Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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L - -- .E-I .-N'- --R -- 1 TRI-WREEKLt EDITION. WINNSBORO. S 0_..,. APRIL 7, 1883.0TBIHD14 NOUTURNE. ''he dry leaves rustle, the night-winds blow Tito city is hushed and the gas turned low; Tto clock in the hall ticks loud ahd slow. 10ootteps ring through the echoing street, coirades under my window meet, The watchman comes on his nightly beat. A distant freight train rumbles low, Haby Jacky orIes out In woe, Cats through the honse like burglars go. The mo~n goes down and the nigut grows dark;. Tho house-dog, rousiag himself to bark, siks down with a long drawn sigh-and hark I Pte hour is tWlled from the Centro Clurch; iho cuge-bird changes feet on the perch; '.ho eats go out with their stealthy search. I turn on my pillow-(there's none to hear) Iet quiet, sleep sweetly; Go id night, my dear." BERt REWARO. Saidee I Saidee I Where are you Why don't you answer me when I oftll ? ,Yes, aunt Leah-I am coming in a minute. "nu a minute I" saroaRticall repeated the old lady. "It's always 'in a min ute' with you, Saidee I But I suppose, because I am old and helpless, my com fort is a matter of no consequence whatever." "Dear aunt Leah, you must never think that," answered a bright, okeery voice; and Baidee Lynn came into the room,. with a little tray, whore was ar ranged, on a snowy napkin, some tea b.souita, half-a-dozen pink radishes, a few thin-out shavings of smoked beef, and a little pot of tea, with a cup and saucer of old china that would have been invaluable to a collector. You see I had you in my mind all the time, aunt Leah," she said merrily. "I gathered the radishes from our own garden. Don't they look nice?" Aunt Leath, a withered, little, old lady, in a dress of worn black silk, and Bharp, grey eyes, peering through gold tound speotacles, tasted the tea, and shook her head. "It's too weak," said sho. "It isn't ilt to drink I" "I put in all the tea there was in the canister, aunt Leah," said Saidee, with a distressed countenance. Aunt Leah pushed away the cup, with. an expression of distaste. "It is as I might have expected," said she. "My nieces . have too little - thought for my comfort to study. my poor and few necessities. Never mind tio tea ; 1 can drink cold water, I dare Bay."1 daideo wruug her hands in despair, How could she tell this weak, feeble old lady, above whose declining years hung tne threatening Damocles sword of heart-disease, of their narrowing eircumstances-of the empty exche qtior, the clamoring creditors, the pitiful straits to which they were re daced? "What shall I do ?" she asked herself, as she went slowly bask to the little kitchen of the ruinous Gothio cottage, which they had obtained for a ridicu lously low rent because it was ruinous. "I've bor.owed of the rootor's wife twice, and I'm ashamed to go there again, and I've sol everything I can lay my hands on. But,' glancing up at a picture which hung in the hall be yond, "there's the Velasquez still. A Velasquez is always worth money. Bel I will scold about *parting with it, and aunt Leah will mourn; but we can't ive on air and dew, like the fairies. I'll takhe it.down to Mr. Bruner, the art.ist, tims aifternoon, and ask him to get us a purchaser. Poor people, such as we are, can't afford to retamn old family re lies." And so, when aunt Loahi was indulg ing in her afternoon nap, and Belle, the beauty of the family, was ironing out the flounces of her white muslin dress for the morrow's picnic, valiant Baidee chmbed on a chair, took the unframed picture down (it was the head of some old Mpanish grandee, with astiff-pointed ruff, and an evil leer in the eyes), wrap ped1 it up, and-crept across the mealows with it to the village. Mr. B3runer was in his studio-a gris zle-headed, blunt old gentleman, in a belted imieni blouse and a faded velvet cap. He nodded kindly at Saidee, who -had once takten a few lessons from him, but when she displayed the canvas heshook his head. "How,much do you thinkit is worth?' asked Saidee wistfully. "Nothing I" said Mr, Bruner. "But," cried the girl, "it is a Velas quez P" "That a Velasquez ?" said Mr. Bru ner contemtatuously. "My dear, there isn't a picture dealer in the country who would give five dollars for it, It's an initation, and a wretehed one at that." So Saldee tied up the poor picture, and went home again, shedding a few tears as she walked under the whisper ing trees. "My last hope gone l'.' she thought. "But I'll not tell aunt Leah or. Belle that iti nimposture. They have al vays taken such innocent pride in the Velasquez," As sne came past the old brick house ut the foot of the Locust Lane, a load of furniture was being carried in, for it was the second week In May. Wicker b,hairs, twined with blue rib bon, a cottage piano, eases cif books, engravin~gs, bird-cages, plants--all sorts of pett thngs. ' Saidee paused and looked -at them, not without interest. "I wonder who our new neighbors are to be ?" she thought. Just then out tro.ted a stout, cherry cheeked old lady, w'.th her cap all on one side, and a worsted shawl tied over har shoulders. S"Oh:l" said she, "are your th on bceleaitg Nlo," said 8sidee; orinmoning to hle ml, h, dear I" said the old y' 7 lat to become its P All thte .qiind)tid ughter on ndtt an eager look, "perhaps you can recom mend some one to help,us settle ?" "I am sorry to say -that I cannot," answered Saidee. And she vanished bebind . the lilad hedge, rather amused at the - mistake which the old lady had*. ade. Belle was full of news that evening. "Oh, f3aide,". she cried, "such a nioe family is moving into the Loont House I'" "Yes," said Saldee ; "I saw the furniture carts at the door as. I came back from the village this afternoon." "Oh, the village.l" cried .Bel)e. toos. Ing her blonde head.' "It's strange, Saidee, how much time u get ,to run about and enjoy yoursel : *filei I am dridgingt'home. -ut there's a young gentleman there-thec handsomest man, alice -auru mayis;'na"ti eVef sw and Mr. Pyle knows himi, and he isto be at the pionic to-inoryow, to get ao quaiuted with the young people of the neighborhood. Won't it be delightful?' "Very," said Saidee indifferently. But while Belle was talking she had made up her mind what to do on the day of the May picnic. Early in the morning, while the flush of sunrise was still orim-toning the sky, and blonde Belle lay asleep with her yellow hair in crimping-pins, Saideo arose, dressed herseif quietly, and slip ped out of the back door like a little grey shadow. At eight o'clock, aunt Leah rapped with her cane on the ceiling of her room, which was directly beneath the one occupied by het nieces. Belle made her appearance presently, in a faded calico wrapper, rubbing her eyes after a drowav fasnion. "Where's breakfast ?" said auatLeah. 'Where's Saidee ?" counter question ed Belle. "Oh, I know the selfish thing I She has got up early and gone down into the woods to get some pink azaleas for.her hair before the other girls thiak of it. Shewauteto astonish us all at the picnic. But I think she might have told me." "I'm afraid Saidee thinkr more of herself thau she does of us," said aunt Leah sourly. And Btlle, ia a very ill-humor, began to prepare the breakfast-a task gener ally assumed by her eldest sister. While Saidee hurrying down the path by the swamp, took the short-cut across the clover-meadow, and was presently knocking at the door of the brick house where the load of furniture had stood the day before. The old lady with the crooked cap and.cherry cheeks came to the door. "Have you yet engaged any one to help you get bettled ?" said Saidee, biushing very prettily. "We can't heaf -6f a soul I" said the old lady. * Every one is engaged just now, and-" "if you thought I could be of use," faintly- began Saidee. IJBless me, chjld I" said the old lady, "you are too slight and small, Be sides," looking closer at her, "you are a lady," "But I know how to clean house fcr all that," said Saidoe vali-rntly. "i've done it every year at home. We are ladies, but we are not people of means. And I think you will be suited with my work. It is necessary that T - Rhnuid earn a little money, and. -" "Come in, my dear I" said the old lady-"come in and have a cup of coffee with us. I am Mrs. Hartwick-and this is my 4aughter Kate." "Saidee Lynn !" exclaimed the soft voice of a pretty young girl, lying with a sprained ankle on the sofa. To her amiazement, our heroine recog nized one of her schoolmates, Uather inc Hartwick, who had been in the same class with her, at boarding- school, two years ago. ' "But you surely never have come here to-work ?" said Kate iiz amaze ment. "Yes, I ha've I" said brave Saidee. "Why, is it any less creditable to clean paint and wash windows than to play croquet or do Kensington stitohes ? And my aunt Leah has Jeat all her little pro port,y, anid we are very, very poor 1 So now you know all albout it. And when I have eaten my breakfast, if Mrs. Hartwick will give me a cleaning cloth and plenty of soft soap, ll show her what I1 can do I" 80 that -Miss Lynn was mounted on o step-ladder, polishing off an antique mirror, when Kate'q soft voice was heard sayimg-. "Ohi, Harry I is that you ? We sup-, posed, of course, you were at the- pic nte. Miss Lynn, this is my brother Harry. Harry, let me present you to Saidee Lynms, my dear old schoolmate, who has come here to help us clean house." maea.gaeflabwa Miss Lynnmaea'reflabwa she could under the choumistances. Mr. Harry Hartwick luclined his head. **At the picnic, indeed I" lie retorted merrily. "Not at all. I've been hunt ing high and low for som'e one to help you, and for lack of any success I have returned to dto a little whitewashing m'.self." "Oh, have you ?".said Saidlee. "I know such a nice recipe for kalsomine as white as alabaster, and It won't run off at all." "Let's make It," said Mr. Hartwick promptly. No picnic could ever have been more delightful than this day among dust, whitewash, scourng,-sand and brooms. Kate, on her sofa, hemmed curtains ; Mr. Hartwickc bustled to and fro ; Sai dee with her curly hair ,tied- up in a handkerchief, scoured paints, and Hiar ry whitenedelilngs ; 'and at twilight they had three rooms in perfect order. ''We have aohieved a wonders," said Kste, loolung around at Ihe neatly tacked carpets-the soft, garnet plush hangings--the piotures on the walls hecrystal brigh nees of the windoWs whl rs..Hart*o took. Saidee mys teriously oni oile side, "My dear," mai she,"]1do not know how tp thank ;ygh auffJI~itl Jut I am uphn Ashiamed to,pffer o 11 ~~l not be ashase take It6 su,d esmltlgid ."Why should it." said the old lady ; "and if you could possibly come to-morrow--" "Of course.I will come," said Saidee. Weary as she was, Saidee went around by the village, to buy some Young Hy son tea for the old lady before she re turned to the Gothio-cottage. '"Well," she oned brightly, to her sister, "what sort of a day did you have at the picnic ?" "Awfully stupid I" yawned Belle. "And the handsome young gentleman from Locust Lane didn't come at all.' "Didn't he ?"said Saidee. "And where have you been ?" de. manded Belle, In an injured tone. "Oh, spending the day with a neigh. bor." said Saidee, with a laugh.* they finished the house-eleaning thad week. Mr. ay- AL vLwtk -found it neces razy, we may suld, to walk -home with Saidee the next evening, and he develo ped a renarkable talent in the amateur painting and- kalsomining line before they got through. "Ien't she pretty, Harry ?"said Kate, when at last they wort settled comfor tably, and Saidee had gone home for good. "She is pretty ; "and she is brave, and she isn't afraid of honest work ; and altogether she is my beau ideal of a girl." "Mamma," whispered Kate,-laughing, affer her brother had gone out, "I be lieve our Harry is in love with Saidee Lynn." . "I'm sure-I don't blame him," said Mrs. Hartwick. "She is a little. jewel." Aunt Leah never know where the Young tyson tea came from nor the sponge cake, nor the white grapes, nor all the little luxuries which had cheered her of late ; nor did she suspect any thing until one day Harry Hartwick came to her, and formally asUed her for her neice's hand in marriage. "Well, I never I" said aunt Leah. "But how did you ever become so well-acquainted with him. Saidee ?" questioned Belle, half pleased, half jea lous. "Because I cleaned house for his mother." said Saidee, laughing. And then under solemn seal of secrecy, she told Belle all ; and Belle declared that it was too romantic for anything, never pausing to think that real life is as full of romance as a summer meadow With butter-cups aid that fortune comes to those only who go bravely out to seek fortune. Crematon. The craving for cremation is more gen eral than many people suppose. Those who entertain, the dread of being buned alive will learn with interest of the report on the memorial which the communal administration of Brussels presented to the Belgian Chamber praying that crema tion should be rendered optional. The report of the Committee on the petition, which was 'adopted with unanimity, and ir whose -prayer the provincial Council of Brabant concurred, sets forth that at present cremation is nottsnuctioned by tha Belgian law. Italy,. Gernany, Switzer land and the United States have permitted cremation, and crematories have been es tablishod at Milan, Padue, Cremona, Lodi, and Varese. At Milan, up to the end of 1881, 85,0 cremations had taken.place, at a cost of $10 each. In 1799 Parisians were allowed the privilege of cremation on cer tain conditions, but the practice is now illegal in France, and a bill before the Namber permitting every citizen the liberty of being cremated after death has not yet passed into law. The Belgian re port enlarges on the great hygienic advan tages of cremation. and maintains that it wounds neither the sentiment of' human dignity or the respect due to the mortal remains of our kind. 1t gives to death a conception, if not more consoling, at least more serene and more elevated, not only in ridding death of the associations of cor riuption and putrefaction, but also in symi bolizing the transformation of being in the bosom of .the purifying clemnent, and the mysterious disengagement of the spiritual principle. The only objection, that cre miation would render impossible the detec tion of poisons by subsequent exhumation, it proposes to parry by forbidding all cre mation except by the express desire of the defunct, and by providing that in all cases where there is suspicion cremation must be preceded by a post-mortem. Ratiway Accommodatlons. In these days when it is fashionable to complaid of corpbrations as purely selfish, It Is greatly to the credit of the Pennsylvar nia Raeilroad Company, that it ta corsstant ly furnishing increased facilities- for the accommodation >of the traveling public. iRecently they have commenced running a through Pullman Bleeping Uoach from Washington and Baltimore to Chicago on their Pacific E~xpress, whioh'leaves Wash. lng every day in the year at 9 80 p. in,, &nd Baltimore 11.15 p. in. The arriving time at Chicago is 8.00 o'clock the second morning. Tihe portion of the tramn which starts from Washington joins at Harris burg with the section from New York and Philadelphia on which there is a hotel'car. This arrangement gives passengers from Baltimore and Washington just the same catiiig faelatiet as enjoyed by those from New York, as the first meal en route is b)reakfast on the first morning, after the two sections have becenle one tramn. On their Welst Jersey ooebtion, also, they arranged for placing, since February 19th, a through passenger car between New York and Jersey City as follows: laeave Brooklyn 12:80 neon; New York, 1:00 p. m.,, and arrive at Atlantic City (via Trenton and Camden) 5:47 p. in. Laeave Atlantic City at 7:25 a' mn., arrive at New York, 11:40 noon; Blrooalyn 12:80 noon.. The car will not be ruu in. eliher direction on Sundays. The latter will furnish not only desirable facilities for the qitizens of Now York and northern New Jersey,but Wi enable sum. mer visitors to New York oily on business to take a run down to the "Citya by -te Sea" conveniently'and i' a'few hours. On adding a few drops of dilute sulphu tic acid to a ibixturo of eaual parts of gj cerIne and-istilledt watet', and jhen a i~ the aloohol, the presence of hasn or le #I11 be ehpWt by a white preod%pittte isitr is r seit 6fdb 'sulphydd fOcId WhllQll turns * rnptt lc Ureedy Ioe'* Feats. "Talking about eang," said a tall, thin,' hungry-looking man, casting . a wistful look at a fat sandwich that George Kinbaoli, the. new County Treasurer of'aokawanua, hande4 across the counter of his resta.rant to a com mercial travelei, ,remi4s me of Greedy Mdl,r, who livea on Dr. Thropp's farm just outside the city', few years Ugo. If Miller was in these diggings now I'd back him for $5,000 t eat a brace of quail every day for 85 6ays in succes sion, without interferinwt" gIse "Did you evor h at Billy Mahon's hote n Olyphant?" said Charlie Robinson, one of the pro. -prietors of the Hyde Park Brewery. coining forward on heariug the name of the gustatorial hero. "Well," proceeded Mr Robinson, "this was about six 'years ago, one pleasant day iu the fall. Miller sent word to Mr. Mahon that he wo uld be at his hotel in the evening, with five friends, and he expected him to get up a supper for six in his boat style, in cluding celery and salads and plenty of oysters. Malion did as directed, and a little before (he appointed time in walked Miller. "Is th. supper ready?" he asked. 'Quite ready,"'was the reply. 'Well, put it on the table,' said Miller. 'and spare notliing.' Mr, Mahon thought it strange that none of the others made their appearance, but il lor's orders were always worth taking, and so he did not stop to question, but went into the dining-room and set a splendid spread for six. Then he came out and said to Miller: 'Everything is ready. Where is your comuany?' 'Rather disappointed,' said Miller, 'they ain't come yet, and it's behind time already. I guess as 1 won't wait any longer. I'm awful hungry. Mobbe they'll come in before I got through.' The hotel-keeper was annoyed at the idea of the good things going to waste, but said nothing, and so Miller was turned loose on the dining-room. In due time he returned, and asked, 'How much is them six suppers?' Mahon said he could not expect him to pay for them all, as his company did not come, but Miller merely laughed, and said: 'I ate em' all, why shouldn't I p41' - 'I can't believe you.' said the host. 'Well, go and see.' He did, and to his surprise saw that the table had been cleared of all the eatables down to bread, butter, and pickles. 'Did you'eat everything?' .ie asked Miller. 'I did,' was the reply. 'It was all a joke of mine, sayin' I was to have company. I merely did it be cause 1 knew in that way I could get a little lunch, and so I did. How much is the reckoning?' And lie paid for the "I once did some printing for him," said J. U. Coon, and he brought me half a dozen bottles of horseradish, an arti cle which he prided himself on putting up in superb style at his farm. Of course I did not care for the stutr. S, having heard so much of Miller's eating propensities, I told him to pnt the horse radish in his pocket, and we would go and have a lunch. Hec liked the idea, and we adjourned to a restaurant, where ne devoured a ham and the biggest portion of the radish." "That was nothing," said Treasurer Kinback. "The time Charley Sohadt kept on the corner, old Miller ate a whole barrel of oysters on a wager. That was the greatest feat I ever saw. Two gentlemen came in with Miller. They had met him at a place down town, and they asked if I could not serve a barrel of oysters on the half shell for a gentleman a lunch. I said I would like to see a gentleman able to eat a barrel of oysters, and they said, 'Miller will.do it.' I had heard a good deal of Miller's power, but never before had such an opportunity to witness his brilliant capacity. At first I donbted the genuineness of the wager, but the gentlemen were in earnest, and said it was all right, adding; 'If he eats all the oysters, we will pay for them; if ho fails, lhe will pay for them himself.' Bo I began upon the .bivalves, and Miller took a seat near the lunch-counter, and appeared to be in the height of his en joyment. I 'kaow f was very tired before I got through. The barrel con taine~d about 700 oysters. Oh, lie was the moot famous eater that over lived." x.ast, Daya of Dickens. Mr. Merivale in a recent papJer soys; I have just taken up for the first time the memoir of Charles Dickens in Mr. Morley's "Men of Letters." The writer I suppose following Mr, Forster, de. scribes Diokens as docing nothing but suffer in his last visit to town (1870) not able to go into society except to meet some very especial persons, and then not above- the dima~g-room floor; and, finally, as leaving London for (*ad shill on the 80th of May,.to be seen In town no more. On the 9th of June he died. -Mr. k'orster, I think, puts this last appearance in London a day,or two qarliei- as the date of his own last dinner with Dickens,.who then, according to hin, left London, not to return, In.a state of profound depression' ter din ing tlt.Mr. Forster. lut/Mihrsoer ja topght to h,ye taken arathelf ibjedelve tiew of his famous frioud~ anl eo doubt thought that after himself nobody else can possibly have seen Dickens in Lon don. There isnoneed to surround a national loss and all its infinite sadness with a fictitious gloom. Will you allow me (with the consent of Mr. Dickens' chil dren and from my first and last personal knowledge of him) to say that during the last weeks of May, 1870, I was at his house in Hyde Park place almost every day for some hours, for the re hearsals of a play in which the chario ters were taken by his two daughters. Mr.IamtAuge fughes (brother of Mr. 'Vhpna Rughes, andi one the very obhool-boy *ho wrote to Dickens to tell him what ought to be done with some of the characters in "Nicholas Nickle. by" and got back the delightful answer beginning "Respected Sir"), Mr. F. C, Grove and myself? Charles Dickens undertook the entire stage management; and, though he was suering from his lameness, directed ail the rehearsals with a boy's spirit and a bo: -s interest ith his favorite art; coaching" up all with untiring kindness, marking, his "prompt-book" as he marked his read ings, and acting all the parts con amore one after another, passing from the "old man" to the 'young lover" with all his famous versatility and power. The performance oame off at Cromwell House (Mr. Freake's) on the 2d of June. The later rehearsals took place there, and like the performance, on the draw ing-room floor, under Dickens' activo personal direction. On the night (a stilling one) he was behind the scones as prompter and stage manager, ringing all the bells and working all the lights, and went through the whole thing with iufecbious enjoyment. I was gloomy about my part and do not forget asking him in the morning as a last hope (as lie seemed uncertain about its bearings himself) whether he thought it was comic or serious, and the twinkle in his eye when he answered: "My dear boy, God alone knows. Play it whichever way'you feel at night." And I remem ber his enjoyment at the dilemma of one of our company who lost his per sonal clothes behind the scenes and had to slip away as best he might, without joining the company in front, in the white regimentals of an Austrian officer from4the-costumer's point of view. This story, I may add, is quite confirmed by the second volume of his letters as edited by his daughter and sister-in law. The lasr printed letter addressed to Mr. Bancroft refers to his visit to town, and the narrative which connects the letter says: "On the 2d of June lie attended a private play at tlie house of Mr. and Mrs. FreaKe." Theso letters were published in 1880, but aplear to haye been disregarded by the bio grapher of 1882. In a case of such general interest history should be set right in time. When Charles Dickens' love of the stage is remembered, this story of his last days is surely as much happier and more touching as it is as suredly more true than that which the biographer wants to inflict on us. Bio graphics are a fact of the day, and If this is their exactness about great men recently lost, what ave we to believe about those of some centuries ago." An ArtleMie Duel. There has been no small stir in the musical circles of Germany over the quirrel between the Berlin violinist, Waldemar Mayer, and Ludwig Hart mann, the musical critic. Early in the present year the Berlin artist gave a concert in the Gewandhmaus at Leipzig, and was afterward invited to meet a literary and musical company, whlere the talk turned upon the critieisms of music in the journals. "I know for a fact," observed Herr Mayor, "that all these musical critics arc to be bought." A student at the University stood up In great wrath amt saida that he could name one against whom Herir Mayer dared not make such 'a. charge. "Who Is he?" asked the miusician. "Ludwig Bart mann, of Dresden," replied the stutent. "Well," retorted the other, "If he will not take a.bribe into his own hands he will receive one indirectly through lie wife. If I wanted Hfartmann to praise me in the press I should forward the honorarium for the favorable criticism of Frau Hlartniann ." On the next day Mayer gave a concert at Dresden, and ieceived an invitation to visit Hartmiann after the concert. To his astomnehment, rather than, his pleasure, he was no sooner ushered into Frau Hartmann's saloon than he' saw the young student from Leipzig, as well as his.hostess, confronting him. The lady asked him if he would be good enough to repeat to her what he had said In society at Leip. zig. As he hesitated to do this, Frau aartmann struck him across the face with a riding whip and he received a second blow on the back of his head as' hb was hurrying out of the. room, He went straight to his hotel and wrote a challenge to LudwIg Hartmuanb, wh fc4 the critic naturMly enough'*efused to accept. Mayer' had already fired hiis shot at Uartmann, .behihd his bacok, in Leipzig, and Haiia'nn e,oiideived that his wife had saved him thQ trouble of firing any shot ii#retuir.3 The dtfel was comupniood by the musician hansu0it, wh6 hat g~o6. thA Wozat o t, th critio di not see that tise *We y *ot. son for fghting a second pgile Life In the Street4. Though bad enough In American cities, the life of the children of the streets here is nothing to what it is in Europe. One has only to turn to the pages in Mayhew's "London Labor" to find In the accounts given by the children themselves, the ex treme hardship of their, lives. A httle watercress seller, eight years old, with no childish ways or thoughts, and with wrinkles in her face where the dimples ought to be. may be taken as an example o1 the sufferings of the very young, not only thou, but in countless cases now. She sold watereresses at the rate of four bunches for a penny, makin% a profit of four-pence a day. She had a home, and jp this degree was in advald. e nU othero*61'her class. But th 'ohe - ash "bhildren of elght yorrs in brightor homes can best understand the 'terrible hardships implied In this poor little trader's account of herself. The water crosses had to be bought at Farringdon Market before six o'csock in the morning, and from six o'clock till ten, she traversed the streets to sell them, before tasting food. What simple eloqueace of poverty is in a few of her answers to the questions asked by the compiler of the book I 'it's very cold,' she replied, 'before winter comes on reg'lar-speolally getting up of a morning. I get up in the dark, by the light of the lamp in court. When the siow is on the ground, there's no "creases." I bears the cold-you must; so I puts my hands under my shawl, though it hurts 'em to take hold of the ert seca, especially when we takes 'em to the pumip to wash 'em. No, I never see any children crying -it,8 no use.' The vast number of newspaper-boys and flower-girls earn less than sixpence a day, in return for which poor wages the little traders wander till late at night in the great public school of anything but. high influence or good example. The stand keepers look. upon them as rivals; they say the children, as sellers, prevents others living, and ruins theirselves; and at least one half of tie jealous remarks is too often sadly true. Large numbers of them have no settled dwelling, or the worst substitute for a home. Many take their meals in the streets, buying a 'penn 'orth of pudding' as a sustaining dinner; and the homeless, or those that are afraid to go home with stock unsold, find a rotuge in crowded lodging houses, or hide in stairs or markets, or lie in soie corner under a dry arch. Other children who live and have their being in the streets are of a still poorer and more numerous class, though sonic of them are included in the class of -free traders. They buy in the markets and sell at the corners; but they more fre quently live by their wits, dishonestly or honestly, and doing odd jobs, such as holding a horse or carrying a parcel. Joe, in "Bleak House," forms the typi. cal representative of the whole class, or at least of the hundreds tbat, in reference to the rest of huinanity, are more sinned against than sinning, even in that untaught struggle for existence. Joe is a living por. trait; there Is not a touch of exaggeration abo,tt-it; and some there are who hold that the b.y crosing--oweeper, with his wl'ole life and character dashed in by a few touches, is the huest character-drawiig the novelist ever did, and as noble preachi log for humanity's sake as was ever found in a popular fiction. Joe's ignorance is extreiu, but not without a glimmering, that faintly brghtens and goes out. ills mind is.a blank ; but lie has a conscience -God made him, and man neglected him. He is described in half a dozein words; we all hav6 seen him---very muddy, very hoarse, very ragged." lie can say for himself that lie never got into trouble, " 'copt not knowin' nutimi' and starwa. tion." lie knows that a b)room Is a broon , and that a lie as bad ; aiid when lie is re quested to tell the truth, lie has a forcible tormula ; "Wishermay die it I dlon't sir I" There is one jewel ini him, among the mud, the hoarseiiess and the rags-one diamond. lie has a heart ; lie has grati tude, "lie wuz very goodi to me, lie wuz I" cries poor Joe against his ragged sleeve, when the man who had said kind words to him, the nameless, friendless man, is "stitched''-dead. Tihat part of the portrait miay, be disbelieved, but onily for want of knowledge of the poor. Ii there is no warmth of iceling, no faithful ness, no gratitude, it is because there has been no sympathy.. "Outsithie of te Ii,,u,e.'" "S3uppose'," began a little red-headed main with a wild look in his eye as he halted a policeman cin Porter street the other clay-' suppose miy mother-in-law drops clown upon me in October and re mains,right along until now, occupying the best room, fretting at the children, putting my wife uap to be cranky, and greeting me daily with such epithet, as brute, hyena and mise " "Yes, suppose she does I" "Suippose that I finally cease to endure and bounce her out. Can she have me1 arrested ?" '*if you assault her she cani." "Would I be fined over $10 ?" "1 think not-not for carrying her out doors in your arms." "Thanks. hietween this and 4 o'clock some one will get bounced. In other words, I shall pass the itubicon. At 10 o'clca. that night the same officer found the man in a drunken sleep in a lum bor yard fouir blocks fromn his house. As lie hauled him out into tnc light lie found one eyt. closed, his face scratched, his collar torn off and his vest so spli 'uap thme back that it would button twice around "Here-wake up-wake up I you are drunk I"e sheiuted the officer, "Yeah, shomo diruak," was the thick reply. "You are the man who was going to bounce his mo)ther.in-.law ?" "Y es, shame man-shame man." "Weil, where did shiego?" "Where'd she go t On, yes, I 'member now. Shay ?" "Yes.'' "When 'er man bounces his mo.ther-in law which of 'can goes ?" "8hue does, of oirse." ."Then .(hle)t then it sheems that (his) somebody ha4 mfido thumping big mistatte t'r l'm the, party let' on outside of s' house 1" T7M nersistence of the thei eLfo po~ ty obilerodtfn cer&in $tod is at~iutb M, Jaroquto to thetr ot tcn il si tio o00i.1 pao e8b QuI0d) Salt Fields of Now York*. The Syracuse salt holds of X. Y., were known to the Indians at a; very early period, but Father Lalomaitis 1?elieved to be the first white man who visited them. - About 1770 Onondaga salt was in common use among the Delawares, and was carried to Quebec for sale.. The first made by the whites was in -1788 near Syracuse, by boiling. The sallns belong to the State, which supplies the brine to manufacturers and reoelies a royalty of one cent a busheL * Six cents was formerly charged, and the State thus derived a large revenue, but n1846 the tax was reduced. to the, present unt,., which' s s to pay the ex D Iuf3tu ,,5petnenceer ' etc The produ Ion has reached the maximum.of' over 0,00000bushels in a, single year at Syraouqe,- The new fields at Warsaw and Le Ry iro;nse to exceed all othets. in purity, strepgth of brine and oheapness-of production. Tie salt deposit at Warsaw was discov ured, we believe, while boring for petro leum. It is a line deposit of rook salt, lying at a depth of several hundred feet. ama of groat purity. The manufacture of salt has already been commenced, and both at Warsaw and .) Roy, it will be rapidly developed and extensive ly manufactured. It is expected that millions of bushels annually will be produced aflording a source of supply for the entire country as elil as a large ,%mount for export. On account of the trength and purity of the brine,' salt 3an be produced in these Western New York districts at a cost which will ena blo the manufacturers to successfully 3ompete with all the world. Already the excitement is at a high pitch, anJ lthe material benefits to this entire region. especially to the railroad interest, grow Ing out of these discoveries in Goiesee -nd Wyoming counties, must of neces iity be in the greatest degree gratifying tud advantageous. A Lone n1.by-s Voyaige, After the fearful deluge occurred at 'he Cut-off a man named John Glazer vas rowing around In a light b'bat, pick ng up what had floated from the homes )f the unfortunates, when his attention vas attracted to a strange-looking ob ecot bobbing up and down on the waves, oMe distance out, and having the %ppearance of a miniature house. [Impelled more by a Rense of curlosity Ahan anything else he rowed across to tiead the object off, and to his astonish aent discovered that it was an old-fash [on baby ,radle Betting upright in the water. A few vigorous strokes of the oar drew in alongside of the floater ind catching It by the edge he pulled It in toward the boat. Great as his sur. prise had been, it was doubly so when is eyes fell upon the form of an infant, tpparently several weeks old, cuddled ip among the blankets, from which it )ooped out with eyes dilated by aston shment and fear. The little stranger va% carefully lifted from his uncertain >od and pltcod iii the skiff, the cradle vlich had sheltered it,it being forgotten U the excitement and left to pursue its onely jour..ey toward the Father of Waters. Tne child was comfortably lrossed in swaddling cloths, having a ong flannel gown wrapped about his ititle shape. It had evidently been born of "poor but respectable" parents, out as to who they were or where they ived not the slightest clew could be ound. The baby was taken home by 1dr. Glazer auct comfortably provided :or, whro It will be kept till its parents ,.laimn It, The supposition is that the ittle .stranger floated down from this 'ity, its home being swopt away b'the >reaking of the dam at the Cut-oft 1t nii be remembered that a cradle con ainmng an inta.nt was seen to float pas.t Jlay street early in the evening of the lay following, and, althoughi eff>rts vere made to capture it, they proyed ruitless. Meanwhile the little Moses w'ill remin at his new-found home unl1 she proper owners claim him. Horan--ureaking in Jlapass. liokusai was never weary of studying horses and their funny ways, and of all oreatures Jaipanesejiorses are the most amusing. These nags, wich wear laced-unp shoes of straw, drink out of a dipper, take hip baths of hot-water, and stand In the stabile with their mouths tied up higher than thieir ears, are broken in to the pack'or saddle in a very rough way. .In Hlokusal's days, horses were ncyer harnessed to wagons, nor did they draw anything. The ponies were usually "broken in" In the large open yards attached to temples. Fires, ailso, are usually kindled, and tho eolts are driven close to them, so that they may become acoustomed to such a common sight. The method of break. ing them in was as follows.--Th,e young horse was duly harnessed, and a man on-each side held a bridal to jerk him to the right or loft, while another nman in the rear boat him with* a b>amboo stiok, keeping well away from his hoofs, T wvelve or more mon and boys then took hold of the long ropes or traces, and a lively shouting began.' The hdrse plunged and galloped, off, expeoting' to get rid of the noisy crew, but soon found that this was no easy task. It was a twelve tman power thatenlade ilium go here and there, fast or sfowo d6a. slonally stopping him sIhor tidl~y1n~ him a tutablo. When uti'ly exhalisted, his tormentors lea him bael@ tVhe eta. ble. After a few such 3riksk tlho~yn was considered )okei '8t5 oh a traidag tho . n1