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lioetrp.
BY WM. If. VAN 'NOP:MICK.
Ohl why should Labor be oppressed.
Andttreed absorb wealth re whole supply ?
Why should the toiler be distressed 7
Echo ever answers " why :"
Why should the demon of despair
Flit lowly homes with sorrow's cry?
Why should proud lordl I ngs richly face?
Echo loudly answers " why !"
W by ahould the widow fignander health
Aud yet, for food her children cry?
Mee, her oppressor rolls In wealth—
Echo, sighing, Inquires " why 7 "
The lone girl burns the midnight oil
To get of food a scant supply ;
Rave mammon fattens on her toll,
And echo's voice Inquires " why?'
Why should Zhu rich their collerm
And competence (ruin Labor fly'?
Why should the poor grow poorer eitill?
Echo, eJustant,answero why!"
Why should the strong man spend Ids years
To see old age and want draw nigh ?
Why should his hopes all end In teal s?
Echo ever answers" why !"
No more cringing, no more fawning
1,0 ! the blackened shadow. fly;
Labor's morn IN surely LiNNUIIIg:
Echo ceases to reply.
ftliscrtlaneotts.
Ugly Barbara: . Or, a Woman's Heart
" Upon my word, Barbara, I think 1
you grow uglier every day !" said Earn
est, Etherington, coollyots lie lighted
..r. r.
his .igar at the softly shining light be
nea h the rose-colored glass shade, and
SU eyed his tall cousin as he did so.
Barbara 'Moyle shrank ;back as if he
had dealt tier au actual corporeal blow.
Poor Barbara! She had been watching
all day for the tardy train to bring het
handsome cousin from college. She
had brushed her hair so carefully, and
selected the very prettiest white dress,
trimmed with blue ribbonS, from her
whole scanty wardrobe, because she
had once heard Earnest say that he
liked , white and hung the coral drops
that Uncle Montague had sent tier Irmo
India, in her ears; and this was his
verdict, after all.
" I can't help it. !" cried Barbara, pas
sionately, while every drop of blood
that was in her body seemed to concen
trate Itself in her burning cheeks. "1
know l'in a great, ugly, gawky thing;
but you I ,ughtn't to twit me with it,
cousin Earnest.''
Mrs. Etherington, kind, motherly
soul that she was, was iii the dining
room, busy with preserves and tarts in
numerable to tempt her newly arrived
soil's appetite, when Barbarii rushed in
like a whirlwind.
"Aunt Ellie, tell tue ; um I so cow
ugly
't loodness gracious!" cried Mrs.
Etherington, nearly upsetting a glass
dish of quince jelly in her amazement.
" What has collie to the child': What
ou mirth do you mean, Barbara ?"
" Earnest says I'm uglier than ever,"
sobbed the tall, ungainly girl, as she
sunk despairingly on the cushions in
front of the looking glass.
" He's only teasing you, dear. - "'
" No, he's not. Ile is speaking the
truth. But I don't think he ought to
tell me Ho."
Barbara surveyed herself with dolor
ous earnestness. A swarthy, not to say
muddy complexion heavy brown hair,
arranged very unbecomingly, 111111 great
wine-dark eyes; lips too thick for beau
ty, and features whose heavy mould,
however much it might promise 1•ot' the
future, \Vas CCrtnillly grolequely 1111.1p
propriate Mr a girl of lifteen--all
these returned no answering delight.
" I tun ugly," sighed Barbara, " and
Earnest only spoke the truth. Oh,
Aunt Effie, I wish I were a man. Au
ugly woman is like a soundless instru
ment or colorless flowers. Men can
light against their own fate, and make
themselves a place in the world; wo
men are utterly hopeless."
And from that time Barbara .Moyle•s
character seemed to undergo a change,
imperceptible yet entire. She with
drew more within herAelf; she cultiva
ted mental resources, and depended less
upon the companionship and approval
4.f others.
" Dear me!" sighed kind Aunt Eth
e•iugton, " l only hope our Barbara
isn't growing strong-minded. If she
should turn public lecturer or artist or
authoress, I really don't know how I
could stand it."
" Let her alone, mother," said Earn
est, "All girls have to undergo a transi
tion state, and I always thought there
was more than common in little Bar
hara. If chic wasn't so ugly, I really
should gel interested in her. I always
did like to iitudy character."
" Well," Mrs. Etheringlon dubi-
, .
misty, "she handsome, but for all
that 1 don't htiow how I could spare
Barham."
I do n't
I;\' e him," said Barham
Nloyle immediately to herself, "lout 1
shall accept, him. I want to prove to
Earnest. that there is sortie one who
thinks me not, absolutely frightful."
A dangerous et:pc:intent., Barbara,
and one that many at Wiritelli wiser than
you httn lived to repent. MarriageS from
pique are the marriages which divorce
courts with sorrowful tales and blighted
hearts.
But Barbara confided her secret senti
ment to no one, and Mrs. Etherington
wrote a long account to Earnest, now
lounging among the ruins of Pompeii
and llenmlaneuin, of what a brilliant
match Barbara WILY abolll to make.
Earnest a rote back a congratulatory let
ter, and sent a lovely set of pink Neapol
itan coral,' which Barbara never once
put 00. 0.1. Allston made an "old
man's darting" of her, and site had no
laek'of brilliant jewels to wear.
And yet liarbara was miserable.
" said Mrs. Etherington one
evening, as she sat in the room which
Mrs. Allston had just entered, dressed
for a party, in cream-colored silk and
diamonds, "do you know how you have
changed durl the past year? I never
in my life saw . nch an alteration lirany
MR.." . . .
.1
-lave I ?" aid liathara, hidiffert
Yet, :is she looked in the ght,i, she
could nil help hut see it herself.
I wonder 11 . 1.:A.111,A 11,111 d 111111 k me
now"'ugly she said, strivieg to speak
lightly, but with it concealed tremor 111
11.1 *
" Ugly' " rclneed NI re. Etherington,
" why, Barbara, you arc, beautiful!"
tifie was 'rile large features were In
harmony 'limy with the rest. of the face,
lie complexion had cleared toil creamy
softiies., with roses blooming on her
cheeks and carnations ill her lips; the
tut-brown hair drooped In satin waves
011 either Side or her head and the
large wine-dark Gyre were full of shad
owy mysterious depths, beneath their
fringed Ills. Yes, Barbara saw that
she 1111.14 ruitt• to limit upon, Anil In r
wo
uman'hew•l rejoiced within her.
As she turneil, stately std jeWld-
deck rd, like au oriental Sultana' l
she
saw that stranger had teret the
l'lll , lll 1111111111.1111Ve11,1111111111111 , 1 RS it root,
cd to the Item, closed to the dour-way.
" Ves, !Ant Earnest Elherington," he
answered, shading his eyes, uc ir dazzled
by t4lllllO 10:V1'411401i VINI in " "hut par•
don me ; I was told my cousin Barbara
in veil here."
rs. ?diged to Init. feet.
" Earnest, is It possible Lind you don't
know voted 11 '."'
The tilinpleneatite to lbalittra'scheeks,
the radiant saltness to her eyes; this
wits a triumph worth having. tine ail.:
vatteed vidllt gracious gracefulness,
" I tun Barbara.
And she saw in his eyes the marvel-
MIS changes wrought by the inserula•
ble old alchemist, Time.
That night when Barbara came home
and sat before her mirror, unclasping
diamond, llilet and bracelet, and loosen
ing the dusky waves of her superb hulr,
and saw the peaceful face and white
hairs of old Col. Allston on the pillow
beyond, she put her hand suddenly to
her heart. Wait it u sudden pang? was
It reitionie ? or wits It conselousness, all
too, of the inlstalce mile had made? Dld
she discover then, fur the first time, that
She had loved Earnest Etheringtou all
these years, and that at lust he was her
captive?
Rising softly, she crept across the vel
vet piled carpet, and knelt silently be
side the pillow, pressing her ripe-red
lips against the scattered Iron-gray
locks.
" i never thought of this," shepo.ider
ed. "No ; never dreamed what
might collie to me when I beheld him
once more. But oh !my husband, man
ly and tender, from whose lips 1 never
yet heard an unkind word ; my noble,
loving guardian and protector, I wit/. be
true to thee!"
And Barbara's vow was registered in
the high heaven above.
When she waked the next mornigg,
•he servants were tapping at her door
iL 4 )
vv
VOLUME 72
with confused utterance and white
frightened faces.
" Master had failed In a lit or some- ,
thing."
He had not begun to drink his coffee
at the solitary breakfast, which was hls
usual habit, when his features grew
rigid, and he fell from his chair, dead.
And before the sunset of the short
Winter day reddened the West, Bar
bara was free.
A year afterward,, when she stood at
the altar a second time, her hand in that
of Earnest Etherington, It seemed as if
her past life had been but a dream—as
if she were now beginning to exist for
the first time In reality.
"Earnest," she whispered to him, as
he led her to the carriage; "do you re
member how you used to tease me about
being ugly
" What makes you think of that just
now, Miami - a?" he asked, smiling.
" I don't know; it all seems tcecome
hack to me like a vision. Earnest, it
may be very wicked, but I think I loved
you all the time, ungainly, awkward
child though I was."
" My queen," he murmered, satly.
A Bewitching Witch
Unpulandted ettnpler from l'Arly
new England
venial the New York .s.uaday 11",rbi.]
Notwithstanding the beet efftrts of
the New Englund private publishing
associations, biographical, genealogioal,
and antiquarian societies to print
everything they can lied concerning
the early history of their section of the
country, very many important, docu
ments elude their search. IL was the
good fortune of the wilier to recently
discover in New Haven an ancient
musty manuscript, giving a detailed ac
count of the trial and execution for
wilelteraft of a yowl , woman named
Puri mee Delight. Trds document is
the nime curious because commonly
only weather-beaten old hags were
summoned Mr that otti•use. 1 ant of
the impression that this case is the sole
one on record describing the conviction
of a handsome girl -as the prisoner evi
dently
The manuscript commences ; " A
trew account of the triall of Patience
Delight, spinster, daughter of Called
to Grace Delight and Affection his
wife. May 24, 11;02. This being the
day sett twilit for the trial! of thatalro
chins leaguer with Salton', I tuck broth
er Condemned Fish and Reverend Re
member Lot's• Wife Parkenson to sit
with lire in judgment, we being thereto
specially commissioned. opened court
in the meet'n house with prayer. The
pris'ner was brought in by the sheriff
•thickly vailed so that Sathan might not
prevail upon the court, thro' her devil
ish eyes, and her :trine straitly HIM tied."
The usual formalities being gone
through with, there was read the affi
davit, of a man named Ilavery, who
seems to have been the principal wit
ness against her. It was-as follows:
" I Was lip into toy broad hollow wood
lot, cloast by (lowly Delight's mother
of pris'ner, felled a hickory, and sate
thereof resting and meditating. Then
collies a certain rustlin' in the bushes
hard by, and turning my bead, lo! I
see, thorow the tanglements, two sharp
piercing eyes that overcame ale with a
strange dread. I thought first it should
be a wild catte, or a painter the sharp
'loss thereof was so severe. lint reach's
for my axe and rising up, I see pris'ner
pluck'n berries. She looked at me again
and then looks away, and thereupon
was I seized with unaccountable desire
to keep looking at her, and could in no
wise keep lily eyes from looking at her.
Which the tempter seeing, and wax
ing bold, she sided' good evenen to
ine with Mach sweetness of voice that
ran like tingling oil of Egyp thorow my
marrow. She keeps pick'n and look'n,
and shuten Into my body the most dis
trusting contagion, insomuch that I was
near beside myself. Presentlie, on pre
tense of pluckin' berries, she comet h to
where I sate, still shutell at me with
her eyes, and when she comes cloast by
me, restraining grace was utterly ban
ished out of me, and I was wholly pos
sessed with the devil. harken not to
my weakness, but to the power of sill.
Then saied I, 'Patience, hoW (old art
thou ?' And she answered and said,
'Sixteen years and nlue months, worthy
sir.' rhen Sathan takes my hand and
makes me to lay hold On her, and draw
her to settle by my side. She struggles
and makes outcrie, and sales she, "The
loan is bewitched.' .'Yes,' sides I, 'and
thou art the witch that bath bewitched
me, and thou shalt cure thine own pois-
son.' Then did I press her upon my
breast-bones, whereupon she uplifts vio
lent clamour, and I know not what else
goes on, until my brother, Condemned
Fish, passing by, comes up and elappes
we ou the shoulderre, saying, 'Hula !
brother Davery, what's the matter
And at the touch of that holy man Sa
then departed out of me strait-way.
Sworn in open court this 24 May, 1092
[Signed,'
PERSEVERE TO THE END HAVERY.
Precious Smith, Head Deputie."
This estimable individual was follow
ed by "the young men Barnabas Ware
Boaz Daniels and Walk Meekly Smith.'
. - -
They testified that the prisoner had fas
cinated them at sundry times and in
divers manners. "Sided Barnabas sai th,
last Sabbath two weeks ago'he couldn't
keep his eyes oil pris'ner all meetin'
time. Sated Boaz saieth for several
months he bath been constrained, de
spite of all that he could do, when he
went into meetiu' to look for pris'ner,
and that alwaies a look from her went
thorow him and tilled him with dred
rut treinulation. That the fascination
was paineful, but nutheless full of
delight. Witness saieth it was like
the priekin' of pins all over but
when he searched there was none to
be found. Walk Meekly Smith saieth
that he went to borne with pris-
ner from singin' schoole two weeks
agoe. That he did so because he was
thereto fascinated, and she moved him
by her behavior so to do, having state
by his side in
. schoole and singin' out
of his booke, and that he had near done
the like before, being a youth aged
only nineteen years and subject to his
father. That, there was nothin' iii
pris'ner's walk and manner that night
which might show forth the presence
of the Detail ; only the etinninge put
tinge on of modestie, and lookin'
strange sorts of earnest looks thorow
her eyelashes bent down, and as it were
resting on tier cheeks, which were
seemingly all in a glow of devilish lire.
Hut next day, and ever since, witnesse
hall been sore distressed with losse of
appetite and melancholic., and constant
desire to be in companies with pris'ner,
but Is afraid to touch her. Anil he
swears she bath bewitched him."
Neal came a woman witness. Huth
Daniels being sworn testifies that she
knows that prisoner huth bewitched
Walk-meekly Smith, fur that he now
shun nes witness, whereas he used to be
familiar and good friends, being wit
ness' third cousin. That last Sabbath
week, in the nieetin', prisoner tried to
fascinate witness. Witness looked at
pris o ner to rebuke her for not minding
to this discourse. Pris'ner turned up
her nose anti gave her such a nerve look
that witness was fascinated to take up
the hyfun-boolte and was near about to
throw It at pris'nor's head,
After her came brother Condemned
Fish who said that lie remembered the
witness uplifting the book and how lie
stayed her rush hand. l ie concluded
by abruptly asking," Is not this enough?
Shall we not suddenly seize the tempter
and cast out Sathan from among us ? "
" Thereupon," continues the manu
scripts, " up starts pris'ner and thrower
the veil oil her head with Incredible
diligence and fury, and cries out to the
Jury in a loud voice " Worthy sirs,
take heed how ye give trust to false
counselle, and be not swift to stain
your skirts with guiltless blood. I pro
tege to the Lorde I am Innocent of this
thinge. Would you put to death Su•
sannah and Justlly the lying elders:"'
—with more of such bold assurance.
"Then it was plaine to see how Sathan
struggled within her, so that Mr. Fish
goes up and spat In her face, and charged
him to come out of her, and covered up
her head."
After this there was but little more to
be done. Upon such unimpeachable
testimony she was of course found guilty
and sentenced to death. The account
ends with these words : "Judgment be
ing passed, the people took her to a con
venient tree hard by and burned her
with lire, while we all exalted songs of
triumph which well nigh drowned the
cry of Beelzebub yelling with her
voice."
The 2(1 inst. was the 131st anniversary
of the occupancy of the first house iu the
borough of Nazareth, in Northampton
county—the lirst building erected in the
place, having been made ready to move
into on the 2d of November, 1710.
Tailorlanai Or, Scintillations from the
Bhopboard
[ CONCLUSION. 1
" Nine Tailors Make a Man."
It Is related that eighteen tailors,on one
occasion, were seated around a table lu
an ale-house in the suburbs of Loudon,
leisurely imbibing, smoking and chat
ting, when a cord-waluer came in, took
a seat ut another table, and called for a
mug of ale. Of course, as be was the
only other individual In the room, ex
cept the host, he became " the obsepved
of all ,observers," and also provoked
some—perhaps unnecessary—criticism,
on the part of the tailors. At this,
the
disciple of St. Crispin became offended,
for some men become ofkuded much
sooner when you talk at them, than
when you talk to them. After " toss
ing off" his ale, pulling down his waist
coat, knitting his brow, and assuming a
very erect position, he strode to the door,
and after he had passed fairly out, he
suddenly turned round and faced his
adversaries, and with upraised arm and
clenched fist, he indignantly exclaimed
—" Come out here, if you dare, I can
lick both of you." Men seldom indulge
in witticisms when they are in a pas
sion ; but, this cord-waiver, no doubt,
kit that that he could retaliate in no
more effective way, than to cast into
their teeth, that there were only two
mut at the board—oil the principle that
it takes " nine tailors to make a man,"
--and that consequently, a tailor, is
only the ninth-part of a man •
if (I'm!, it might have beeW-Alemon
strated to a mathemalicah certainty;
how much farther our late President of
the United States would have "swung
around," and how much of the British,
Provinces, Sandwich blunts, Mexico,
Central and South America, \Vest In
dies and Ireland, would have been in
cluded iu the "circle;" and how ninth
a greater thorn he might have beeni it
the sides of his political adversaries, if
he had been a ugiob, man. In making
- _
this calculation, on the same premises,
charity should also have dictated how
far lie ought to t-•e held responsible for
any evil he may be presumed to have
done, and how fur those ought to be held
responsible, who inflict , fl his official ad
vent upon the country.
The adage that "nine tailors make
a man," carries with it no reflection
upon the physical or social manhood of
tailors, when the sentence is analyti
cally examined. It is only the present
t. /LW restatement of a pot ten., propo
sition —namely, that "nine tailors math
a limn," and is as simple in its construc
tion, and legitimate deduction, as--Mne
carpenters built a house ; if it be true,
that the origin of the saying, is in std.-
stanff, anything like the following.
It is said that nine tailors— possibly
nine of the same party alluded to in our
first anecdote—were having a little so
cial piemic, on a summer afternoon, in
the vicinity of London—every thing of
this kind seems to originate there—when
they were approached by a mendicant,
who asked for alms. As they happened
to be in a happy and benevolent mood,
each one gave him a shilling; but as
the man seemed young and healthy
enough to earn a living by work, they
advised him to seek labor instead of
alms. Alter theumhe solar full /W
-ed theirjad vice as to invest his nine shil
lings in "motions," and commenced the
life of a small trader, which he contin
ued, daily increasing his business and
his stock, until his operations finally
culminated in a building of his own, a
large stock of goods, a' lucrative trade,
and an interesting family. Whet' re
lating his experiences, and especially
his beginnings i n life, this man did not
hesitate to declare that nine tailors had
made hint a man. 'Phis anecdote is
therefore apologetically put forward as
the origin of the saying—" nine tailors
make a man ;" just as we would speci
lit-ally say—nine machinists make an
engine, a form of speech which is very
common, in the rehearsal of transpiring
events, or those which hare transpired.
Whatever the origin of the saying may
have been, it is very evident that the
world in general does not understand it,
nor apply it, in the sense we have re
lated, or the perversion, that a !altar is
the ninth part of a man, could not have
been a legitimate deduction from the
saying.
However plausible the Voregoing
statement of the case may be, we
have reason to believe that this adage
did not originate iu anything of the
kind, but that it was really intended as
a burlesque reflection upon the sup
posed physical enervation of tailors as a
class, although we have never'been able
to see the justice of any such a conclu
sion, when so applied.
Dr. Cobham Brewer, in his Dielionarg
of Phrase (Ind Ih/,le, says, that in this
adage, the number nine is not meant in
its ordinary acceptation, but simply the
pluralof tailor, without relation to twin
tier. "As a tailor is not so robust and
powerful as the ordinary run of men, it
requires more than one to match a mall."
True,lailors as a class, are probably not
so robust and powerful as Blacksmiths,
Butchers, Stone-Masons, Draynien, or
other oat-door operatives, but then they
will compare favorably with cord wain.
ers, Clerks, Jewelers, Painters, and
other in door mechanics and profession
al men, so that this adage would be as
applicable to any of these latter classes,
as to tailors He also gives the follow
ing version of the supposed origin of the
saying, "There is a tradition that an
orphan lad, in 17-I'2, applied to a fash
ionable London tailor for alms. There
were nine journeymen in the establish
ment, each of whom contributed some
thing to set the little orphan up with a
fruit barrow. The little merchant in
time became rich, and adopted for his
motto, Nille tailors made me a man or
nine tailors make a man," lint adds,
that "this is certainly not the origin of
the expression," inasmuch as he till& a
similar one used by Dr. Taylor in his
works, a century before that date, and
referred to as an old standing even then.
:• ri s ie" " X‘o r ‘L 'i r k , ' t h titt. " o ti Tl ' e t
begiut
The general scope of the expression
seems to have been, that a tailor is so
uwch more feeble than another man,
that it would take nine of them to leak
IL Mae of average stature and strength.
Whatever the physical status a tail
ors then may have been, it is very evi
dent that they hail no mean opinion of
themselves, socially and politically, for
Canning says, that "three tailors of
Tooley street, Southwark, London, ad
dressed a petition of grievances to the
I Louse of Commons, beginning— Ws, 'he;
people of Enghold, aso., 10." OF course,
this implies the pr,minption, that the
tailors considered themselves the people
of England, and alleged that 'therefore
their grievances ought to be redressed,
even If such redress were to involve the
distress, or suffering, of all else lu
England besides, which Is the common
error, perhaps of all individual occupa
tions now. And, as If to verify such an
assumption, on the part of tailors, some
Inventive literary genius, has reversed
the4roposition, under consideration,
and declared that, Instead thereof, It
hikes nine Men h) Makre a tailor. Doubt•
lest) many a tailor would consider him
self made, If he had nine wealthy,
dressy, and fashionable customers, who
were Improvident enough to order a
suit of clothing, whenever he thought
they ought to have a new one. Wheth
er the inventive gallium aforesaid was a
tailor or not, is more than we are able
to say, but this we think we can say,
that the sequel will Illustrate that he
did not entertain a- merely pecuniary
Idea, but had reference to qualit,y—
that Is, that the tailor
_possessed the
qualities of nlue men. fleet—ns a par
doner, he was always solicitous of his
erop of cabbage. Second—as a woo/-
grower, he always had a deep Interest
In his shears. Third—as a Nailer, his
chief occupation was on board, 14Jurth
—as a landlord, he had ills profit In
rents. Fifth—am a shepherd, he WIN la.
ttmately related to his crook. Sixf/4
as arruotor, he could " make his (mites
with a bare bodkin." S'even'h—as a
law,yer, ills principal resource was in
suits. Eighth-1W u teacher, he had
much to do with our habits • and ninth
—as a doctor , he was remarkable for the
length of hhibills. We stop here, but
we could easily go on, and make it as
apparent that it takes nineteen men to
make a tailor, as nine, by a similar pro
cess. . .
As this will probably be the last paper
*The latest, most Ingenious, and perhaps
most original version of the origin of "Nine
tailors make a man," runs something in this
wise: An exceedingly "seedy customer" made
application to nine tailors for contributions to
his dilapidated wardrobe, in which he was en
tirely successful. One contributed a coat, an.
other pants a third a vest, a fourth a shirt, and
the remaining live a hut, a pair of boots, a pair
of hose, a pair of gloved, and a cravat. With this
outfit, the fellow—who was otherwise rather
prepossessing—was made sufficiently a man, to
afterwards woo and win a rich bride; and he
consequently always declared that "nine tail
ors had made hits a faun."
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING NOVEMBER 15, 1871
In the present series, we cannot con
clude it, without making some allusion
to nine as a mystic, or symbolic num
ber. Nine, consists of a trinity of trin
ities, and indicates perfection or com
pletion; therefore " - dressed up to the
nines," means perfection, from head to
foot. The "nine points in law" which
are considered necessary to success, are
a good deal of money ; a good deal of
patience ; a good cause ; a good lawyer;
a good counsel ; good witnesses ; a good
jury; a good judge; aud good luck. If
client should lose a case with all these
appliances, then there must be more
mysticism In the number nine, than ever
had been claimed far It by the most su
perstitious.
"Cat 0' nine tails"—was a kind of
whip, or instrument of punishment for
the hacks of evil-doers, from a supersti
tious notion that a flagging by a "trini
ty of trinities " would be both more sa
cred and more efficacious. Surely there
is as much philosophy in this, as there
is in that other notion, that because a
cal is more tenacious of life than other
mammals, therefore she must have
" nine lives." In " Rohm's Handbook
of Proverbs," we have the followin ex
planation of a " nine-days wonder" A
wonder lasts nine days, and then the
puppy's eyes are opened, alluding to
cats and dogs which are born blind. As
touch as to say that, the eyes of the pub
lic are blind lit astonishment tar Moe
days, at the development of some extra
ordinary event, but then their eyes are
opened, and they see Lou inuell to Wen
der longer. Dryden says,
hie win tides were they culled of different
rites,
Tim , Jews, t bees l'infites, and I lire Christian
fru
In allusion to Hector, Alexander and
J ulius Caisar ; Joshua, David, and Judas
Maccabeus ; Arthur, Charlemagne, and
Godfrey Bouillon, the nine historical
worthies of the ancient and mediaeval
world.
If we were to compose a cabal of the
representative worthies of the tailors'
craft, we might legitimately include
Charley Watson, Platt Evans, amPGetu
Scott, among its " crooks ; " Cooper
Dram, Jack Kirby, and Jim Beatty,
among its " tramps ; " and Steve Pies
ter, Jack 4"amptiell and Raw-edged
Wallace, among its " dawns," as a
" trinity of trinities," not easily re
produced, in all the distinctive spec
ialties that characterized those men;
therefore these way be regarded as "nine
worthies," without voting auy of the
ot hers as unworthy. Nine hundred owl
"in, 1,11-n inn, that Li thirty-(litre times
three-three, is the dual of a " trinity of
trinities," and is the period for which
leases used to be granted, and for which
in certain cases they are granted even at
the prerent day, but more frequently for
ninety-nine years ; either of which pe
riods is almost equal to an unqualified
ownership, save in the single matter of
conveyance. But nine has many other
symbolical signifleancies, not pertinent
to the subject of this paper.
Having now reached the tail of our
subject, it may be considered a legiti
mate question—" Whence comes the
term Tailor 1" It has been facetiously
answered thus ; A garment maker, with
his apprentices and journeymen, were
all seated under a shade tree busily oc
cupied in their work, when a famished
sow rushed in among them, seized one
of the apprentices and bore hint oft' to
make a meal of him at her leisure. The
whole party joined in the pursuit to
rescue the apprentice, aud when one of
the journeymen came up with the sow,
the master cried out "tail her"—that is,
catch her by the tail. This being ac
complished, the abducted "small boy"
was rescued from the porcine savage,
and by a contrmition of the lucky sug
gestion of the master, the word f tailor
was derived, and afterwards applied as
'the distinctive cognomen of the craft.
This, however, WOU Id imply that the
term had un English origin, when we
know that the word Talliezir was applied
to garment-makers among the French,
probably before the English, us a dis
tinctive language, had "a local habita
tion and a name." The French name
- - _
is derived from Miller, which means to
cut. In the Italian language, it is My
!lure, and in the Irish, it is Tallunt. In
deed, we have further reason to believe
that the term has its origin in culler or
to cul, from the fact that in German, a
tailor is called a Schneider, which means
a culler. The French term was proba
bly introduced into England at the time
of the "conquest" of William, Duke of
Normandy, who afterwards became
William 1. and made the French, the
legal language . of his realm. It is there
fore very probable, that there was no
distinct and comprehensive term that
covered the profession of—" one whose
occupation is to cut and make clothing"
—anterior to the French term tallier.
'the Latins had a surtur, from curios,
which means "patched up, stitched to
gether, mended, repaired." They also
nad sarci tutor, which means "a botcher,
or mender of old garments ;" and res.
liarius,or vodiarian, from restiarium—"s,
wardrobe, a press, or a chest, for ap
parel." In view or all this, there can
be no impropriety iu those who feel
French, think French, and look French,
adopting time French term luilhur,as the
name of tlndr chosen profession.
G RA NTELLUS.
fit has also I,,•en suggested thst the teen,
tartar come!,iroln tad, because they made gar
ments with tails to 111e111; but this eau baldly
be so, for the term originated long htdore eat.
talk were the days when s Burt
spencers wlth slashed sleeves, uud she died sad
putry sluall.elothes, mid trills, and short man
tles, were woru. Besides, there Is no garment
that Milers have ever !nude, that eau he saki
to have lead late, except perhaps the "tlght-
, . .
body" "dress-coat - and that oppenuage,
event In these, has always been culled a skirt.—
Such an applimlion al the present day would
be exceedingly absurd. What part of the rack•
rout, ice Instance. constitutes tine Lan ? or any
thing like a tail ?—espeetally those abort, at
li~irs, With llbuliL siX Inches of line dirty seat of
a tit ream burs pair nut tureenulles "slick - lug out'
below.
Decidedly Good
Will Carleton, the rising young poet,
n au editorial:poem, thus tells bow a
'armor took a youngster of his to a
- minting-office to be made into an edi
or, being It for nothing else.
The editor sat in his sanctum, and
ooked the old roan in the eye.
Them glanced at the grinning young
lopeful, And mournfully . mad,. :11,1 re
I y
434411 u ,I11:111
ion of Moses and Solomon Loth':
Can he compass his spirit with meek
ness, and strangle a natural oath?
Can he leave all his wrongs to the fu
ture, and carry his heart in his cheek?
Can he do au hour's work in a minute,
and live on sixpence a week.
Can he courteously talk to an equal
and browbeat au impudent dunce?
Can he keep things In apple-plc or
der, and do half-a-dozen at once?
.Can lie press all the springsof knowl
edgeovith a quick and reliable touch?
A atl be mire that he knows how m uch
to know, and know, how to not know
too
Does he know how to Air up his vlr
ue, and put a checka•eiu On hie pride?
Can he carry a gentleman's manners
within Hi llama:run' hide'
eau he know all, and do all, and be
all with cheerfulness, courage and vim 7
11 SO, we perhaps can be making an
editor outen 0' hlm."
Thu farmer stood curiously listening,
while wonder his visage o'erspread ;
Anil he said, "Jim, I guess we'll be
goin' ; he's probably out of his head,"
A Hall Could.
A correspondent or the Indianapolis
,Sentinq, writing from the Indiana
Northern Prison tells the annexed inci
dent:
While we were sitting In the office of
this Prison North this morning, a large,
stout man entered with a small cadaver
ous little boy, rigidly hand-cuffed, and
presented Win to the warden as a
new convict. Even to the official
of the prison the eight was disgust
ing. The poor little consumptive-eyed
child stood with his hands pinioned to
gether as if he was scared nearly out of
his wits, and before the matter of his
commitment was made known, the
clerk exclaimed, "My Lord I Sir, what
do you want done with thatlittle boy?"
Of course, the officer who brought him
was only performing an official duty,
and we cannot blame him, but when a
, little boy only eleven years of age is
sent up to a place like this, for petit
larceny and that, too, from the Capi
tal of ,the State, where you have
an Orphan Asylum and a Young Men's
Christian Association, and many other
professedly redeeming societies, even
the humanity of this prison -house turns
pale before such a scene. The hand
cuffs were at once taken off of the poor,
fatherless child, and the kind-hearted
Warden said to him, "Come, bub,along
with me." The little fellow started to
follow, while his eyes filled with tears,
and the great door of the prison In a
moment hid him from our sight.
Alice Cary -1 Memorial
HY MARY 'CLEMMER AMES
Yeras ago in an old academy In Mas
sachusetts, its preceptor gave a young
girl a poem to learn fur a Wednesday
exercise. It began,
"Of all the beautiful pictures
That hang ou Xemory's
Is one of a dim old forest,
Thal seemeth best of all."
After the girl had recited the posui to
her teacher, he told her that Edgar Poe
had said, and that he himself concurred
in the opinion, that in rhythm it was
one of the most perfect lyrics In the
English language. He then proceeded
to tell - the story of the one who wrote it
—of her life in her Western home, of
tile fact that she and her sister Phoebe
had just come to New York to seek
their fortune and to make a place for
themselves iu literature. It fell like a
tale of romance on the girl's heart;
and from that hour she saved every ut
terance that she could find of Alice
Cary's, and spent much time in think
ing about her, till in a dim way she
came to seem like a much loved friend.
In 1857 the school-girl, then a wo
man, whom actual life had already
overtaken, sat for the first time iu a
New York drawing-room, and looked
with attentive but by no means dazzled
eyes upon a gathering assembly. It
does not follow, because a person-has
done something remarkable, that he is
therefore, remarkable or even pleasant
to look upon. 'thus it happened that
the young woman had many disap
pointments that evening, as one by taw
names,famous in lite-store and art, were
pronounced, and their owners for the
first time took on the semblance of
flesh and blood before her. Presently
came into the room, and sat down be
side her, a lady, whose eyes, In their
first glance, and whose voice, in its first
low tone, won her heart. Soft, sad, ten
der eyes they were, and the face from
which they shone was lovely. Its feat
ures were fine, its complexion a color
less olive, lit with the lustrous brown
eyes, softened still more by masses of
waving dark hair, then untouched of
gray, and, save by its own wealth, un
adorned. Her dress was as harmonious
as her face. It was of pale gray satin,
trimmed with folds of ruby velvet; a
dress like herself and her life—soft and
sad, in the background, bordered with
brightness. This was Alice Cary. Even
then her face was a history, not a
prophecy. Even then it bore the, rec
ord of past suffering ; and in the' ten
der eyes there still lingered the shadow
of many vanished dreams. Thus the
story of the old academy was made real
and doubly beautiful to the stranger.
The Alice Cary whom she had imagined,
had never been quite so lovely as the
Alice Cary whom she that moment
saw. That evening began a friendship
between two women on:which, till its
earthly close no shadow ever fell.
As 1 sit here thinking of her, I re
alize how futile will be any effort of
mine to make a memorial worthy of
my friend. The woman in herself so fur
transcended any work of art that she
ever wrought, any song (sweet as her
songs were) that she ever sung, that
even to attempt to put into words what
she was seems hopeless. Yet it is an
act of justice, no less than of love, that
one who knew her in the sanctuary of
her life should, at least, partly lift the
vuil which ever hung between the love
ly soul and the world ; that the women
of this laud may see more clearly the
sister whom they have lost, who, in
whacshe was herself, was so nmch more
tha inn what she in mortal weakness was
able to du—at once an example and glory
to American womanhood. It must
ever remain a grief to those who knew
her and loved her best that such a soul
as hers should have missed its highest
earthly reward; but, if she can still live
on as an incentive and a friend to those
who remain, she at least is comforted
now for all she sullired and all she
missed here.
If a public career comes to a womanly
woman, the secret almost always lies in
the story of her heat t. Alice Cary was
born a singer. Whittier's words of her
are tenderly true:
Foredoomed to song sine seemed to me
I queried not with destiny ;
I knew the trial and the need,
Yet tin the more I sold, tied speed
Had she been a happy wife and mother,
her scng would nut have been less, but
gladder. But it was not the " faculty
divine," it was the inexorable facts of
fate that made her a writer by profession.
Had she' married the man whom she
loved, she would never have come to
New York at all, to coin the rare gifts of
her brain and soul into money for shel
ter and bread. Phoebe Cary, in her
totiching sketch of her sister Alice,
written last Spring, says of her: '• if in
her mortal life she ever felt any deeper
or holier affection than that for her kin
dred, except in dreams of poesy, she roll
ed the stone over the mouth of its dead
sepulchre, and sealed it a ith everlasting
silence. Among the things hallowed by
her use there was not left a single relic
which could reveal such a secret. And
so, knowing there was one chamber in
her heart kept by her always as a safe
and sacred sanctuary, mine is surely
not the hand to lift from it now the sol-
emu and eternal curtain of the past." !
Yet, no less because of these words,
sacrilegious hands have rudely attempt
ed to lift it. The sanctuary of that pure
heart is ruthlessly invaded even in the
grave. A story under the title of the
" Unknown Love of Alice Cary," in
the newspapers, is still traveling
through the length of the land. It as
serts that in her youth she was affianc
ed to Rufus W. Griswold; that he was
false to her—forsaking her for a woman
of the world •, that, long after, when he
returned to New York, friendless, poor
and sick, she forgave him the great
wrong that he had done, and nursed
him till he died. This story, in many
conflicting phases, was often, to her
great annoyance, told of her during her
life. The fact that Rufus W. Griswold
did in his last will bequeath to her his
personal effects was made much of In
printed and private circles, and used as
an unanswiairablaa proof that at one
time he had been her lover. Within a
wee,c I have read in a letter to the New
York Evening Po 4 that the will proved
the love anal relationship beyond a
doubt. Yet no less in its foundation,
the story is fake. Referring to it once,
while we two sat together, Alice said to
me : " I will tell you just the truth. It'
you ever think it necessary, you can
tell it." I believe it:to be but justice to
her sacred life, with which idle gossip
is yet too busy, to tell it now.
Bereavement in death and in life Lod
made her Western honk too desolate to
be borne. These, with the impulse of
the brave will that served her to the hod,
brought her to New Yurk to make not
the life that she would have chosen for
herself, yet a life worthy to be lived.
" Ignorance stood me in the stead of
courage," she said. " Hail I known the
great world us I have learned It since, I
should not have dared; but I didn't.
Titus I came." The leading lilleralcur
at that time was Dr. Rufus \V, Uriswold,
He had compiled the books called '"I'lle
Female Prose Writers" and "The Fe
male Poets of America." He was sharp
ly on the lookout for every new genius
In literature that appeared. lie had
visited the sliders In their Ohio home,
and In Isno obtained a publisher for their
lirst volume, and had added both their
names with selections from their poems
to his own "Poets of America." He
k new everything necessary to their suc
cess In the sphere of labor which they
had chosen,while they practically knew
nest to nothing. Ho encouraged and
helped them In many ways, and
,thus
commanded their gratitude.
For Alice to lucur a debt of gratitude
was to pay It, It at the cost of her life.
Yet even the good will of one type of
man to a woman Is often a misfortune.
Her soul may be white us snow; yet he
cannot take her Innocent name upon
his lips wlthoutsmirching It with some
what of his own vileness. His vaulty
has been flattered by Mlle women, till
conquest has become not only the habit,
but the necessity, of his morbid and
miserable soul; till, where he knows he
has not woo it, he yet Is base enough to
boast of It. Such a man (Judging by
every record left of him) was Rufus W.
Griswold. He was a man of poetic
temperamen t,of fine scholanihip,of gen
erous impulses, and In certain directions
of rare gifts ; yet no less he was a man
of fickle fancies, of violent temper which
often fell upon..llls dearest friends, of
monstrous vanity, ,and pf ungoverned
passions. "I waa-naver engaged to him
In marriage. I never loved him."
.said
Alice Cary to me. " I could not have
loved such a man, though I learned
him in his best phases. I , came
pity him, because he was , his 'ow
worst enemy. As a friend - I owe
him much, and before his ' death
found it in my power to pay back in pait
my large debt of gratitude. When he
returned to New York, poor and sick,
with certain death before him, I, with
Miss , hired a room and.nurse for
him. From that they have made the ro
mantic story of my nursing hlm for
unrequited love. It was old Betsy who
nursed him, You know bcw big and
strong she is; yet even she l._eame worn
out, for his sickness was long and very
painful. Many unkind, even cruel
things, have been said because he willed
to me hispersonal effects, besides the
books and pictures which he bequeathed
to the Historical Society—these were all
that he possessed—and he left them to
me, not tuore out of personal regard than
from desire to repay as far as he W:l4
able the money which I had expended
for his comfort during his last long sick
ness.
. .
In the profoundest sense Alice Vary
never loved but once. The man whom
she loved is still alive ; yet gossip, with
its keenest scent, has never found or
named him. With all her fullness of
affection,.hers was an eclectic and soil
tary soul. He who by the very patent
of his being was more to her than any
other mortal could be, might pass, from
her lire, but no other could ever take his
place. A proud and prosperous family
brought all their pride and power to
bear on l a
son,to prevent Lis marrying a
girl uneducated, rustic, and poor. "I
waited for ode who never came back,"
she said. "Yet I believed he wouid
come till I read in a paper his marriage
to another. Can. you think what life
would be—loving one, waiting for one
who would never come'"
He did come at last. I saw him. II is
wife had died. Alice was dying. The
gray-haired man sat down beside the
gray-haired woman. Life had dealt
prosperously with him, as is its wont
with men. Suffering and death Lail
taken all from her,save the lusterof her
wondrous eyes. From her wan anti
wasted face they shone upon him fullui
tenderness and youth. Thus they met
with life behind them—they who parted
plighted 'lovers when life was young.
He was the man whom she forgave for
her blighted and weary life, with a smile
of parting as divine as ever lit the face of
woman.
- .
Of her literary life I will !Teak at an
other time.—lndepenclent.
low New .Jersey Got. Out of the [filled
The uligin of the allusions to New .1 cr
sey as a foreign country is said to 1,11.: \
follows:
After the downfall of the first Niwo
leon, his brother Joseph, who had been
King of Spain, and his nephew, Prime
Murat, sou of the King of Italy, sought
refuge in this country,'and brought much
wealth with them. Joseph Bonaparte
wished to build a:palatial residence here,
but did not desire to become a citizen,
as he hoped to return to Europe. To
enable him as au alien to hold real estate
required a special act of the Legislature.
He tried to get one passed for his benefit
in several States, but failed. He was
much chagrined, especially because
Pennsylvania refused. After this he ap
plied to the New Jersey Legislature,
which body granted both him and Mu
rat the privilege of purchasing land.
They bought a tract at Bordeutown, and
built magnificent dwellings, and fitted
them up in the most costly manner.
Rare paintings, statuary, &c., were pro
fuse, and selected with care, and the
grounds laid out with exquisite taste.
Joseph Bonaparte's residence was,
perhaps, the finest in America. Thou
sands of people visited it from all parts
of the country, and were treated cour
teously. He was profuse with his
money, and give a great impetus to busi
ness in the little ,town. The Philadel
phians, finding that he had apparently
uo end of money, and that he used it to
benefit business generally, regretted.
when it was too late, that they hadae
fused to let him locate among them
selves; and, to keep up their mortifica
tion, would always taunt Jerseymen
with having a King—with im
porting the King of Spain to rule
over them—they were called Span
iards and foreigners on this account.
But these taunts harmed no one,- as the
Jerseymeu lost nothing by their allur
ing him to settle among them, and the
term "foreigner," jokingly applied to
Jerseymen, has come down to us long
after its origin has been forgotten, ex
cept by a few men of the past genera
tion. Many years ago—during the reign
of Louis Phillippe, we believe—both
Bonaparte and :qurat found they could
safely return to Europe, so they sold mit
and returned.—Ncteurk Courier.
Stmon's Wlfe's Mother
A countryman was in New York on
an August Sunday, and crossed the
Brooklyn ferry iu the morning, for the
purpose of hearing Beecher. lint 10,
the Plymouth pulpit was occupied by a
stranger, who delivered a tedious, com
mon-lace sermon front the test:
"And behold Simon's wife's mother
lay sick of a fever." Mr. 'leveller was
away taking his vacation.
IM the afternoon the man sought to
console himself for his morning's
lis
appoitttutent by listening to E. H. Cha
pin. He was shown to 'a front seat by
the sexton to E. H. Chapin's church,
and in due time was horrified to see the
minister of the morning appear in the
pulpit. The poor victim heard, for the
second time, the sermon froM the text:
"And behold Simon's wife's mother
lay sick of a fever," and went out of the
sacred place very much discouraged.
Mr. Chapin was taking his Sumwer
vacation.
In the evening the man, thinking to
redeem in a measure the defeat of the
day, accepted a choice sitting in the
Reformed Dutch church, for the sake of
hearing the genial, eloquent and sch6l
- Bethune. But his heartquite broke
when the evil spirit that had possessed
him all day got up and gave out a hymn.
And when the text was announced,
" And behold Simon's wife's mother lay
sick of a fever," the party who knew all
about the subject, rushed wildly from
the overdose, and ran to his hotel. Dr.
Bethune was taking his Summer vaca
tion.
The next morning thc 111311 t.lk the
first train ['or home, and stepping into
the car there was his ministerial friend
oil' the day bef o re, with his sermon un
der his arm. The New York bells were
ringing a lire alarm, and says the min
ister to his lay brother, "Friend. do you
know what those bells are tolling for?"
Says the countryman looking hard ut
the sermon : "I don't know; but I
shouldn't wonder if Simon's wife's
mother was dead. I heard three times
yesterday that she was down with a
lever."
l'at'n Deli)
Pat WII4I an idle boy. One day he was
suddenly: called up, the .lIICKLIOII pro
pounded by the pedagogue :
" Patrick, how many (foils are there'."'
I'lltriCk was not a distinguished the
ologian, but he promptly nneweretl
" Three, sir."
"'take your seat!" tin:tittered the
toaster, "and If you don't answer in
live minutes, I will welt you,"
'rho probationary period tossed, and
Pat, taking the floor, hesitatingly stated
the number of Clods to he " live, sir."
Ile received the promised " welting,"
and returned to his seat with ten min
utes (or consideration.
Ten minutes up, Pal was up, too and
satisfied that he hadn't fixed the num
ber sufficiently high before, shouted
out:
" There's ten, slr,"
He maw the ferule descending, and
breakingoutof the door,he cleared a II ve
rail fence and run like a quarter•horme
acromm the meadow. Panting with ex
haustion, he met a lad with a book In
hie hand, and the look of one In the
pursuit of knowledge under dittleultlem,
whom he asked :
" Where are you going?"
" To school, yonder,'twas the reply,
" How many Gods are there ?"‘
" One," answered the boy.
" Well, you'd better not go down
there. You'll have a good time with
your one God. I just left there with
ten, and that wasn't enough to save me
the'darndest licking you ever heard of."
Wanted Her Water Kept Clear.
One of the good stories in the life of
Young, the tragedian, just published In
Loudon, is that of a farmer's wife. whose
pond had been used by some Baptists
for the immersion of their converts.—
Hearing of it, she was very Indignant,
and vowed that the intruders should be
kept off In future. " I ain't no Idea,"
she Bald, " of their coming and leaving
all their nasty sins behind them in my
water." The sense of moral property
in a pond, and of Its being rendered un
fit for its normal use by such contami
nation, is very finely brought out in this
saying.
The Glpsy's'Glass
Cissy Thorne was sitting byliher toilet
table skipping a novel, while her maid
Emma brushed her long, thick, silky
hair. Some people said it was false, be
cause there was so much of it; other
Christians were certain' it must have
been dyed, seeing that it had the pecu
liar bright, golden tint which is sooften
due to art; but Emma knew better.—
That exemplary girl took the same sort
of pride i u her mistiest hair that a good
groom does in the coats of his master's
horses, and was never tired of brushing
IL Fortunately, tile young lady took an
equal pleasure in her passive part of the
Wperformance, anti so both were satistled.
hen the spoiled beauty did not know
what else to do, she went up to her
room, took oil' her dress, and had her
hair brushed ; it was a lady-like substi
tute for smoking u pipe.
I wonder that Darwin has not in
stanced the pleasure we feel In befog
stroked the eighth way, in favor of the
last theory. I believe that Cissy was
very near purring, especially in thun
dery weather, when her hair crackled
like an experiment.
' %Nell, Emma, did you go to the fair:"
asked the brushe., laying down her
book.
•' Yes, miss, I did."
" And what did yo• \ see
"I saw a horsemanship, where they
rode standing, and jumping Il u •ough
hoops, wonderful!"
•' And did you go on one of the round
abouts that is worked by a zuu
which plays an organ ?"
" No, miss," replied Emma, with sin
ph :Ls is.
" 1)o you know, Emilia, I should like
to, if no one saw."
" Lor, miss, they are crowded with
such a low lot, they are."
Low lots, as you call (Item, seen, to
have all the fun," said Cissy with shalt
sigh. "And what else did you see ?"
" I went to a—fortune-teller."
"Vol in a tent?"
There were little tents about, but it
was a very yellow cart I Went into; not
in the fair exactly, but in the clump be
hire you come to it. She's wonderful !"
" Is she, though ? What did she say ?
Tell me," cried the excited Cissy, who
was troubled with yearnings after the
supernatural.
"the told me all sorts of things which
site could not have known natural;
mole on my back ; how long I have
been lit servive - --"
Yes, yes, but the future; did slit
say anything about, that
" She did more mb:s; sli” showed it
to um , "
'No?'
"In a round glass; as Erne m. I'm
standing here, I saw him plain."
MMIII=MI
• As is to be ; yes, miss."
These two girls had been playmates
when very little, and there was nmeh
more familiarity between them than is
customary with mistress and maid. So
Emma had to enter into all the myste
rious details of the cabalistic ceremony.
" What fun !" cried Cissy, "I should
like to go; I indi go! The fortune-tell
er's caravan is not actually the fair, you
say ; and there will not be many people
about if we start early." ,
" Lor, miss, what will your pa and ma
say ?"
I don't know ; I'll dolt first and ask
them afterward, for fear they might ob
ject. We will go to-morrow morning,
directly after breakfast, mind."
Mr. Thorne was a steward ; I do not
mean au official attached to a steam
packet, ini charge of a china shop full of
white basins, but a manager of large
estates in the country ; a well-to-do man,
who had a small property of his own,
which he hauled in the most Intelli
gent and neatest style, on the outskirts
of the market-town of Littlelum. Mrs.
Thorne was plump, good-natured and
lazy, yet somewhat proud and sensi
tive; she fancied the country families
were patronizing, and she would not be
patronized.
Cissy was their only child, and they
thought much of her, honestly believ
ing that there never was such another
baby—child—maideu. Of course, the
paragon was never sent to school, and
the governesses were selected principal
ly with reference to their power of am.
predating her merits.
Nevertheless she was very charming.
and hail two lovers—l do not mean ad
mirers, but two men who were ready to
marry her, if she would but choose one
of them. But she could not quite make
up her mind which of the brace to se
lect.
"If the gipsy would only show me
which I am to take, it would save me a
world of trouole," she said to herself,
with a smile, '' but of course that is all
nonsense. Yet, if she did, I vow that I
would be guided by it."
One aspirant was Pendil Fromnore ; a
landed proprietor in the neighborhood,
very poor; for though his reut-roll was
a fair one, his debts were enormous ; but
very handsome, and well set up. In
deed, he had been in the blues. I don't
mean bad spirits, but a man hi armor,
commanding men in armor, and his
wife would be undoubtedly county.
Charles Wilson was the name of the
other ; he was a young London solicitor,
who had just been taken into a good firm,
and was now on a visit to his mother, an
Indian Colonel's widow, who resided at
Littlelum. Mrs. Wilson anti Mrs. Thorne
were good friends, and so all was smooth
there. Mrs. Wilson had murmured,in
deed, when she first sew her sou's in
clination.
" Would she be a companion for you,
Charles ? would she be able to take an
interest in the same things you did ?"
" No, mother, that Is just what I
want. I should hate a wife that was as
clever as myself. But how cau you fail
to see her merits? She is such a very
nice little party !"
" Panic, Charlie, partif;; how dread
fully bad your French accent is! I
grant that she would not be a bad
match fur you from a worldly point. of
view."
Frogmore was the most handsome
Wilson the more pleasant. Really, i
fate would settle the matter for her, i
would save Cissy Thorne a world o
trouble.
So the pretty bone of contention
thought, as she started with her maid
Emma, for "'Attehim Hurst, at 9 A. M.;
for Mr. Thorne breakfasted early, and
his daughter presided, Mrs. Thorne be
ing a sluggard. Not a drum was heard,
notapandean note,as they stepped:brisk
lyalong; the gingerbread,hushands were
covered up from the dust; the merry
go-rounds were still; the clown was
mending his dress; the donkeys break
fasted frugally on each other's manes;
the fire-eater was trying a diet of bacon,
bread and garlic fora change. Business
never commenced in the fair till after-
But Mills Thorne's visit was not
to the fair. To the right, come five hun
dred yards from the common, there was
a clump of sparse tree* and sheltered
beneath them stood one of those old yel
low huts On wheels which act co Vividly
upon the Imaginations of village chi •
dren. This was the abode of the sibyl,
and the adventuresses turned aside to
ward it.
Etnnia went first on the steps and tap•
ped with the bright brass knocker; the
door opened Immediately, and a woman
of the mystic race appeared—young,
handsome us a Spaniard, though her
splendid black hair wan rather course, if
you come to examine it closely. Emma
drew back to let her mistress enter first.
"Walk In, my pretty lady," said the
gips) , ; "don't et afeared, 11111 quite
alone hero."
. .
Although the fun of the fair did not
commence till tale In the day, It was
evident that custom came betimes to the
mybli, for traces of night disorder had
disappeared from the in in lature
which was spick and span, neat and
clean ; obviously prepared for visitors,
The small apartment was still further
reduced by a curtain, which ran on brass
rings along a rod, enclosing a portion of
the space.
The gip) , examined Clssy's hand, and
began making shots—centres through,
most; bull% eyes, ROlllO.
" You are an only child, and your
father and mother would give you gold
to eat, if you wanted It; when a child
you were in great peril from a dog." A
lot more to the same effect, couched In
vague language, but very correct. Cle
sy began to be very sorry that she had
come. " There's two gentlemen as is
very sweet upon you, my pretty lady,"
,
continued the uupoetic sibyl ; ' if you
marry one you will be unhappy all
your life, but if you take the other
you will be lucky, and live to be eighty
and ride in your carriage and pair all
the time."
The idea of this very protracted
drive rather amused Cissy, and that re
vived her courage. After all, the wo
man might have made inquiries about
her on the chance of her coming.
" And how am I to know which of
NUMBER 46
these gentlemen to choose?" she asked,
lu a bantering tone.
" Ah, that I cannot tell, my lady
but you can look In the Magic Glass (or
yourself, and see if itshows you aught."
" Let me see it, then,' said Cissy,
bravely, though a feeling of creepiness
began to return.
The gipsy said that Emma should
leave the caravan ; but Cissy would not
have that, so a compromise was etti•et
ed ; the maid was blindfolded. Then
the gipsy drew slides across the window
on eitherside, producing a deep twilight.
Indeed, it was more like ground-glass
than an ordinary mirror; gran tid-glass
with a feeble light behind it. Present•
ly the surface became covered with ill
defined, shi fti ng, shadows, which gath
ered so thickly as to obscure the w hol e
of It; and then it gradually cleared and
a head and shoulders grew upon it: it
cleared a little more and revealed—the
undoubted face of Charles Wilson. Cissy
stood aghast in awe-struck terror before
the supernatural intimation, when stub
denly as she gazed the face before her
became suddenly convulsed with au ex
pression of terrible agony. She uttered
a little scream and fainted.
Fresh air and cold watt r soon brought
her to she feed the gipsy and stitrtil
homeward.
"You see'd inquired
Emma.
" Yes ; and I'll never 11131 . 1 y :my our
else, If I die all old inald. Rut, oh!
what can that dreadful expression 011
his face foretell? 1 feel that Mitrale dread
ful calamity will happen some day "
A not improbable dread. There was
one consolation ; fate and t'i.sy's socret
hit it otr nicely. (lids are illlYer thing%
and she had hardly known that she pre
ferred Charley Wilson as she did.
In due time he offered and was ac
cepted; and they were married, and
went oil for their lioneyni;)1111 to the
Lake of Como.
One evening Charles Wilson rowed
his bride out ill v. very clumsy boat.
'•How serious von are, CIi4MIIIS he
said, finding her less chatty than usual.
" Did that bravo-looking beggar frighten
you? Because, his frowsy head shall be
punched if he did ?"
" Oh, no; oh don't otf•nd Mini •' cried
the young wife. " I any sure he hus got
what the Italians call the Evil Eye."
•' Has he? Well never mind; the
Amerivans have invented a polioi
votinteraclA lltt. ell:rl."
" lteally!"
" Yew, when we return I Will c.el Itiat
gentleman from New Yuri:, ',topping at
the hotel, to concoct us an eve-m . ,,mer,
that will make it :ill right."
" Oh, ! " erled Ms. ; and
her husband paddled on.
" 1 say, Cisstuns," ho said presently,
resting on his ours, "don't think that 1
am finding fault beeaue you have not
got any faults, so that would he absurd;
but are tint you rather superstitious?"
"And if I am I have right to he," said
she.
_
'Ah ! any particular experience"
and he wormed out ol bet• the whole
story.
" I am sorry f told you," she cried
when he burst out laughing; "you don't
believe it! You had better call me story
teller at once."
"Believe It, my dear! I mu ready to
swear to it. You did not see my ghost,
though ; you were looking at me. I was
in a terrible confined position, and that
thief of a gipsy was so long about her
preliminaries that I got lthorrible cramp
in my right calf, and made a face which
I thought would betray me."
The bride burst out crying
" And you bribed my maid ; and laid
a plot with a common gipsy iu deceive
me ; and nearly frightened me In death ;
and were laughing at me all t•he I i me—
Oh !" she sobbed.
" All's fair in ldv,
sheepishly.
" It was unworthy of you!" she eon
tinued ; "you have married :tie under
false pretences. I shall never feel the
saute toward you; I will never forgive
you, "lever!"
Itut she dld.
" Inasmuch.'
" Why, bless me, Fanny, you ale
krowing more old•uiaidish every day
You live. I. wonder what your next
idiosyncrasy will be
" I wonder what it call be, mamma'?"
and Miss Belle Lindsay laughingly
looked up from the fauteuil on which
she was reclining, to take part in the
arraignment of her sister.
" Was ever a mother so vexed as I
am?" continued Mrs. Lilla Say, frown
ing On the object of her displeasure, who
was standing meekly before her, with
folded hands, and eyes suffused with
tears. " Here you are, Funny Lindsay,
the daughter of a rich :ind honorable
house, running all around the city,
among the lower classes, seeking out
your charitable objects' as you call
them, which ' objects' are generally old
women and ragainuilln children, whom
you bring here, regardless of our feel
ings as well as our respectability, ex
pecting we shall feed and clothe them,
There is not a tramp in Boston who
does not conic here at smile thee or
other to be fed and pampered. I tell
you, Fanny, it is si m lily outrageon , ,"
"But, maiuma„do they ever trouble
you
" \o, thank goodness, I can't say I hat
they do; but then the idea, how very
plebeian and vulgar; hut in my veins
there is no plebian blood, and 1 cannot
—." And Mrs. Lindsay raised her vin
iagrette to her nostrils, is if there was
something contaminating inn the very
name of "plebeian."
"Fanny is just like papa," said Miss
Belle, with a eon tem ptuous shrug. "I le
would sooner dine with a poor man any
day than with the Lord Mayor of Bos•
ton."
Whereat Fanny laughed. The idea
of a Lord Mayor itt this Itepuldican
land was rich, and she appreciated it.
"What are you laughing at de
manded Belle, who knew it w•as some
mistake of hers.
"I was only thinking I should like to
see the Lord Mayor. oh, :Belle, I fear
your education has been neglected."
"It has not been neglected so that I
am only in illy element among beggars
and tramps," was lielle's spiteful re-
"Fanny, you are very rude," said her
mother, with severity. "Ilelle's nerves
are very delicate, and ought not to he
jarred the very least ; Dr. Wallace says
so."
Fanny smiled. She knew the doctor'.
private opinion on the subject, but 11-4
was given Hub yowl she did lint then re
heat It.
:Slaking . her escape from the room,
she hastened to the kitchen where she
found a small basket of delicacies pre
pared by the rook, another of her sym
pathizers, and taking this upon her
arm she left the house I/3 , the rear door,
taking care that none of her relative.
should see her. A ',port lint rap'
walk brought her to the door of a dreary
looking tenement house, and entering
she pammed up the narrow I+ tal react, dill•
mul and unsafe, and rapped gently up
on the door of one of the rooms.
" Come In," a feeble voice remponded,
" Why, 7slrm. Celt," maid Fanny, 1114
mule obeyed the Invitation, " you are all
alone."
" Yes, dear Mien Fanny," replied the
Invalid, for math she was, sadly, " I unt
alone,und am compelled to renutin alone
the greater part of the time. Johnny
must go out to sell him papers or we
could not live, and I have no one else.
But after she added, brightening
up, " Igut along quite well. I have my
Bible always."
" But if you should Mime n to be taken
away with a violent lit of coughing',"
exclaimed Funny, sorrowfully, gazing
upon the wasted cheek on which con
tnption's poetical Heal wan plainly vis
ible.
" Otal will take euru of me," said Mrs,
(Jail, looking up reverently.
Fanny's tears were Mowing; but Idle
took her basket, and spread Its delica
cies before the good woman, whose eye H
were also full, as she found voice to
murmur :
God will surely remember you, deur
friend, for your kindness to me. I pray
that he will bless you ever."
And Fanny, not In the least aristo
cratic, stooped over the bed and kissed
her.
" Where have you been, Fanny?"
asked Belle, as Fanny re-appeared in the
parlor, a couple of hours later.
Fanny did not perceive the tall gen
tleman who stood conversing with her
in the curtained recess of the deep bay
window, and shereplied unhesitatingly.
" I have been to see poor Mrs.. Galt,
who Is dying slowly of consumption. I
carried her a few trilling comforts, for
she has not long to
Belle crimsoned with vexation. The
gentleman stgrted violently, and step
ped from behind the curtain.
" My sister, Mr. Husmer," said Belle.
" Who did you say you had visited?"
"A Mrs. Galt," replied Belle, flippant
ly ; "a sick and poverty stricken protege
of her& don't en °Outage herlti such
vulgarity, however."
"'spoke to your Oster, Miea Belle,"
said Mr. Roemer, with 'such emPlittsis
that the rebuke was keenly. felt.
"Miss. Fanny, will you please Inform
me What her Christian name is?". he ad
ded earnestly. . .
It, 1S" Aurelia, I Wieve:".
Mr: Hosmer's voice grew
"And you say that she !tidying?"
Yea; going in quit& consumption."
"You seem to take great interest in a
beggar, Mr. Hosmer," Belle interrupted,
scornfully.
His dark eyes flashed' with sudden
fire, runthis cheeks reddened angrily,
as he replied :
"So 1, should, Miss Lindsay, when
'that beggar Is my sister; for Mo. Galt,
the only sister I ever had, I could not'
find for years. Of course yon will not
care to wed the brother of a beggar ;
therefore; if you please, we will consider
our engagement at an end ; Ide not care
to have my wife look down upon me."
There was a scene ; but Roemer, who
had wooed and won Belle at Newport.
where he had seen but one side of list
character, was Inexorable as Fate, and
humble In the dust, she gave him up.
r. ll osmer went to see his sister, and
lu a day or two she was removed to the
grand house over which Miss Belle had
so fondly hoped to preside as mistress
But his visits to the Lindsay niansiot ,
did not 'ease with this unfortunate on,
—or fortunate, we prefer to say—and at
ter the death of Mrs. (talt, who, in pros
pertly as in adversity, regarded Funny
as an angel, his house grew strangel...
lonely. And so—why prolong the talc
He married Fanny, and Is not sorry ye, ;
while Belle, whose " delicate " nervi -
could scarcely endure Newport or Sara
toga, went, through four seasons at oto•
place or the other, before she caught :o
liusband.
Sunday Reading
...k ‘v,..1 tidy spoicon, now guu.l it
A grave divine said that Chid has le'. dwellings—elle in heaven, and th,
oilier In a nn•el: and thankful heart.
'rile nearer we live to Jesus, and lb.
closer our %call: is with Ulm, the lc ,
inclination we have fur pursuits an,
pleasures in which he Is not the object
It iA not work that kills ;
worry. Work in Loulthy ; you eon
van hardly put more upon a man than
he can Lear. Worry IA "rust upon the
Wade."
Some one has beautifully said : Truth
iiital ; the s word can not pierce It,
tire cannot consume It, prisons Cannot
Incarcerate it, famine cannot starve IL
Do you not discover a falling In your
body? Are you not reminded that de
cay has already set in ? Die you must,
whether you will or uo, and is It not
best to be prepared ?
r If, who causes a blade of grass to
spring up where none grate up befort:,
is a blessing to the world, what praise
shall be given Him who creates a Hui t
where !lowed a tear?
Whenever u merchant measures a
Bushel of corn, or wheat, or salt,
weighs it Immediately after him. The
merchant's measure may be wrong, lint
tlod's measure is Just right.
Our conscience is as a tire within us,
our sins a, the fuel; therefore, instead
of warning, it will scorch us, tailless the
fuel be removed, or the heat of It re
moved by penitential tears.
The same spirit of faith which teuele
es a man to cry earnestly, teaches hint
to wait patiently; for, us It assures him
the mercy is In the Lord's hand., so it
assures him it will be given forth In the
Lord's time.
To be free from desire is motley; to
be free front the range of perpetual buy-
Mg something new is a certain revenue ;
to be content with what we possess con
stitutes the greatest and most certain of
riches.
A hidden light soon becomes dim, and
If it be entirely covered up, will expire
for want of air. So it Is with hidden
religion. It must go out. There can•
not be a Christian whose light in sonic
aspect sloes not shine.
Alas: how much of our life Is an
empty romance! it religious shadow
without substance! is it not a sad do
ft-et in our method of education, that
tiod's word is so excluded and ehildron's
titl stuffed wills pagan foolerleu . and
natilh. fancies?
The must knowing are the most. de
sirous of knowledge; the most virtuous
are the most desirous of Improvement
in virtue. On the contrary, the Igno
rant imagine themselves wine enough ;
the vicious are, in their own opinion,
good enough.
Live as in Cod's sight, mindful of thy
position as a child of Ood, and as a ser
vant of Jesus. Meditate on his word ;
pray always. Then you will know
when to close and when to open the
lips; when to listen; and how lo he
have, if wrongfully accused.
Lid \l'il:nn,
The greatest 11001 is lie who chooses
the right with Invincible resolution ;
who resists the sorest temptation from
within and without; who bears the
heaviest burdens cheerfully; who Is the
calmest In storms, and whose reliance
on truth, on virtue, on (Ind, Is the most
unfaltering.
There is more Joy in enduring a cross
for (Jolt than in the smiles of the world-,
in a private, despised affliction, without
the name of suffering for his cause, or
anything in It like martyrdom, but only
as coining front his hand, kissing it, amd
bearing it patiently, yea, gladly, because
it is Ills will.
HI• that offends in our point, Is guilty
of all ; not in one act, but In the prinei
-i. c. he violates the authority of the
whole. For He that saith. forsake not
the assembling of yourselves together,
said also, enter Into thy closet. If,
therefore, you engage in public worship
and never retire tor devotion, you are
an offender.
Throu g h the magic lenses of biography
we look upon genius as something more
than mortal, but while nature has lav
ishly endowed them, we must not for
get that it is within our power to pos
sess almost all of the distinguishing
traits of their character, and by the cul
tivation and growth of an inner life in
whatever is good, each person can be
come great indeed.
When my mother says " no" there is
no yes in it. Here Is a sermon Iu a nut
shell. Multitudes of parents say " no,"
but after a good deal of teasing and de
bate it finally become "yes." Love and
kindness areithe essential elements in
the successful management of children ;
but firmness, decision, Inflexibility, and
uniformity of treatment are no less im
portant.
Everything is a snare, and a wicked
heart is upt to be taken. Labor to be
sensible of this, and let the sinfulness of
your nature be your greatest burden.
(let purity of heart,land a hollow life
will follow upon It; but if you strive
only against outward acts of sin, while
your heart is let alone, your labor will
be in vain. Remember, that God's
eyes are In the heart, and He lath pro
vided a hell for hypocrites.
Our Lord did not Intend or pretend to
teach a milder ethics, or an easier vir
tue, on the Mount of Beatitudes, than
that which he had taught fifteen cen
turies before on Mount Sinai. He in
deed pronounces a blessing ; and so did
Moses, hie servant, before him. But In
each Instance it is a blessing upon con
dition of obedience; which in both in
stances Involves a curse upon disobedi
ence.
Perhaps the greatest lesson which tl u
lives of literary men teach us Is told
In a mingle 'word—wait. Every man
must patiently bide his time. Ile must,
wait. Not lu listless dejectlons; nut In
restless pastime; not In querulous de
jection, but constant, steady, cheerful
endeavors, always willing and fullllling
cud accomplish lug his task, that when
the occasion comes he may he equal to
the occasion.
No man, be he prolligate or inildel,
can live in ft Christian land without be
ing helped by the Chrimtlanity around
him. lie may mink himself in the mire
of lientmallty or lock himself in the
dudgeon of inlidelity, quarreling with
tile =Me of the aompel; yet that, music
will ming over him swamp, penetrate
the walls of Wm dungeon, and bless him
whlle he hates it. By repelling theme
blessings he may lesmen them, but Overt
if he run away from our sun It will put•
cue him.
One kernel IS felt In a hogshead; one
drop of water helps to swell the ocean ;
a spark of fire helps to give light to the
world. You are a small man passing
amid the crowd; you are hardly tn.-
tlced, but you have a drop, a spark
within you that may be felt through
eternity. Do you believe It? Set that
drop in motion, give wings to that
spark, anti behold the results I It may
renovate the world ! None are too mind!,
too feeble, too poor, to be of service.—
Think of this and act. Life Is no trifle.
Give when you have ; when God
gives it to you to give. This power is
precious, and may be brief, and should
not be periled by the hazards of 'future
business success. Certain portions or
proportions of your gains belong to
God's charities. Have you a right to
risk them in the chances of your busl
- any more than any other deposit?
As a trustee, have you a right to use
them for your own benefit? Are you
not bound to deal with them as with
any other fiduciary moneys iu your
hands, committed for keeping or defin
ite uses, or collected for remittance.