silken 'casqu ettl is absur',' owever 'quuiatand carious' your knowleuge of Parisian slang may be; but they will be pleased by the attention, and when you come among them will coim meut pleasantly upon your good breeding and taste in adopting the outward habits of the country in which you happen to find yourself. Such, at least, was our ex perience. The coup d'wi when you find yourself within the entrance is a striking one. Inmediately before you lies an open space with grass growing here and there between heaps of rubbish. In the centre is a sort of avenue of young trees and plants in every stage of decrepitude, lead mug up to the houses, or, 'to speak by the card,' boxes, in which the chiffonniers live. These are about six feet square, and the roofs are kept in their places by heavy stones, such as one sees on tht cottages in exposed situations in other places. The roofs ara for the most part of wood,where as the walls are clmposed of all thiigs which are generally considered unlit to build with, so that the appearance of a Rue Marcadet chiffannier in his house may be best likened to that, of a caddis in his strangely constructed abode. On the occa sion of our visit a high wind had been blowing, and more than one member of the community was busy rebuilding li house, which had been blown down in the night. On all sides a hustling activity pre vailed, men and women busily sorting the contents of their baskets, while numbers of dogs of an unKnown breed barked lustily a; our approach. Strangers are, indeed, few and far between in the chiffonniers' town, for no man from the outer world ev. r comes td sell them' anything, a street of shops kept by their concitoymns exist tmg, not indeed within their own walls, but in another enclosure close by. Here dwell bootmakers, a butcher (a great ex pert at making a cat found dead into a toothsome dish), tailors and lampmakers, who provide the triangular lanterns with which the members of the 'profe.-sion' go their rounds at night in search of prey. Go through that strange little street, of which the houses conie up to your shoul ders, at what hour of the night you will, you will still see the bootmakers at work on the cast ofi shoes which their customers have picked up in the Paris gutters. Charlotte Cutbhmuan. Perhaps the last actress that anyone would suppose ever experienced that tender passion, much less suffered from the pangs of unrequited love, was Charlotte Cush man; and yet twice in her life she was ready to sacrifice everything for the man of her heart. Miss Cuihmnan received a common school education in Boston. Her desk-mate was the daughter of an actor, which led to frequent conversations upon theatrical matters, andi tooktan interest m thema to such an extent that Miss Cushiman dletermnined as a child that,should fate ever compel her to adopt a punb!lc life, the stae would be her preference. S~he had barely reach'ed the age of sixteen before she was deeply enamored of a young gentleman who ha'fd his way to make In the world,and a speedly marriage being thereby prevented, she had little thought of hope but to (do away with the obstacles which separated themi. Circumstances soon comp~elled her to cast about for some means of self-sup p~ort, her mother being a widowv with seven children to provide for. Mliss Cushman htad a pretty, symplathetic, sinuging voice, of no great, power, but much sweetniess. Mrs, Wood was an Englishi ballaid-sin:.ter, among the first of that class to make a great acinsatio nm this country, and dturing an engagement in Bostoi, Miss Cushmian maniiagedl ta be introduced to her, and finally under Mrs. Wood's auspices, she made her app~earance in the concert room, hi ing simply announcedl as 'a young lady.' 11cr success wais suticiently pionounced to dieternune her to continue in that mo(de of life, or at least until her bctro'~hed should have become able to marry her; but lie took great umnbrage at what lie stigmatized 'an tinwonminily proceeding,' iand declared she had disgraced him. Hot, wordis fol lowed on her sidle, and after much alterca tion and mutuial paini the engagement. was broken off, and Charlotte Uushnian was free to followv out, her dlestiny as a great artist. bhe wvent her way, and lie went his. After miuch hard struggling it led hmiim into the establisinent of a store-a sort, of t rimm ing atore comb hinedl with ready. made clothing for ladies and children--in which lhe prospered. 1ie is now one of I le foremost mierchants of the kind in Boston. Long years elapsed . before the twvo met agein. Char:otto was famuous, and~ lie nilluei.! and influential. T1hiey met as strangers saciet, wvere introduced, ad ever afterward ma ntained am cable but, not amatory melations, fo: lie had marr edi in the meanthne, A few years ago I was in Boston and dtroLpped into his store to make seine puar chases. It, happened! tnat Miss Cushmnan preceded me a few steps. As soon as the dloor-walker caught sight of her lie hurried off and returned with thme proprietor,a hale ruddy-facedf. whIte-haired genitleman, of quiet anid dilgniflea bearing. They tooki rather thlani shook hands, he holding hers for a umoiment, and then side by side they walked to the back of the store. T1o see those t wo calm, self -con tainedl, 01(1 sliver-aImmred people, one would have little susl'ectedi the hieartreadilng ro mamnce which hmnig cover their youth. It as all very line to despIse mioney,but tihe lack of it f requently chifnges the destlinies of entire lives. tlad Miss Cushman's lever been. only sufficiently we-il off to have mamred her at the blooming of their love, in alil nnnahlt~y the stagen wuldis have never known her brilliant genius. 13he once remarked :o a friend who was :ognizant of the circumetances: 'When I wee him now, rich and respected, but not great, and think what a good husband te had made, I sigh for what I have lost wd rejoice for what I have gained. Never ,heless, fame and fortune only cannot con )ensate a woman for the life-long absence f a husband's affection, cliddrev's love, md the peace and happiness of private ife. When I returned from New Orleans with may voice all gone and in despair, if to had come forward then and offered me L hone, I woul'd gladly have acceoted it. nud would have lived my life untroubled >y ambitious dreams, unsuspecting the livine ailiatus within mnc. 1 have had a housaud titnes over in my hand more than lie money which would have secured my iappiness when a girl, and alway think for viat a paltry suni, my whole domestic iappiness was sacrificed.' After Miss (Ousnan hmd achieved fame n England, she made a tour to this coun ry. She was then a woman of middle age, vith a remarkably ugly face, but with a all and weli-modeled frame. She played t the National theatre, Cincinnati. Conrad 3. Clarke was the leading man, many rears her junior. lie had been brought ip as a gentleman, being the son of a aunker in Philadelphia: lie soon evinced Sliking for the stage, and nothing could LCp himi from it. As for theatrical talent, ie had not mistaken his vocation. liss ,ushmian was struck with his p )hsh aid vit, his talent and cultured tone. Fron onversation on acting in the theatre,Clarke on began to call at the hotel to receiva >atticular instructions in tWe parts lie wits o play with her, then he escorted her honie rom the theatres at nights, and it was >lainly to he seen she looked with marked avor upon the young actor. One evening he was at the wing, reIady to go on as 'g derriles, I playing the boy in 'miy lan lering.' I was standing by her side, and Ir. Clarke was a few steps off, flirting lesperately with a lovely young actress, vh had been christened 'the poodle dog' rom the way she dressed her hair, which vats just as they wear it now-a-days, but hen thouiht a wild, crazy style. The star kad been giving me a few stage directions, ,ad, impelled by I know not what impulse, suddenly asked: 'What, of all things in the world, Miss Jushman, would you rather be? She replied as impulsively, glancing at Jlarke an( sighing: '1 would rather be a pretty woman than nything else in this wide world,' and on he stage she rushed to shriek through Meg lerrihes. Atter this he assuined a bolder ront, lirted no nore about the scenes,and iecanie obsequiously attentive to her. It lcanie the recognized tact that he was the ;rcat star's protege, and next it transpired hat, she had engaged him to go to England vith her. This was a happy period for hem both. Fraukness being one of her :hief characteristics, she made no secret if her adnuration of his salnts and liking 'or him personally, and of her intention oward his interests so far as lay within ter power. Whether she loved him as she oved atother in her girlhood days is dilli. :ult to determine, but her manners became nore gentle and womailike, she was less inperious with her underlings, and spared Sgte.t deai of time teaching nim his parts. his feelings were easier probed; Conrad Jhirke did not love Charl)tte Cushman. llis nattire was too selfish to permit hin to eel so pure and disinturested a passion its ove in its highest sense. Matters had thus itood for some months. One evening Alias Cushman was going to he theatre alone, when a weak, haggard. ooking woman approached her wit I a baby n her arms. She was a simall, red-hairect, .ragdle creature. Laying her hand on Miss Jushman's ari, she said: 'Miss Cushman, I think a woman of 'our geniius and p~ositiont miight, have picent~y >f adinirers without taking up with the hus Jand of it poor womani like me.' TIhie trageiencne pausited in blank amaze nent,. 'Are you talking to mu' she asked. 'I aim.' 'Anti you say I have taken your hus Jand from youf' 'Yes-you---Charlott Lu(ushmtan,' 'I dhon't know you; ma, I ask the name >f this priecious husband of youmrs?' 'Conrad Cla: ke,' was the reply. VTe great actress hurrieit awvay. Sihe ind received a blow, but site met it wit~h Sbrave tront, as she had mitny others in ier not, altogether smoottIi path in life. All nuiles, bows, and honeyed wordls Clarke gretedi her that, night. She gave a dleathi >owv to ali his hopes, not tenderly, as nany a woman so situatedi might have lanu, hut wit hi characterist ic dIeision. Oni itamng front his wvife what site had done, nleecmie furious ait what lie dechared to >e a malicious scheme to ruin him, and, caving her, swore iiever to live with her igain. Annie Clarke easily obtained a hivorce [roma him, and shortly after mar il an actor, namedi Forest, of Cleveland. fy a stranige concatenation of circum tances, Clark's child was adopted and1( nost tendlerhy reared bmy one of our bright sat wits, the only one of his peculiarly aiuislie kind left, a mnm who wields a owverftul weapon im his pen--who has two >arties for and against hm--one that nates mud fears hint, the other that loves and >raises him. Afghanm SoIdio s. Thlie relations between the ofhhcrs anid nien remind one of those existing an the i'urkish army. if n Afghian ohieer drinks ea, a numiber of soldiers aire sure to sit iround him. If lie smokes a kaliana, all hie soldiers gather necar hinm and a wait their urn ; the kuliana, hiavimng gone thme rounid lit e pr ivates, returns again to the olicr. [f a soldier smom(kes a liipe, the uflicer asks dmi to let him have a draw at it. Should 5 olii take fromi thec folds of his dreas a obacco pouch, In ordler to putt a plu1g of to )acco) under his tongue, the oflcer inserts 1is lInger tandt thumb into the pouch also, md takes a punch of tobacco. Oni the >ther hand, should the olhicer take out lia >wnVi pouch, the solier helps himself In a unihar mianner to lis tobiacco. I did int )bsorve that the mtautal freedom of amanmi-r iand any dietrimenital effect on the dlescilmie )f the troop~s. TIhie men obeyed the comi. nand~s of their ollicers with dhocility, amid tever displayed insubordination when sen enced-to be thirashed. Indieed, It Is ex seendingly rare that oflicers employ the gehi. During the whole (of my sojourn im A~fghatan , 1 only saw theo ptirnsh-nient niceted twice; on both ocessione on men whio had stolen hay from my horses. Tiho Flowery Island. Right out of the sea, 450 miles from ti Florida coast, rises a hugo rock, twenty. two miles long by seven wide. It is th( smallest of the Bahama Islands and i called New Providence. It nestles in it wilderness of flowers, plants and fruits, Tihere is not a tree, shrub or flower that thrives in any warm climate that does not grow luxuriantly there. It is a r ck upor which these beauties grow and blossom, and over which a never..ending summer breeze blows the seeds of health by tem. pering the warmth of a tropical sun until it strikes a happy medium where all season is summer and manmind basks in al at mosphero practically invariable twelve months in the year, and trees, shrubs and flowers thrive in chaotic profusion all the year round. It is a calcareous rock of coral, soft and pliable to the mechanic's hand, filled with shells and sand, and spit upon by the ocean until ceicnted with its brine. The surface in places rots, forms a thin soil, and In this, and wherever a crack or crevice is found, the gayest flow':rs bloom. To de scribe its inhabitants would be to parade before you a mass of s:olored men. women and children. cheaply but neatly (ressed, barefooted and bonnetless, but happy, po lite. Out of a population of 15,000 more than 12,000 are negroes, and unusually intelligent. Shining out from this dark. ness Is now and then a native white face, intelligent and healthy, and at this season numbers of foreigh faces, which look as if in search of bealth. ie houses are as neat as the people, and all of them are smothered in flowers and shrubbery. In almost every yard, as well as growing wild, are cocoaluts, oranges, guaves, sola dillos, mangoes and all sorts of fruit hang in all stages-bud, blossom, half grown and the matured fruit. The drives over the town and through the island are su perb, smooth as a floor and of solid rock, flned on either side with tangled sweeping vines, stunted trees and flowering plants. i'he oleander towers its high htad among the more pretentious tropical plants, while our own modest morning glory, so dear to our childhood, peeps out from behind the leaves with the dlow resting upon its purple lips to be kissed away by the morning sun. No tongue can tell or pen write the beau ties, either of land or sea, wiich are every. where visible. Fruits are the principle staples, aniid upon these the natives live to very great extnt. All tropical varieties rrow m abundance, and are remarkably rich and nutritious. ]very variety of fish is taken and enters very largely into the domestic economy of the natives. The chief industry of the island is sponge gath cring. liluilmarck(. tis name vas Bismarck, mit Only volle eye, on accoundt of a old plack cat, vot pelongs to a serfant Irish gals mit red haired hair. Also lie has only (ree legs, on accoundt of mocolotif engines mitout any bull-ketcher. He( vas a dog. Blismuarck vas. Ie vaslpaldt-headed all ofer himself, in gonsegnense of red hot voter, on accoundt, of fightin' mit a cat. On vone endt, of himself vas skituated his head-und his tail vas py (Ie oder endt. lie only carries about vone-half of his tail mit him, on occoundt of a circular saw-mill. lie looks a goodt teal more older as lie is already, but lie ain't quite as oldt as dot until de next Christmas. De vay (lot you can know hun is, if you calls him "8hack," he von't say notings, but he makes answers to de name "HBis marck," by saying "Pow vow vow ?" und. in (Ie meantime, vagging half of his tail-dot odor nafs vas cut off, so lie can't, of course, shake it. Also, If you t'row stones on top of him, lie vill run like do tuefel, and holler "Ky yi I ky yi !" Dot's de vay you caln told ily dog. lie looks like a cross between a bull foundtlaundt. und1 a cat mit nine taihs--but he ain't.. ie got niot efeii Vone whole tail, und( lie ain't cross nmot. a bit. Anoder vay you couild told1 if it vas my Blismnarck is dlot, lie vas almost a dwm. i~e vould be half of a bair of d wims dlot time, only dlere viis dIree of them-a hair of dIwlis und( a hialf. 1 pelieve dey calls dot a Ir pleCt. Also lie got. scars on de top of his side, vheire lie scratched himiself it a Thomas cjit-bunt (lot Thomnas cat nefer recovered himiiself. You can also tell Bismiarck onu accoundt. of his vondlerful inshtinict. lie cani out, inshtimct any diog vet you nefer saw in my life. For iinshtance, if you pat him on top) of his head mit my hand, lie knows right aivay dsu you like hum, but if you pat hun on the head mit a pavement shtones or dei shtick of a proomi, lhe vill sh'isp~ect, right off (lot yoiu care not fery much ab~ouit himi. Faishionaio a;aia. (Callers seated in the parlors of an up; towanimansion.) 'I've hieardl she gave three hundred (101 Jars for that group, I'd just as soon have a chiromo, wouldn't, y'ou I' 'I1-u-shm I' 'And just, look at that center table looks like a fancy fair for all the world; one would thinik-' 'Il-u-s-h, she's coining.' (lenter lady of the house.) 'Oh, you dlear darling creatures I What an age since I've seen you. Where have you beena ? Enijoyhig the holidays,no1 doubt. I'im so glad to see you bot h.' (Together.) 'Andi we are so glad to see you I how peorfectly sweet, y ou do look I What, have you beeni doing to yourselfi Oh, it'a that lovely new dress 1 so becoingl but, then you look well in everythiing I' 'On I oh I Who's got a new seal skin cloak '( Dear M~rs. Smith, I j:ist, envy you; it's a bc-a-uitiful t~ing I' Mrs. Simi-'WVell, it ought to lie James gave four hundred anid twenty-live dotllars for It.' 'Y'es, buit that's noithiing for Col. Smith, you knowv I hlow Is lie ? I do admire the Coloiiel so miuchli IBut then lhe never looks at, any cne but you.' 'On I ycolI make me b~eheve that !lHe's a regular old flirt I but I forgive him for everything since ho's got iue this cloak. Well, wve really must, go; ever so maiiy more calls to mtako. Now, return this soon,~ there's a dlailinig. By-by sweetness.' (lacdy of the house to iiext, caller.) 'Yes, that Mrs. Col. Smith andl her sister -what a dowdy that sister idihd call herce, and, do you believe, 8she had the imn pudenice to t.ell me-moue- that her hue. lmand gave fear hundred and twemiy-livo doellars her that Ehabby old scai skin, as If I didn't, know exactly what it, was worth I He'd much bettor pay his debts,' etc., etc., admninitum iridal 11211,. Fof a quiet wedding at homc there are, first, the invitations, which involve, as a rule, two card-plates and a note-sheet printed on the finest of heavy white paper. M onograms and special designs have beui nearly discarded, and the fashionable text is a plain, simple, legible script, beautifuly engraved. The cost depends upon tl.u number of letters, but, on the avt rage, for 100 invitations, the cost will be $20, with an additional $5 for each additional 100, unless the order exceeds 00, when a moderate discount, is given. For 500 guests the stationer sends in his bill I )r from $40 to $60. The rage at present seems to be for floral decorations; and although nature scatters her blossoms and verdure with a gehierous hand, ami never sends in a bill, the ik -ist is by no means 'o liberal. A plain unostentatious display of smilax and flowers may be procured for fifty dollars, and that is about the lowest figure for which a fashionable florist would think of sending his bill. Exotics, oriental palms, and ferns are not included in such a decoratlon; nor are bridal bells, and hearts, and canopies, beneath which the happy pair receive the congratulations of their friends. Single pieces of their de scription-and very ungraceful ones at that though woven of rare exotics-often cost from $76 to $150 and where a number are required, the bill soon crawls up to a good sized figure. Good taste and fertility of suggestion can, however, accomplish wonderful results with $100, particularly where elegaice is preferred to a dumb show of magmificent profusion. Them comes the collation-say for 150 guests--served quiet lv in the dining-oom. It is a Iloot point whether it pays to emii ploy a caterer and commit the whole item of collation, wines, and attendance to his hands, or to unidei take the wovk one's self, with the trainii of servants, and the illimitable probabili ties of broken porcelain and mislaid silver. 'T hose who have ha() most experience in wedding and dinner )arties aver, 11 I r-ui1e, that it Costs les n oney and gives better salisfaction, iade- I pende.nt of personal trouble aitd the vex- i ationl arieing from the bilinders of hired I attenants, to take the former coarse. For t a simple collation for 150 guests, about the I lowest figures given by caterers are $2 per capita, and from that to $12, which was regarded as embracming all the requirements that could possibly be asked. For a wedding breakfast, served in a very quiet way, $1. 60 per capita represents the lowest limit of caterers' prices; and 1 this is probably less than it would cost the I bride's fattier to Uuy the materials and inake provision for their preparation and t service. It is not unusual tiUs winter I however; on very quiet occasions, to be I content, with a service of cake and wine only. W edaing cake for one hundred per sons, done up in pretty boxes, slawped with monegrauis, is futrnished at froan $80 to $50, according to the style of the box ; for one of ihese dainty little trilles,. with paintine by hand on the lid, all satin and gilding, may be rendered as expeiisih e as a casket of gold, or, in the extreme of sim plicity, furnished for next to notlng. Of course, after all, the main item of expense is the bridal trousseau. The attire for the ceremonv, the white satin, brocaded or not, with bridal veil, orange bl.)SS011, and toilet accessories, mialy-exclusive of laces auid Jewels-be procuret for $600. In fact, one can readily spend from $1,000 upwards in order to give one daughter in marriage in harniony with the ritual o 1 top soclety. "Krect1-Fa14 re wel 1." No cat could have walked into the Cen tral Station, Detroit, more softly ttian did i long-waisted, low-voiced stranger about 40 years old, whose lands worm encased in badu~ly woin iicottonl gloves, ha't brushed 1 clear down 1below the natp, boots wanlting I new heels, and1( dress coat, showing a cot - ton edge alt around. ie wvas neither a great general, statesman norlorator. i~e ai silmply desiredl to miake a hew inquirie,. and( lhe softly said : 'My arraingemnits are such that I shIn.11 be in D~etroot, until after Washlington's birth daiy. I am11 a greatadmnirer of the lamented 4 gentlemian, anid I atlways make it a poin. to celebrate his birthiday.' 'Whichl is patiotic andall11 r'ighit,' replied I the captain of police. 'I wanltedl to ask what latitudlethe piolico < wouldI allow mec on suich ani occasion l' continiued the man11. '1 shali certainly get dirunik;but will 1 be0 permjitted to tear dhown I stoves, smiashi up bars, break windows andi k~ick in (10ors ?' 'Certinly not. T1hie first mlove you make In that direction will result in your being rtn ini. 'Would, eh? Well, I simiply inquired for in format ion. I suppose it would be (doing the lamnented gentleman full honor If Is511 p~ly got dIrunk ?' a 'I think so.' 'Very wehl, I doin't want to seem cap tious In tile matter, nor (10 1 care to get mnto anly trouble. I think I will get drunk( early in the morning.' 'Yes.' 'And wave the American flag from tile window of my b~oardling house-wave It gently.' 'Yes.' 'And make a speech to my landlady on the goodness aiid greatness of the lamented gentemlan-mnake it very grently and quiet ly, without any cheers or applause.' 'Yes, that would~ do. 'And then go downl into thed back yard and~ hlurrahi abiout three times-nlot ye11 like a Pawnee Injuni, tmut soidy and quietly hmurrahl for George Wanshington, the lather of( hits country.' 'Well, don't dlistturb anyone.' '.No, of course not After huirrahmtg 1 will return to my room, take another drink readl the Decclaration 01f Indepandence, and mii'ke a speech to myself-not a rantIng, blatant oratouical eff'ort, but a soft and mIld sort of pecrorationl, ending uip with thie song entitledh, 'My Country, 'tis of TIhiee,' andl so forth.' 'Yes, that's good.' "'hen I'll take another drink and go to bed and lie there (during the remialnder of the clay, unhess the landlady Insists on an. othler speech, and i don't thInk she will. Now, then, are my terms perfectly satis factoryi' 'Yes.' *Very well, theon-adteu. A idld, geni tie drinkh-subdued oratory-gentle wav ing-repressed hurrahi ng-harp-hke peio ration, and you are satisfied, I am satisfied, and the lamented gentleman has got to be satIstied or provide his owa brass bands. Perfetly k'ret-..fronam I' Meuxiean Explorations. For t wo montha Mr. do Charnay, the arclueologist, who is engaged in making excavations in the ruins of ancient Mexican c'ties, lived an amphibious life, so to speak, ati at Palenque all his servants were l:r')strated with sickness. When they loft the City of Mlexico for the ruined cities they slept in the ruins of ancient temples, houses and graves. Mr. Charnay exhumed three ancient cities in the course of his re seirehes, and secured about a thousand antiques of stone, pottery, etc. Some of the pottery was enameled. Ile made uunierous impressions of hieroglyphics, and took hundreds of photographs. Ie began his researches about the volcano Popocate peti, which has an altitude of about 13,000 feet. lie exhumed the city of Tula, the ancient ioltec capital, which was inhabited, accordingi to some authors, about the year 667. Extensive excavations were also made by Mr. Charnay in Teotihucan, the city of the gods, and Mr. Charnay is of opinion that this also was a Toltec city. He was led to thli conchsion by seeing that the houses and public buildings were constructed after the model of those In 'lia. The city of Coialcalco, in To bacco. must have been inhabited by Tol Lees, because the architecture of this place And the carvings and ornaments rese abled hose found in the two other ruined cities. Hr. Charnay did not find any similarity 6vhatever between the hieroglyphics of micnt Mexico and those of the old world, md hence he does not believe that Phoii. .:ian sailors ever reached the American :ontinent. Tte civilization of ancient HIexico, lie thought, was an original Toltec ivilization, and the Aztec was merely a evival of the Toltec civilization. Whether he Toltec race still existed distinct from no Indians of the peninsula, or whether he present Mexican Indians were the do cendants of those people, Mr. Charnay vas not yet prepared to say. As to the iun worship, it was not necessary to con. 1ittle that the old Mexicans had learned hat religion from other races. Very many nuilbarous and savage races adored the sun, mid this would be a very natural fori ot vorship, from the fact that the sun was lie source of light and warmth, and the upport of life. However. Mr. Charnay Va led to suppose that Japanese and )hinese theology had reached lMexico. In vhat manner Ie had not yet discovered, iut it probably was introduced by some hip-wrecked Japanese sailors on tho lexi: an coast. Ar. Charnay observed a simi irity in structure between ancient lexican ud Japanese teniples, and Mr. Orozo 'herra, who died only three months ago, old Mir. Charnay tiat lie thought Budd. isin had greatly influenced the anucietL lexicuns. Itange for Foultry. It has become quite a question as to vhether a larae range is essential or even lesirable In the ralsing of poultry. On the no hand we are told that fowls In a state if nature had an unlimited range; that we aust follow nature as closely as possible, n order to soeure the best results; that vith a good range the fowls can procure niany articles of food suitable for their usteniance, lan( also many ingredients that (onduce to the preservati .n of their health. )n the other hand, we are told that it Is iot desirable to follow nature too closely a the rearing of fowls,inasimuch as in that tate they would pay very little if any >rollt, laying but one, or at most, two set inga of eggs per year; that the very change n their food both as to quantity and quality, ins been the means of vastly increasing he egg production, and that the experi miced breeder can judge better as to the equiroinenti of his fowls, so as to return iuii a profit, than they can themiselves. It is evident that much can be said on )Eoth sides of this question, and It seems to lie writer to be something like the gold Li silver shield( question. B~oth are right .nd both are wrong. It depends entirely >n what, breed of poultty you keep); what tour object is in raisinig fowis,and whether hey hauve been accustomed to a range or iot. A great, many of the smaller varieties, much as the Legioirn, will ordiinarily not amly fai to give much of a profit when con.. lnedl but will usually decrease in vigor and >ecoime delicate, while such varieties as he Plymouthi Iock and Birahama will un !er certain circumstances, do very well in o:tnemient. Again if you are breeding type of fowls which you wish to perpetu - ite, it follows that you should give thema ii large ia range as p~ossible,as that certainly lacreases their vigor and preserves their tamima; but ii yo"u are breediing simply for ggs aiid flesh, Oepee'st to introduce now >nood each fear, you couldt probably d i as veli without giving your iowls a large 'ange. All this, however, depends Upon vhat the fowls have been accustomed to. f they have had a range it will be found imost, imposs05ibleito make thema profitable vitheuL one, as they will pine for their *ccustomiid liberty, and decrease in their ig productin if it Is not giveii them. Tiho tnly way then to keep fowls prolltably vithout a range, is to unever allow them to ave one Ironi their b1 rI h. Thef Odd Termu of Loens. The reason for the use of the odd term a leases. 999 years or 90f years, thus Is ilven: Lessees a11( nd ortgageos in posses ion of real estates for 100 or 1,000 years lemised the samne at an annual rental, re aining a reversion for the last year of thme >riginal term. Th'le object of this was an iwillingnoss on thme part of the under enant to become bound to the~ performance f the covenants contained In the original grant; and also the importance to the lessor >f a revisionary initerest, without which, mnder the old English practice, lie could iot recover his rent, by dlistress. Some imes this reversion was only for tuhree lays, or even for one day, .but usually in ong-terims the last, year was retained. Jut of this came the popular notion that lie law providied this restraint, and hence eases were made for 99 or 999 years, whemn there was no reason whatever for any mchx odd period of time, In E!nglanmd here was, in special cases, a restraint on 3orporations or ecclesiastical persons, pro lbiting the demise of lands belonging -t~o them to the impoverishment of their sue sessors for .a term beyond 100 years, and imch leases were made for 99 years. -The public schoois of the United States ost $83,529,000 a year, -The value of the New. York hay Orrip Is estimated at $09,000,009 a yar. --The exact population of New York State by the census of 1880 is 8,082,983,