TWO!
Two on a cliff, with the kiss of the sea
Filling their hearts, aud their lips and their
hair;
Two without shelter of rock or of tree,
Facing pure peace, or the sands of < ee >air!
But one in the soul that can lift them alo ig;
One in the spirit, aud one in the toi ch;
One in the melody, one in the song;
Who can wish more, or dare a k for as
much!
Two in a boat on the toss of the tidi ;
Two in sight of the leaf and the 1. nJ ;
Two on the breast of the waves hitare
wide;
Two on the narrow gold stripe of the sand.
But one on the ocean of love and at rest ;
One midst the rush, aud one iu the roar ;
One like a bird winging home to ite nest;
Who asks as much, or dare hunger for
more!
Two in the gold of the sun as it sets;
Two close together at death of the day;
Two in the world that forgives and forgets;
T wo with the joy of the beach and the bay.
But one in the kiss, and one in the prayer;
One in the heaven, and one in the blue;
One iu the light, and the life, and the air—
Who can ask more! Oh, my darling, can
you!
A COWBOY AND HIS VIRGIL.
An Amherst Graduate Who Turned
Into a “Blood and Thunder Kid.”
The following story of John B. Finch,
the temperance orator, appears in The
Omaha Herald. It is a much better
story when told by Mr. Finch himself-
Mr. Finch enjoys hunting, and fre
quently takes his horse and rides out on
the plains of Nebraska. O do day about
dusk he came suddenly upon a deep
ravine. A spiral column of smoke
curled skyw ard, and told him there war
a camp below. The rider dismounted.
His scheme was to visit the emigrants
and get a drink —of water. He turned
to descend, when a cowboy, six feet tall
and armed from head to foot, stood
before him.
“Come down to the camp and see us,”
said the cowboy.
Mr. Finch decid ?d that since he had
beea invited it would be impolite for
him to decline.
“There are four of us now,” said the
cowboy, complacently. “ Come inside
and join us in a game of poker.
Mr. Finch was too well bred to refuse
so kind a request. He congratulated
himself that he was poor. He also
realized that life is sweet. The game
continued till an early hour. Mr. 1- inch
didn’t lose much; he didn’t have much.
Homething seemed to Btrike the cowboy;
he started.
“Come outside by the fire,” said he to
Mr. Finch. “I have something to show
you.’’
The stranger knew it would not be
obliging if lie did not comply.
! “I wish you would explain to me,”
said the cowboy, bringing a mysterious
looking book out of the tent, “this pass
age in Virgil. It always puzzled me in
college. I'm rusty in my Latin now. I
wish you would help me. Here it iB;
construe, please.”
Mr. Finch was perfectly willing to
do everything he could to help his un
fortunate friend.
“Thanks. It's very clear to me now.
I feel relieved. ”
The two returned to the tent. Tho
cowboy reached under a pile of blankets
and drew out a neat roll of parchment,
daintily tied with a violet ribbon. It
was a sheepskin, an Amherst degree.
The cowboy’s name was Edward Robin-
aon.
He was “ Blood and Thunder
Kid,’’ the bloodiest, most unprincipled
and most reckless cut-throat outside
the Lincoln jail. The story of Hie
cowboy’s life was soon told. I
com
panions in college were evil. He looked
upon the wine when it was rod. He
got his degree by a terrible brace.
He became a ranchman, a cowboy, a
vnt-throat.
A CrlHilnul Lawyer'* Method*.
'[Courier-Journal Interview. ]
•"?n ¿"looting a jury for an important
trial w*nnt characteristics do you look
for iq t]10 Inen W[1O are examinod for
jurol^y”
“I 4 v to get mon about whom I know
someth,ng
whose mode of reason
ing in j-egard to facts I am acquainted
with. Vi’hen I have a given line of
facts to prove J want men on whom
inipress themselves.”
' °’ir long experience has no doubt
made von
good judge of human
r^tui-k 9”
MTliat ia a great point in criminal prac
tice aud 1 have studied it closely.”
“Have yon over tried the art of read
ing men's thoughts while addressing
them as jurors?"
" Oh, yes.”
“ Have you succeeded often ?”
“ Very frequently I havo been able
to stato to my perfect satisfaction how
the jury stood before they retired.”
“ Major, were you ever absolutely
certain of an iuuocent man being con
victoil?”
“ I have known of several of such
cases, but I never know of an innocent
man lieing hung. Innocent men are
very often Bent to the penitentiary, be
cause such men are conscious of their
innocence and make no effort to defend
themselves. Some of them consider
any step toward defense as an admis
sion of guilt, while, on tho other hand,
a guilty person will begin to prepare
for defense immediately after tho com
mission Of the crime.
The Ink Flant.
[New York Star.]
There is in Now Grenada a plant,
loryaria Thymifolia, which might lie
ftngerotis to our ink manufacturers if
ould be acclimatized to Europe. It
.nown under the name of ink plant,
tainee, -h ti. hi, c m be used in
Mg wit lout any previous prepara-
tic Al’ho .otters traced by it are of a
redil color at first, but turn to a
deep’ i>k in a few hours. The juice
also sj k stei 1 peiis l. ss than coniiiii.ii
ink. finalities of tho plant seem to
have I
discovered under the Hpan-
ish adniiB fration. Some writings, in-
tended fol V- mother countr ■■
wet throui
age; while
were almoofl
juice of this p were quit« unspoiled«
Orders were l i in consequence that
thia vegetable 1B ■ aa to be used for all
public document
Goat's milk is
lively used in F.u-
rope for feeding
priced puppies,
It is said to agree uhem much bet-
tor than th« milk of
SHERIDAN’S RIDE.
A Soldier’s Valor and Poet’s Fame
Linked in the Annals of War.
Jamen E. Murdoch Describes the
Hide from Winchester and Tells
How Head's Poem Came
to Be Written.
[F. A. B. in Philadelphia Press. ]
It was the night before the liattle of Cedar
Creek. In the war office at Washington sat
Mr. Stanton in close conversation with Gen.
Phil Sheridan. There were some grave ques
tions being discussed between them, for the
talk lasted long after midnight. Gen. Thomae
T. Eckert, superintendent of military tele
graph linee, vas in an adjoining room watch
ing tor sounds of alarm from the front or im
portant tele grams from any of the advancing
armies in the field. A new day was fast ap
proachlng the dawn and the war minister
and the general still continued their earnest
conversation. A click of the instrument
caught Gen. Eckert’s ear. It was Winchester
calling the war office. His skilled hand
touched the key in ready respo nse and a mo
ment later the words came:
“There is danger here. Hurry Sheridan to
the front.”
Quick as a flash the message was handed to
the two men in the next room in close con
sultation about the campaign in the Shenan
doah valley. Sheridan went to the instru
ment, and there was a moment of hurried
talk over the wires between him and his head
quarters, when Secretary Stanton gave di
rections to Gen. Eckert to telegraph the rail
road authorities of the Baltimore & Ohio to
dear the road and to at once provide relays
of special engines to take Sheridan to the
scene of the coming battle as fast as steam
could carry him. Gen. Eckert worked the
wire himself, and gave hurried directions to
the railroad officials as to what to do in this
emergency. While he sat with his hand on
the key perfecting the train arrangements,
Stanton and Sheridan had a few hurried
final words, each countenance bearing the
marks of earnestness, not unmingled
with anxiety. The train schedule was
soon made, Nheridan
left
the war
sta-
office, and was driven to the
tion with all possib'e speed. A panting en
gine hail just backel in as he arrived, and
jumping aboard, the engineer, instructed to
make the relay house in the shortest possible
time, pulled the starting-bar, ami away sped
the train. It had a clear track and reached
its destination, thirty miles away, in much
less than an hour. Here an engine of the
main line stood waiting to take him to Har-
pel’s Ferry, seventy miles beyond, There
were no obstructions all the way up. Every
moving train had tieen side-tracked and every
other precaution taken to prevent accident
to the ou-rusbing engine bearing Sheridan
to the camp where his army lny. While
this train was making its run all was anxiety
in the war office. Every telegraph station
reported its progress to Gen. Eckert, and he
to Secretary Stanton, who still lingeiMi that
that he might know when Sheridan whed
his destination.
AT HARPER’S FERRY.
Three hours passed—dull, anxious hours
to those waiting, every moment of which
seemed laden with lead. Harper’s Ferry at
last rejiorts Sheridan’s arrival, and a fresh
engine stood ready to take him to Winches
ter, thirty miles up the valley. Not a mo
ment is lost at the hamlet among the rocks
when Sheridan boards the waiting messen
ger, and, an hour later, word sjieeds over the
wine: “Sheridan just reached Winchester.”
The run had been made in the qnickest tinto
ever known on the road, and the worn
and anxious officials at the war office
breathed a sigh of relief
click of the
telegraph announced p’ the journey had
been completed.
Eighteen or (lerhaps twenty miles of turn
pike svreivbed away up the charming valley
that had been made desolate by the torch and
tramp of armies. As that charming region,
clad in the garb of summer, lay between the
mountains, its bright colors reflected in the
rays a beautiful sunshine, it was but a
sad reminder of of the once great granary
that for more than three years of conflict had
furnished untold supplies to the Confederate
army. Sheridan had laid it waste. He had
.clinched with anil beaten Early at W inches
ter, and while he was lining carried with all
possible speed back to the scenes of his opera
tions, the tide of battle was ebbing and flow
ing upon a new Held, and the fate of the day
hung trembling in the liolauc*. For several
weary, doubtful hours the two armies had
been in deadly conflict. When Sheridan
arrived at Winchester the roar of artilery
and the roll of musketry could be distinctly
heard from the Held of carnage along Cedar
creek. Down the valley camo the awful din,
echoing louder and louder through the still
summer air os the battle grew fiercer.
There was but short delay at Winchecter,
the chief town in the lower valley. There
Sheridan mounted his favorite war horse, a
large, beautiful, sinewy, black chargor, who
hail Isime his master through the heat of
Inauy conflicts. He is dead now and his
body lias been preserved, that men yet to
come may see the animal whose endurance
has been recorded in verse. Through tho
town and out over tho turnpike which leads
up the Shenandoah, Sheridan rixie. Who,
knowing the man, or aught of his character,
cannot picture the restless rider urgiug his
horse to the Ix'st to reach the Held where the
fate of his army was still peuiling in the
hazard of wart He had only covered a few
miles when the moving mass of debris that
always surges to the rear of a liattle Held
when the conflict is severe ami doubtful, met
his trained eye and told more plainly than
words what was going on in front. It was a
signal of distress, and none knew it better
than he. The sight tired his heart anew and
only added fresh impetus to his foaming
horse. He reached the field after a sleepless
night and a terrific journey, and the battle of
Cedar Creek was won.
MB. MURDOCH’S
LETTER.
This Is the irue story of Sheridan's ride—I
might almost say official story. If he did not
atop to jnther the stragglers, as a jxiet's
license has pictured, he did carry back the
tide that was fl'siting to the rear, because his
presence had given fresh stamina to some
wavering tnttalions. The manner of the
man, his dash and courage, hi.i reputation
and suceetaes. all combined to give heart to
those who had drifted back, believing the bat
tle had been lost.
1 have lxs>n sitting face to fare to-day. the
w hole afteruixm, with the mail who vouches
for the above written wonts. He is a strong,
positive character, just |iassing three score
and teu. years crowded with wonderful expe
riences. As he old this story, he warmed
with the tire of the event and his blood was
hot with indignation, for he had just road a
statement that Sheridan got drunk at Win
chester and did not go to the battle Hold, where
the poet’s pen has pictured him.
“Ah. but I'll put an end to ail cavil about
this story." said he. “What I hare told yon
got directly from Gen. Eckert himself, who
wit with his hand on the key, arranged and
watched every stage of Sheridan's ride from
Washington to Cedar Creek. He now man
sar« tlie Western Union Telegraph rompan £
and will bear witness to those tacts. But I
have a letter front Hheridan. He and I were
then, and are now, friend* When I heani of
the ride, I wrote to ask him about it and to
inquire if I had not ridden the same horse
that carried him up the valley while with him
at Chattanooga. Mr. Murdoch soon found
among his papeix the identical letter which
Gen. Sheridan wrote in reply.
“I need not tell you how highly it is priz xl,”
said the veteran, "for you will see how care
fully it has been kept through all these
years.”
“Who is there who has road this country’s
history that does not know James E. Mur
doch—the actor, the reader, the man.
It is
he who tells this story anil furnishes this
clinching evidence of the truthful foundation
of T. Buchanan Read’s poem. Thousands
who have watched uis matchless representa
tion of Hamlet, or sat under the spell of his
dramatic readings, will be glad to know that,
although he is passing 73, he is still in excel
lent health and spirits. He is a tall, robust
man, with a clean shaven face that shows the
broad, distinct lines of his strong countenance
to the best advantage. His wealth of iron
gray hair and his general carriage combine
to make him a very striking character.
“Aitt
an old man when the war was
going
t oent a great deal of time with
connection with the sanitary
the army
commission ind in the hospitals. He was a
the
headquarters of many gen-
favorite at
erals, and witnessed a great deal of the inner
features of army life.
THE POEM SUGGESTED.
“The story of Sheridan’s ride, alxive written,
was but a tithe of the gixxi things he told
me. The recital of this matter naturally led
up to all the incidents connected with it.
“I was not with Sheridan,” he said, “at
this time, but was at tae headquarters of
the army of the Cumlierlatid. Soon after
the battle of Cedar Creek 1 came up to Cin
cinnati and was visiting Mr. Cyrus Garrett,
whom we called ‘Old Cyclops.’ He was T.
Buchanan Read's brother-in-law, anil with
him the poet made his home. The ladies of
Cincinnati had arranged to give me a recep-
tion, that Anally turnod into an ovation,
I had
’ ’ given a great many readings
raise funds
to
assist
their
to
Soldiers’ 1 Aid society, and they were
to present me with a silk
going
flag. Pike’s opera house had been secured,
the largest place of amusement in the city,
anil they had made every arrangement to
have the reception a very dramatic event.
The morning of the day it was to take place
Read and I were, as usual, taking our break
fast late, We had just finished, but were
still sitting at the table chatting, Mr. Gar-
rett, the brother-in-law, who was a business
man and guided by business habits, came in
while we were thus lounging. He wore an
air of impatience and carried a paper in his
hand. He walked directly up to Read, un
folded a copy of Harper’s Weekly, and held it
up before the man so singularly gifted as both
poet and painter.
“The whole front of the paper was covered
with a striking picture representing Sheridan
seated on his black horse, just emerging from
a cloud of dust that rolled up from the high
way os he dashed along, followed by a few
troopera.
“ ‘There,’ said Mr. Garrett, addressing
Read, ‘see what you have missed. You
ought to have drawn that picture yourself
and gotten the credit of it; it is just in your
line. The first thing you know somebody
will write a poem on that event, and then
you will be beaten all around.’
“Read looked at the picture rather quizzi
cally, a look which I interrupted by saying:
‘Old Cyclops is right, Read, the subject and
the ciruggnstance are worth a poem.'
‘*•-..1, no,’ said Read, ‘that theme has been
written to death. There is “Paul Revere’s
Ride,” “Lochinvar,” Tom Hood’s “Wild
Steed of the Plains” and half a dozen other
poems of like character.’
“Filled with the idea that this was a good
chance for the gifted man, I said: ’Read, you
are losing a groat opportunity. If I had such
a poem to read at my reception to-night, it
would make a great hit.’
“ ‘But, Murdoch, you can’t order a poem
as you weald a coat. I can’t write anything
in a few hours that will do either you l r me
any credit,’ he replied rather sharply.
“I turned to him and said; ‘Read, two or
or three thousand of the warmest hearts in
Cincinnati will be in Pike’s opera house to
night at that presentation. It will he a very
significant affair. Now, you go and give me
auything in rhy me, and I will give it a de
liverance before that splendid audience, and
you can then revise and polish it before it
goes into print’ This view seemed to strike
him favorably, aud he finally said: “Well!
Well! We’ll see what can be done, and he
went up-stairs to his room.
THE POUT AT WORK.
“A halt hour later Hattie, his wife, a brill
iant woman, w ho is now residing in Phila
delphia, catne down and said:
“ 'He wants a pot of strong tea. He told
me to get it for him and then he won Id lock
the door and must not be disturbed unless
the house was afire.’
“Time wore on and in our talk on other
matters in the family circle, we had almost
forgotten the poet at work up-stairs. Dinner
had lieen announced and we were about to
sit down, when Read came in and beckoned
me to come. When I reached the room, he
said:
“ ‘Murdoch, I think I have about what you
want.’ He read it to me, and with an en
thusiasm that surprised him, I said it is just
the thing.
“We dined, anil at the proper time Read
and I, with the family, went to Pike’s opera
house. The building was crowned in every
part.
Upon the stage were sitting 200
maimed soldiers, each w ith an «nil or a leg
off. Gen. Jtxi Hooker was to present me with
tho flag the ladies had i.iade, and at the time
appointed we marched down the stage to
ward the fixitlights, Gen. Hixiker Ix-aring the
flag, and I with my arm in hia Such a storm
of applac.se as greeted the appearance, I
never heani before or since. Behind and on
each side of us were the rows of crippled sol
diers, in front the vast audience, cheering to
the echo. Hooker quailed before the warm
reception, and, growing nervous, said to me
in an undertone:
“ ‘I can stand the storm of battle, but this
is too much for me.'
“'Leave it to me,’ said I; ‘I am an old
hand behind the fix>tlighta I will divert the
strain from you.’ So quickly I dropped upon
my knee, took a fold of the silken flag and
pressed it to my lip*. This by-plav creati d a
frwsh storm of enthusiasm, but steadied
Hooker and ho presented the flag very grace
fully. which I accepted in fitting words.
MURDOCH’S READING.
“I then drew the poem Read hail written
from niy ixx-ket. and. with proper introduc
tion. began readiug it to the auaience. The
vast assemblage became as still as a church
during prayer-time, ami I read the first three
H im * without a ]iaiise, and then read the
fourth:
’‘I 'mter his spurning frct the nwl
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
Ami the lamlseape bowed away tx innd.
Like an ix-ean dying before the wind;
And the sts-ed. like a lark, fed with fur
nace-ire
Swept on with his wild eve» full of Are;
But lo! he is nearing his heart’s deeire.
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray
With Sheridan only live miles away.
“At this verse was finished the audiencn
broke into a tumult of applausa Then 1
read with all the spirit I could command:
“The first that the general saw were the
groups
Of straeglers, anil then the retreating troops;
Wliat was done—what to do—a glance told
him both.
And striking his spurs with a terrible oath,
He dashed down the lines ’mid a storiu of
hurrahs,
And the wave of retreat checked its course
there, because
The sight of the master compelled it to
pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger
was gray,
By the flash or his eyes and his nostrils’ play
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
‘I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester town to save the day.’
“The sound of my voice uttering the last
word hail not died away when cheer after
cheer went up from the great concourse that
shook the building to its very foundation.
Indies waved their handkerchiefs and men
their hats, until worn out with the fervor of
the hour. They then demanded the author’s
name and I pointed to Read, who was
sitting in a box, and he acknowledged the
verses. In such a setting and upon such an
occasion as I have been able only faintly to
describe to you, the poem of Sheridan’s ride
was given to the world. It was written in
about throe hours, and not a word was ever
changed after I read it from the manuscript,
except by the addition of the third verse,
which records the fifteen mile stage of the
ride.
“But there’s a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway, leading down;
And there, thro’ the flash of the morning
light,
A steed as bl k as the steeds of night
Was seen to , ss as with eagle flight;
As if he knew e terrible need,
He stretched av. ' with the utmost speed;
Hills rose and fel - but his heart was gay,
W ith Sheridan fifteen miles away.
“This Mr. Read wrote while on his way,
shortly after I first read the poem, to attend
a birthday reception to William Cullen
Bryant.
“Mr. Read read the poem, thus completed,
at Mr. Bryant’s birthday party. The great
old man listened to every line of it, and then,
taking the younger poet by the band, said
with great warmth:
“ ‘That poem will live as long as Lochin
var.
THE SAW-DUST BING.
NAT1VAL COSTUMES PASSING
AWAY.
Notes From an Interview With a
Circus Manager.
THE pjrrRESQUE AND STRIKING IS BE-
INO^JCCEEDED BY THE PRODUCT 0»
THI*TEAM-DR1VEN LOOM.
Biff Rieka and Large Salaries'---Cir
cus Vocation* From a Humani
tarian Point of View—-
Hard Work.
[New York Sun.]
Circus equestrianism demands a peculiar
aptitude, and even with that, many years of
patient study and laborious practice before
excellence can be attained. People outside
the business wonder sometimes at the seem
ingly large salaries we get. They do not
know how hardly and at what risks they
are efirned, and what has been gone
through to qualify for them. It takes seven
or eight years steady work, in public during
summers and in private through the winters,
for a young man or woman to become suf
ficiently proficient to earn more than a mere
living salary. Season after season their com
pensation increases slowly, according to the
progress they make in their art. Asd all the
while they are in training, and after they
have attained the long-contended-for prize of
a good position, they are liable at any mo
ment to be thrown out of work and perhaps
crippled for life, by the stumble of a horse,
the slipping of a foot, an unlucky wrench in
the air, the momentary carelessuess of a t»an
ner holder, that prosaic and common fiend,
the rheumatism, or some other one of many
hazards to which they are daily exposed.
Should they not be well paid to counterbal
ance such contingencies?
I could tell yuu of a charming young wo
man, the daughter of an old circus man, w ho,
three or four years ago, as the result of prac
tice from almost her infancy, seemed to
have a brilliant future in the ring before her.
All who saw her ride said she was bound to be
the American equestrian queen, for she had
all the requisites of grace, daring, skill, and
l>eauty. One day she met with an accident,
an unlucky fall from a badly-trained horse.
It might have been more serious in some
respects, but certainly not so far as her pros
pects were concerned. When she got well
leecher Talk* About the Greatness she was found to have a slight but incurable
limp, enough to quite unfit her for ever rid
of the Month.
“In Texas 1 told the people that their state ing in the ring again. On the street, or on
was big enough for three, and they held up th a stage, where she found employment at
their hands in horror and said: ’No, only one quarter of what she could have earned
one state.’ I said: ‘Gentlemen, there are at in the ring, you would not notice any defect
least six citizens who will want to be senators in her walk, but she can never again safely
of the United States, and they will tie more stand upon the back of a horse or leap over a
powerful than your desire to keep the state banner.
“Do riders ever take apprentices? Well,
in its present form.’ In Texas as in every
one of the southern states where I lectured I occasionally, but rarely in this country. They
was received with more than hospitality— are shy of it. Teaching a boy or girl to ride
with cordiality, and the managers of the lec is a very long job, generally a thankless and
ture tour had no reason to complain. I do seldom a profitable one. A parent will teach
not desire to go among a people more friendly. his own children, of course, and the best
I spoke in every one of the southern states riders come from old circus families in which
through which I passed, and I had not the riding may be said to have become a heredi
most remote conception that I should be so tary trait, and learning the business of the
well received. There are a great many fool ring is commenced in childhood and is com
ish people in the south. There are some in the paratively easy for them. Others get into it
north, but I was surprised and delighted to by degrees, knocking around a circus as help
see how all the people had survived the sec ers of some sort, or as tumblers, and so on
tional feeling. The war and all its issues are working their way to riding if they feel that
substantially forgotten, and they are busy in that is their vocation. There are some ap
building up again what had been wasted and prentices, but not many. One thing that
destroyed, and there is now more material mitigates against them is that the law respect
wealth in the south than there ever was. I ing the public employment of children pres
appealed to audience after audience, if they vents their doing anything for their teachert
could, would they bring back slavery, aud until years after they should commence thek
there was not a single instance where they training. A child may sell papei-s in tie
did not say that they were delivered from a streets, suffer hunger and cold, be blighted h
great curse and that they would not bring soul and ruined in body, and that is nil
it back again. I hail no trouble in speaking righty from the 8. F. T. P. O. C. T. C. poiit
there, and when I told them that I hoped of view, but it is monstrously and out
Gen. Butler would be the Democratic nomi rageously wrong for it to do a little dance or
nee for president they received it with good a perfectly safe tumbling act on a carpet in
nature, as you do. More than that young the Ting, or, as it gets older, to go around the
men in the south who used to have their liv ring standing on the broad pad of a perfectly
ing as pleasure-seekers are now workers. trained, sure old horse, where it is just as se
Manufacturing is springing up so generally cure from harm as it would be in be 1. It
that the attention of political economists has is long after childhood, after the years in
been directed to it and they are going to show which the law protects them, that they are,
that untaxed industry in this land can take if at all, put to the dangerous work of the
care of itself. I also found in the south great profession, or even allowed to attempt it. The
interest in schools. They don’t fare as well in risks they knowingly take in their daily
this respect as we do in the north, but the I work, and the consciousness that at any mo-
wish of the people is for schools and they are 1 ment they may be made dependent upon the
pushing them out iu every direction. The kindness of others, undoubtedly have that ef
pr > cts of the south are admirable in that fect upon them, and there is not one real per
dir .oil, and I can say the same as regards former worthy of the name who would treat
religion. New Orleans is retaining its old a child with wanton cruelty. If you bear of
one who jabs a boy with an elephant prod or
ascendancy as a commercial centre.
“As regards the negro, 1 received testi wilfully jerks him off a horse to hurt him,
mony most welcome. The colored people are you may set it down that that fellow is no
increasing. The mixture has declined good in the ring himself. Oh, no; I’m not
through the south: the white folks are white specially alluding to that Forepaugh case,
and the black folks are black. We are not Dn just speaking in a general sort of way.
“How are beginners taught to ride for the
going to have as much mixture as we used to.
Well, at first with the mechanic, a
Education is going on and the southern peo
ple of good sense and feeling are desirous of long arm that sticks out from the centre pole,
having the black people educated. When the from the end of which dangles a rojis gmtened
colored people own land they prosper. Tho to a belt around the learner’s waist atbne end
white jieople object to selling it to them, and and the other end in the teacher’s hold. The
for the same reason that people in New York pupil stands on a broad pad on the horse’s
and Brooklyn do not like to sell land to be back, and the supporting arm goes around as
occupied by an objectionable class. I was the horse goes. So long as the pupil keeps
asked as to my views about social equality. I his balance there is no strain on the rope.
replied that the theory of religion was that When he tumbles off, or is likely to, the rope
all men wore equal, but that practice indi steadies and sustains him. It gives confidence,
cated that social equality should begin at and that is its principal use, but it also pre
home, that men should grow into relation vents falls. When the pupil can stand well
For
ships that are necessary. The road of the without it its use is abandoned.
colored people up to equality is bv intelli a long time nothing is attempted but
gence, virtue and religion, and they are to teach the pupil to stand easily, safely on
traveling on that road. I believe that they the horse, and to balance himself gracefully
have achieved, liberty, responsibility and as to the horse's stride. Then he learns to do
the same riding back ward, which is harder.
much social equality as is good for them.”
Then he jumps up a little, an meh or two
How lie Fought the Rheumatics.
only, and keeps at it until tho fact is im
[Chicago Herald. ]
bedded in his mind that he takes bis forward
In a Detroit hotel I met a warped, wiggly impetus from the horse and only has to jump
man, who said he had been all twisted up by up and not forward, and for that the me
the rheumatics. “Great God!” he axclaimed, chanic probably has to be again brought in
“I have gone through a hundred hells. My play to save him from ugly tisnbles by his
fingers, you see, are pretty crooked, but ones jumping out over the horse's shoulder or on
they were all at right angles; every joint was his neck. Each thing must b» learned well
twisted out of true. But the worst was in my before a new thing is taekled, and nothing
legs; my knees were the same way, and in learned must ever be allowed to lapse for
niy feet all the joints slipped past each other. want of practice. Slow work, you see. I’ve
For four years I suffered what cannot be no doubt it would be easier to learn Greek—
described, every moment praying for death. would for a Greek, any way,
My only relief was business, and I kept right
“Where do tnese lessons go on during
on buying timber land and working camps the winter!
In severe! places about
when I would have given the whole state of New York, such as Stone's, down in
Michigan to be iu hell, just for relief. I Jersey, and fiokes's, in Fordham, and
made *8,000 one day in a timber trade; it was Carroll’s, in Westchester; but the most
one of my worst days.and if the *3,000 hadn't perfect in all is the one Barnum has
encouraged me a bit I certainly should have in his wintering buildings up at Bridgeport.
committed suicide. ”
All these establhhments are fa constant ac
tive use through the wiuter, often engaged
A Hotel or a Fort T
by performers tor certain hoars each day for
[Chicago Herald.]
On writing of military titles in the west, a seasons ahead. You see, we have to supply
San Francisco journalist is reminded of the our own perfuming horses, and not only
visit of an English lord to Sacramento during keep our old oses up to their work, but edu
a session of the legislature many years ago. cate new one as the old wear out. A good
never
His lordship put up at the Orleans. His cold-blooded horse, one that
chaperon intn-duced him to CoL J. Y. Me gets nervous or excited, doesn’t break
his
gait,
Mow» ciough not to step on
Huffy, Gen. Wright. Commodore Farragut,
Col. Gift. Gef. A Ueu. Adj. Gen. Drum, Col. bis rider shoild he fall, ’ h (the sense to feel
if
the
rider
ntkee
a so
It a little ont of
Kewen. M»j. Jack Stratman. Col. Bowie.
t as he comes
Gen. James A. McDougall, and so on, when true, and »war to catch hi
valuable to us,
his lordsbiiiasked him. “Lad, is this a hotel down—that »>rt of a ho
and to get ■« that way
ust work a long
or is it a bloody old fort !’
while with hm. That w« ve got to prac-
✓
-------------------------- -
Marrow
tice oorselwe you know
■ady. I'm at
Colorado has 2,000 miles of narrow gauge work now, and shall b* until the season
roads in operation; Texas has 1,190; Mexico, opens, get tig up in something new that I
1,100; Arinina has 700 under construction expect willnake a sei
n if I don't break
my neck atit before I
chance to show
an<i Utah abofa 1,000 projette!,
it in public”
non (Mich
(Ml * ) ladies' brass bond ia a
The Albion
flourishing inrtitution.
has no mûrier
eai ù a widow with nine
day*
Foreif jUor. St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
W1 B the second empire began—and
that i Ims but yesterday—there were
costu es everywhere and the wearers
were fond of them, In Paris itself
the d prent classes dressed in marked
contt |t one with the other. The gri-
settei id shop girl wore a plain linen
cap 'jliout ribbons, a gray or browa
dresijof inexpensive material, made
shor,; and changing little with the
chan^ng fashions. This cheap outer
dreSi permitted her to be fault
less/ neat in cap, collar, cuffs and foot-
gea. No one was more attractive than
she certainly not the tine lady of that
day with the ridiculous pile of false
hai And the balloon petticoat. At that
daf> nothing would have induced the
grifltte or the shop-woman to wear a
hator bonnet; those were only for fine
lndfls or women of lost character, and
to nt on such a thing would be to lose
case with honest working people. The
ina*on at the head of an establishment
woe ribbons in her cap, the working
gir plain linen. Long, however, be
fore th* empire ended the grisette had
disz>peared. In her place there was a
creiure in a hat, a dress cut more or
iestfin the fashion, and these had cost
so auch there was too little left for
clt«n linen.
The charm had gone in
pa-i. but the Parisienne, the cleverest
wtRiau in the world, still made the best
oja bad bargain.
In most European countries the
cringe has been fatal. The Bquare-
fi*ed Swiss girl in her cantonal hat,
lif laced bodice, her white skirt and
ilipgling silver was picturesque; the
sm-burned maiden of the Tyrol, strik-
iig and attractive iu her mountain
dipss and brigand-like pointed hat
(De lost sight of the thick ankles, the
ourse, red hands and heavy figure in
tie effect of the costume.
Jn Italy, especially in the central
pjrtion, each village had its dress,
<ften differing widely from that worn
Plow miles away. There was a sandal
if a single thickness of leather and
»und with thongs; the skirt and bod
in:, of bright but simple dye, falling in
[lastic folds; the white under-waist;
tie folded linen head-dress; the em-
ttoidered apron of contrasting color.
®d the ear-rings and necklace for hol-
ilays. In these possibly pretty girls
looked charming, and even the course
peasant woman not unattractive. In
their Manchester prints or draggle-tail
.gowns with their great feet thrust into
brogans, that are absolutely without
charm, even in the flower of their
youth, by middle age they are hideous.
Iu a few countries, most of them far
from the centre of Europe, the national
dress still lingers. Still the charming
Spaniard clings to her graceful, float
ing head-dress; but coquetry and a de
sire to please, which seems absolutely
wanting in the average Italian, is the
native gift of the women of the Iberian
peninsula, and in no part of the world
do they deserve, or receive, more
romantic devotion. In Madrid, much
the least national of her cities, the bon
net is seen, elsewhere seldom.
The costumes of France, Belgium
and Holland are gone. No more does
the prim Frieslander wear her strange
cap with the golden plates beneath;
but, far in the north, in the remoter
parts of Norway, though the divss be
awkward, a bit of color and a certain
quaintness still may be seen. Ivan
Ivanovitch, th« Moujik, and his family
still put on Russian garb, but it is born
too far north for grace or beauty.
In Turkey there lingers a touch of
Oriental grace in garments. The Mo
hammedan man has largely lost his
flowing robes, and is little different
from the man of central Europe, ex
cept in the red cap, which lie never
removes, but in the provinces it is
different. Still^is
“The wilil Albanian kirtled to the knee
With shawl-girt-head and ornamental gun,
And gold-embroidered garments, fair to see,
Still do the women wear their eastern
garb; still the Grecian maidens weave
their gold and silver doweries amidst
their midnight tresses; but “Italia! oh,
Italia!” when the Manclie^ter-print
gown, the machine-born brogue and the
ready-made clothes-man invaded your
shores they dealt a blow at your “gift
of beauty” such as Goth aud Hun and
Tartar dealt of old to the once bound
less heritage of the Civsars. The land
is lovely still; the skv is blue, art still
lives; in the south the men are often
picturesque, but the women, who should
be as the sonl of all this beauty of
nature, are no longer fair to look upon;
have even lost the ordinary instinct or
desire toplease.
AN OLD WOMAN DEFYING THE
LOCOMOTIVE.
Peck's Sun.
“Well, sir.” said an engineer, as he
took a doughnut, “all these accidents
occur just by people trying to be smart.
I have segn hundreds of farmers who
would stojj their teams far enough
away from', train, so there would be
no danger, »ut about one in ten acts as
though he owned the earth, and if he
gets the hind end of his wagon over, he
thinks he has achieved something re
markable. I expect to kill a woman
out here about 100 miles one of these
days. She drives an old black mare
and I think pie lays for a train. She
sees the train coming and slaps the old
mare with the lines and hurries on tho
track, and the old mare stops as though
she was going to eat grass, and then
the old lady looks at me in the cab
window, through her spectacles, slaps
the old mare some more, and she
meanders off the track just before I hit
her, and the old lady looks back at me
just as the engine whirls past, and my
heart is in niy mouth, and she looks
just as though she thought I was run
ning that way for fun. and that I am an
impolite thing, because I don’t slack up
for her. Some day the marsh out there
is going to have a shower of black mare
ami buggy wheels and spectacles, and
there will be crape on the old lady's
door, and instead of a verdict of suicide
the coroner's jury will blame the en
gineer, and her relatives will sue th<
company for damages."