Juniata sentinel and Republican. (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, December 17, 1873, Image 1

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B. F. SCHWE1ER, "' ' : " ' ... THE C0.V3TITCTI0S-T1IE C3I0X-AXD THE IXFOKCEMEXT OF THE LAWS. . . . . Editor and Proprietor.
I """",'MwAw-swawwawawawaam
5e aprlng or wnaif'i beaary hata nek grace
A I bare seen U on astamaal face.
t Cu yoa UI1 em, IrUo,
What doth make aw 1st 70a sof
Is U youth T Oh! that Is gone!
Ia U beaut I that hail juI .
, Then, prithee. Ml Be, Evila,
Why It to I lore 70a to.
Spring 1 lev bar vie Leu blue,
Aad Snnmer, with bar rases, too,
Flashing ia tb morning's dew.
Bat, of ail the seasons four,
. Aatanu touch my hearta core.
Wit her garnered guides store.
' Beat, 1 lor her peastTt face,
Beet, I lore her ripe embrace.
Glowing ia her mellow grace
r Which ao painter's art eaa trace.
a her hoaoai let ate lie,
la the 8oath wind's melancholy,
'Seath October's purple aky.
Where the gorg eoaa staple sigh
Spring aad Sammer lullaby.
Aad with Aatuma Uva ana die !
. Sow 70a kaow, dear Erllo,
What doth makt aie loYe 70a eo.
. Sunset.
We call material thle fair world of our,
aad ao it seems to gross, material eyes.
That see ao beauty la Earth'e foreet Bowers,
X hearenly spleadore ia her eaaaet skies.
Bat are there aet, ia 7oader rortfeon, eceae,
A beanty and a graadear aot of earth T
A glory breaking from 70B cloudy screea.
Keeanllng to the aoal its nobler birth t "
Caa thiage material each fair forma assume,
Aad thaa delight aad charm the hamaa arrnd r
Or doth the Spirit with It rays lllama
Their iamoet depths, from matter now refined.
That man aiy thai with It eonrnrainoa hold, '
Aad leara of higher thing! thaa sense has tald F
31 i s c el iany
Babylon's Haasins Gardens.
Oar pretty hanging baskets, with
their suspension wires completely
draped in delicate climbing ivies and
standing mosses, with their masses of
beautiful trailing plants, their drooping
. grasses, Tineas, mimosas, musk-soeiited
and covered with brilliant golden flow
ers, thongh lilipntian in size, are liter
ally hanging gardens. Bat even should
they be made a million times larger,
their plan is so utterly different that
they coal J never saggest the faintest
notion of the hanging gardens of Baby
lon, about the very name of which
there is a ring of poetic grandeur and a
flavor of oriental magnificence. They
were literally paradises, for thongh our
word is from the Greek paradietos, the
Greeks borrowed it from Persia, where
to this day the rich satraps rejoice in
their paradises or pleasure gardens.
Xenophon mentions those of Belesis,
governor of Syria ; and such as he be
held them, apparently, we find them
! described by Chard in and other modern
travelers. The hanging gardens of
Babylon were simply a very costly
variety of the paradise, such only as
' " princely wealth could afford. Their
origin is attributed to Semiramis by
. some ; others say that they were in
vented by a king of Syria to charm the
melancholy of one of his wives of Per
sian origin, who sighed to behold again
the verdant mountains of her native
land, Strebo and Diodorous Sicular
have written about these famous hang
ing gardens, Philo of Byzantium if,
indeed, he is the author of the treatise
on the seven wonders of the world, by
some attributed to him and many
They were called hanging gardens,
doubtless because of the huge branch
ing palms and other trees, overhanging
the balustrade on the summit of the
high walls that enclosed the paradise.
These walls were about one hundred
and thirty yards long on each of the four
sides, twenty-two feet thick, and fifty
cubits high, or over ninety-one feet
according to the Hebrew cubit. The
terraces were upheld by immensely
strong galleries, whose ceilings were
formed by hewn stones sixteen feet
long and four wide. Besting on these
stones was a layer of reeds, mixed with
a great quantity of asphalt, and on this
was a floor of lire-dried bricks laid in
mortar ; finally, a floor of lead plates to
prevent any moisture from penetrating
the foundation of the terraces, the soil
of which rested upon the leaden floor,
and was of sufficient depth to hold and
nourish trees of fifty feet high, and
thousands of rare plants culled from all
parts of the known world. All these
were kept in a perennially flourishing
condition, we are informed, by water
raised from the Euphrates through the
aid of machinery concealed from view
in certain rooms made in the galleries.
The galleries, also, contained many
royal apartments, variously decorated
and furnished. Decently lighted, they
could not have been ; but one can easily
imagine that a walk around those upper
terraces on a fine moonlight night, the
senses charmed by soft music, and by
waves of perfume rising from the wil
derness of flowers and shrubs below,
- must have been enchanting.
Enthusiasm Xerensary to Success.
In his "Getting on in the World,"
Professor Matthews says there was
never, probably, a time in the world's
history when high success in any pro
fession demanded harder or more in
cessant labor than now. Men can no
longer go at one leap into eminent
position. The world, as Emerson says,
is no longer clay, but rather iron in the
hands of its workers, and men have got
to hammer out a pla;e for themselves
by steady and rugged blows. Above
all, a deep and burning enthusiasm is
wanted in every one who would achieve
great ends, o great thing is or can
be done without it It is a quality that
is seen wherever there are earnest and
determined workers in the silence of
the study, and amid the roar of cannon ;
in the painting of a picture, and in the
carving of a statue. Ability, learning,
accomplishment, opportunity, all are
well; but they do not, of themselves,
insure success. Thousands have all
these, and live and die without benefit
ing themselves or others. .Men, on the
other hand, of mediocre talents, often
scale the dizzy steps of excellence and
fame because they have hrra faith and
high resolve. It ia this solid faith in
one's mission the rooted belief that it
is the one thing to which he has been
: called this enthusiasm, attracting an
Agassis to the Alps or Amazon, impel
ling a Pliny to explore the volcano in
which he is to lose his life, and nerving
a Vernet, when tossing in a fierce tem
pest, to sketch the waste of waters, and
even the wave that is leaping to devour
him,' that marks the heroio spirit ; and
wherever it is found, success, sooner or
later,' is almost inevitable, .
Why is'a screw in loose like a screw
in tight f Because it is in-secure.
It was Christ
mas eve. It had
taken the Earth
the entire day to
array herself for
the coming fes
tivities; and now.
us the last fin
ishing touch had
been added and
the had nothing
10 do but fold
Uer hands and
;ook pretty, she
.ound her party
iress very cold.
and shivered
again and again
its the heedless
Night Wind went
whistling by.
leaving all the
doors open.
Larth was very
beautiful this eve
in her soft white
drapery, and her
jewels flasueu aua sparkled in the light
wit a rare Dnuiancy ; ner lauea Drown
locks were powdered o'er, and crystal
daisies thrust therein, and a clond of
misty lace was thrown around her,
which added greatly to her attire. Win
ter, the great artist, had designed and
furnifched this toilette, faultless in
every respect. Hud his work ended
here it would have been well ; but when
he beheld how charming Earth was in
her regal dress, he fell down before her
and worshipped even what he had crea
ted ; and Earth, pleased with his adu
lation, steeled her heart against every
one else, and promised her hand to him
in marriage, her whole soul, like many
another maiden s captivated with anti
cipations of the beautiful clothes with
which his indulgence would supply her.
I could go still farther, and tell you
that she fulfilled her vow and became
Winter's bride ; of how Winter, like
many another husband grew tired of his
little wife, fondness for dress, and de
serted her, carrying her jewels with
him ; how Earth wept her soul away in
tears ; how her pretty white dresses
grew ragged and thin ; and how finally
they laid her "underneath the violets,
like many another sad heart ; but all
this has nothing to do with our story.
It was Christmas eve, as I have said.
One walking the brilliantly-lighted
streets of the city, and gazing in at the
windows, exposing for sale their choice
and beautiful goods, their showy and
attractive gifts; looking into the bright,
happy faces as they passed, and listen
ing to theexcited children'sexclamations
of delight, as, with older ones, they
witnessed the rare display, would have
needed nothing farther to have told him
that it was the eve of a great holiday.
But turning asiJe into some of the nar
row streets ; walking on, on, on, till the
crowds of eager faces gradually disap
peared ; listening to the curses of the
poor wretch in the gutter.or the drunken
brawl of others over the way ; seeing
only now and then straggling rays of
light from the miserable dwellings piled
up along the walk ; and catching from
the countenances of those who passed
only stolid, sullen glances, or sad, weary
looks, he would have required an alma
nac, to have told him that the great day
of rejoicing was so near at. hand. Yet
many of the inmates of these wretched
Bljs were? wcu awoxo uutk mniuuriuw
was unnstmas. un some me iaci maue
no impression ; they had long ago be
come indifferent. Others it rendered
' bitter, and they cursed the poverty that
ever denied them the wherewithal to
celebrate a holiday. Some wept as they
thought of brighter days past. And a
few, yes, there were some even in this
locality, that drew nearer to each other
and thanked God that, thongh they
suffered below, they should reign above,
because of His precious gifts to all man
kindthe Christ-child Jests.
"Brick Bow" was a tenement house
01 ine poorer .
ter in its way, and a half-dozen families
huddled together under its well venti-
.1 l 1 : 1 1' . :i i 1
lated roof, and called it home. In the
basement of the east end lived Mrs.
Mentz and her little brood. "Poor Mrs.
Mentz," the neighbors were wont to
exclaim, as they thought of the many
mouths to feed ; but to have deprived
this cheery, brave woman of her family
would have been to have taken away
her comfort in life her riches as she
termed them. So we will love rather
than pity her. There was Johnnie
Mentz, the widow's oldest, a lad of six
teen, but a helpless cripple, who spent
his days in bed ; yet Mrs. Mentz often
shook her head as she toiled over her
tub, and murmured to herself, "What
in the world would . we do without
Johnnie ?" for the dear fellow was sun
shine incarnate. Then there was Andy,
a boy of fourteen, a sturdy stout
hearted little chap, who helped to buy
bread with the papers he sold and the
boots he blacked, for Andy was never
idle. Horace came next ; he was only
twelve, but his little broom and his
clever ways added many a cent to the
scanty aum in the family pocket. Then
there were three others young ones to
be sure but as such are seldom favored
with the formality of an introduction, I
wish to depart from the custom of
slighting the least, and remark that
their names were respectively Peter,
Sarah and Vic. They were all together
this night, all but Andy ; he had not
yet returned, though it was getting
quite late, and the candle was already
half burned
Oh, sech things as I seed to-day,
Johnnie, in the windys, me an' young
Scronty," said Horace. "Oh, sech
piles an' piles o' things!" Then Johnnie
turned over on his side, and all the
members of the Mentz family fell to
listening to Horace, who had perched
himself on the bed beside the cripple.
"There was sleds," continued tbe boy,
"all yelly an' red ; the shiniest runners,
an' the quickest time in "em, know !
There was skates whole crowds on 'em;
they'd fit little Peter here, or any of us,
or me," and perhaps Horace gave a
sigh here, and little Peter's eyes grew
very large. "Then there was trees
real nns chock full of shiny things, an'
tovs, an dolls, an Noahs arks, an'
candy horns ; an' there was cakes there
as big as as an ash-sifter, every bit,
an' all white an' crusty like."
Little Peter licked his chops very
like a little dog, and Sarah and Vic
swallowedseveraltiraesveryfast. "And,
oh, the oranges as big as Vic's head,
and as round and as yelly 1"
An' ath thweet?" lisped the pet,
and then tbe Mentzes laughed. .
"An' the fathers wonld go in an' pick
out the very best things of all for their
little boys, an' pull ont great bills, and
never wink once as they give 'em over.
An' the mothers would look as smily as
ourn, and git the biggest dolls in the
lot;" here Sarah and Via pricked up
their ears, while Horace rolled np his
eyes, and looking purposely very sober,
added, "but 111 be blamed if I can see
what dolls are good for; you can't
skate with 'em or eat 'em ;" and then
he paused for the exclamations of re-
1 proach to subside in the direction of
his two sisters. Then he looked aneer.
I at t 1 . . . . ,
as mouga trying noi to laugn, ana saiu
Scronty had remarked, "if dolls was
fonr-bfaded knives they'd be worth
laimn aoout.
"Xever mind, dears," said Mrs.
Mentz to her little daughter: "you
must remember Horace and Willie
Scront are boys ; go on, my son, we all
want to near.
"There was books oh. Johnnie!"
"Never mind," said Johnnie, a little
paler than usual.
"Oh, but they was so splendid, and
Scronty said the inside o' one o' them
would take the ache an' the cold all out
of a feller readin' of it, an' when I
saw everyone agoin' in an jest burin'
everytnin , as tno' twas nothin at all,
I thought what bully stuff money was,
and "
Horace stopped ; his throat choked,
and he could say no more. Then all the
little Mentz family grew very still, and
Johnnie stroked Horace's hot head with
his white fingers.
"If we could only have one Merry
said little Peter, looking down at his
Dare toes.
"There is one precious Gift that
money cannot buy. said Mrs. Mentz,
whose face, in sympathy with her chil
dren, had been momentarily shaded,
but now shone forth with unusual radi
ance, "an' all this reioicin' n' presentin'
is because o' this Gift. God knows we
would celebrate the bestowin o' His dear
Son to ns, if the power to do it was
own ; but it ain't. But shall our hearts
be sad an' our lips dumb becanse o'
this? Come, come, dearies, be joyful
to-night be glad God has given to ns
a Saviour I Let us kneel down an' thank
Him for Christ."
: And around their mother's chair, and
in their mother's voice, they prayed to
God to forgive their ungratefulness, and
to accept their hearts as their Christmas
offering. Gold, frankincense and myrrh
was not theirs to bring, but their lives
should be consecrated unto lum and
His service. Thus the ilentaes cheered
up and were comforted, and God sent
His blessing down upon them.
Merry voices were heard outside as
they arose from their knees, and Andy
and Scronty (a poor neighbor s child).
and Jimmy Beeves (ditto), rushed into
the room in the noisiest manner of
happy boys.
"Oh, Horace ! Oh, Johnnie," shouted
Andy, "it s gom to be the biggest
Christmas ever yon saw 1 It was a man.
an' he give me a purse fall 'thout my
askin' a word, and I've got a shawl for
yon. mother, an' the lotzest, lolsest
things 1 and a big book for Johnnie,
too I an' young Scronty has got a four-
blader I bought him 1 an we ve got a
big cake for us all I an somethiu for
Horace and little Peter, an' the sissies,
an' all ! and oranges beside !" -
"It was a stranger man," said Serouty
explaining, in a low voice, to Mr. Mentz,
while Andy and the children, frantic
with delight, proceeded to undo tbe
many packages, "an he said he'd been
a watchin Andy, an' he had eyes like
his boy what died ; an' he just made
him take the money. It's so little for
the rich nns to give thin's, but so much
for us poor folks to git, ain't it ?" and
Scronty laughed, thongh his lips
Such an excitement as followed, my
pen fails to portray, but I just love to
tell you that the joy was very, very
great, and that I believe God was look
ing ont for the little Mentzes all the
time, and that he pat it in the heart of
that noble man to bestow his money
upon them.
It was late ere they retired, for they
were not loth to celebrate now that
they had the means. And as for the
benefactor of that family, had he heard
the blessings that were called down
upon him, and listened to the prayers
of the Mentzes which ascended to the
throne of God, I think he would have
said with all his heart, "Truly, it is
heayen earth to be aUe t0 give
" .
Mrs. Brownine's Greatest I'oem.
I am disposed to consider the "Son
nets from the Portuguese" as, if not the
finest, a portion of tbe finest subjective
poetry in our literature. Their form
reminds us of an English prototype,
and it is no sacrilege to say that their
music is showered from a higher and
purer atmosphere than , that of the
Swan of Avon. We need not enter
upon cold comparison of their respec
tive excellences; but Shakespeare's per
sonal poems were the overflow of his
impetuous youth : his broader vision,
that took a world within its ken, was
absolutely objective; while Mrs. Brown
ing's Love Sonnets are the outpourings
of a woman's tenderebi amotions, at an
epo;h when her art was most mature,
and her whole nature exalted by a pas
sion that to such a being comes but for
once and all. Here, indeed, the singer
rose to her height. Here she is ab
sorbed in rapturous utterance, radiant
and triumphant with her own joy. The
mists have risen and her sight is clear.
Her mouthing and affectation are for
gotten, her lips cease to stammer, the
lyrical spirit has full control. The son
net, artificial in weaker hands, becomes
swift with feeling, red with a "veined
humanity," the chosen vehicle of a
royal woman's vows. Graces, felicities,
vigor, glory of speech, here are so crow
ded as to tread each upon the other's
sccptered pall. The first sonnet, equal
to any in our tongue, is an overture
containing the motive of the canticle ;
"not lteath, but Love" had seized
her unaware. The growth of this hap
piness, her worship of its bringer, her
doubts of her own worthiness, are the
theme of these poems. She is in a
sweet and, to us, pathetic surprise at
the delight which at last had fallen to
The wonder wis not 7t quite gone
t'rum that stiU look of hen."
Never was man or minstrel so honored
as her "most gracious singer of high
poems." In the tremor of her love she
undervalued herself, with all her fee
bleness of body, it was enough for any
man to live within the atmosphere of
such a fool ! In fine, the Portuguese
Sonnets, whose title was a screen be
hind which the singer poured out her
fall heart, are the most exquisite poetry
hitherto written by a woman, and of
themselves justify ns in pronouncing
their author the greatest of her sex,
on the ground that (the highest mission
of a female poet is the expression of
love), and that no other woman, ap
proaching her in genius, has essayed
the ultimate form of that expression.
An analogy with "In Memoriam," may
be derived from their arrangement and
their presentation of a single analytic
theme ; but Tennyson's poem, though
exhibiting equal art, more subtile rea
soning and comprehensive thought, is
devoted to the analysis of philosophio
Grief, while the Sonnets reveal to ns
that Love which is the most ecstatic of
human emotions and worth all other
gifts in life. Scribner'i Monthly.
Too late forthe fair An old baehelor.
From London Society. 1 .
' This celebrated favorite of Charles
VIL of France one who has inherited
from her own time to ours, after a lapse
of more than four centuries, the dis
tinctive tobnquet of "the beautiful
Agnes" was the daughter of M. Soreau
(vulgarly called Sorel, according to De
Mezerai), the Seigneur de St, Geran, a
noble gentleman of louraine.
' She was born in 1409, and in 1431,
when in her two-and-twentieth year,
received the appointment of attendant
or lady of honor to Isabella, Queen of
Naples and Sicily, from whose court
and service she passed into that 01
Mary, daughter of Louis IL, Ioke of
Anjou, afterwards Queen 01 Charles
VIL. where her rank, education, and,
more than these, her marvelous beauty,
all conspired to win her the perilous
attention of a king who was younger
than herself. Agnes was not seventeen,
as the fair authoress of the "Histoire
des Favorites" asserts she was, at this
time ; but had attained the more mature
age of at least twenty-eight perhaps
thirty, as Oliver de la Marche, a con
temporary, when recording some event
which took place in 1444, tells ns that
"the King had just elevated a poor
lady, a pretty woman, called Agnes
Sorel, and placed her in such triumph
and power that her state was compara
ble to that of the great princess of tbe
Her features were beautiful and ex
pressive of extreme gentleness; her
skin has been described as being of the
hue of alabaster, and her hair was mar
velously golden in its brightness. She
was then in the full bloom and beauty
of womanhood, and possessed a vivacity
of manner which "spread an air full of
charm on the least of her actions, so
that the most insensible souls could not
resist her" ("Histoire des Favorites").
"Heaven," says this authoress, "had
not only endowed Agnes with the
charms of face ; she had an air full of
grace, an admirable ngure, more wit
than any other woman in the world, and
tue most delicate and hnely turned,
with a certain greatness of soul which
led her naturally to generosity ; all her
inclinations were noble ; she was atten
tive, compassionate, ardeat in friend
ship, discreet, sincere, and, in short,
altogether fitted to make herself beloved
to distraction." -
De Mezerai writes of her as a "very
agreeable and generous lady, who, by
setting herself np as the equal of the
greatest princesses, became the envy of
the Court and the scandal of France."
With all her errors, Agnes was admitted
to be lavish to the poor, to be pious,
generally humble, and always patriotic
and full of public spirit. The majority
of historians have written xaost favora
bly of her, and never did the mistress
of a king, especially a king who was
her junior, make bo wise a use of her
perilous power, which she ever em
ployed, only for the good of others.
Pride and an extreme love of dress are
the chief errors alleged against her;
but to her influence over Charles VIL
must be attributed all the good that
ever appeared in him, and the eflort to
which he was roused that essay by
which, at last, the invading English
were driven from the soil of France ;
for he had been a lover of pleasure,
"and of the fair sex, which never can
be a vice," adds Voltaire, "save when
it leads to vicious actions."
Charles was neither a warlike nor a
high-spirited king. The influence ofj
England in I ranee after the death 01
its conqueror, Henry V., was so nobly
sustained by his brother, the Duke of
Bedford, that alter the demise ol
Charles VL, his successor had been
crowned at Poictiers, P.heims being
then in possession of the foe ; and he
was but the monarch of a nominal
kingdom, France having greatly aided
the English invaders, as she was rent
by two rival factions, one led by the
Duke of Burgundy and the other by
the Duke of Orleans. Charles VE had
been alternately the prisoner of each,
and the Dauphin was the scoff of both
often a fugitive, and always in danger
of destruction.
When the latter became Charles VIL
aided by an alliance with Scotland the
usual "cat's-paw" of the French in their
English wars and by a body of Scot
tish troops ander the Earl of Buchan,
who was constable of France, he made
some show of resistance, when all hope
seemed at an end, and to this unwonted
activity he was roused by Agnes Sorel.
He had already conceived the feeble
idea of retiring into Langnedoc or
Dauphipy, and contenting himself with
the defence of these minor provinces,
which must, eventually, have been
wrested from him. Mary of Anjon, a
princess of great prudence and merit,
vehemently opposed this measure,
which she saw would lead to a general
desertion of his cause by the French
"The fair Agnes Sorel," says Hume,
who lived in entire amity with the
Queen, seconded all her remonstrances,
and threatened that if he (Charles) thus
pusillanimously threw away the sceptre
of France, she would seek at the court
of England a fortune that was corres
pondent to her wishes. Thus, the
love of her on one hand, and dread of
losing her on the other, roused in the
breast of Charles VIE a glow of courage
which neither just ambition nor pure
patriotism could kindle, and he resolved
to dispute every inch of French soil
with his imperious enemies,-rather than
yield ingloriously to an evd fortune and
to the loss 01 his crown ana mistress.
And thus, in urging him to the field,
Mary of Anjou was forced to seek the
assistance of that fair rival who had
supplanted her ; and she seems at all
times to have borne with singular
sweetness of temper with s resignation
that some might think savoted of indif
ference or stupidity the alienation of
the King's love for herself ; and neither
by action or word does she seem ever to
have reproached the reigning favorite.
Bat now a new ally came in the per
son of Joan of Arc ; victory attended
her banners, and in two months Charles
VLL was crowned again, a step consid
ered necessary after the double corona
tion of young Henry of England st
Westminster and Paris. The loss of
the latter eity soon followed. The Maid
of Orleans perished at the stake ; but
her mission was accomplished t ranee
was free, and England -was glad to sign
the treaty of Arras.
After this consummation Charles
abandoned himself entirely to the so
ciety of Agnes Sorel ; "ease and pros
perity," according to De Mezerai,
"plunged him into dalliance ana eilem-
inate softness." Ghe was his greatest
passion, states Duclos, and was the most
worthy of it. She loved Charles ten
derly for himself, and had no other
object in her conduct than the glory of
her somewhat soft lover and the good
of the state. Agnes Sorel, ha adds,
distinguished herself by qualities pre
ferable to those which are usually louna
in her sex a rather obscure phrase.
But, despite what some allege of her
humility, ostentation and a love of
splendor are aaid by others to have been
among her weaknesses ; but such are
pardonable enough in a beautiful wo
man. At court she appeared in all the state
of a royal princess. Her apartments
were more expensively decorated with
hangings of silk and taffeta, with furni
ture and tapestries, than those of the
Queen, Mary of Anjou. She had a
larger and more splendid retinue of
servants than her royal mistress, and
had quite as much reverence shown her.
Her conches, her linen, her vessels of
gold and silver, her rings and other
jewelry, all surpassed in beauty and in
value those of the Queen. Even her
kitchen surpassed that of the neglected
wife ; ''for with this woman, called
Agnes, whom I have seen and known.
says the anthor of the "Chronique des
Dues de Bourgogne," "the King was
terribly besotted.
Her robes were more costly and Lei
trains were longer than those worn by
any 01 the royal princesses ; and it was
remembered that to show the extreme
fairness of her skin and beautiful con
tour of her bust, she had all her dresses
more dccoUetceg, or cut lower in front,
than had ever been the custom at the
Court of France.
In some burst of temper. Ames had
been accused of having so arrogantly
disregarded the feelings of the Queen
that she was struck on the mouth by
the son of the latter, the Dauphin,
Louis XL, in whose whole character
was but one undeniably redeeming
point a love for his mother, with a
tender reverence for her memory.
Agnes died in the year 1450. as many
historians have affirmed, of poison, a
common suspicion in those days, and
lor long after. De Mezerai states the
circumstance broadly and clearly, that
when the King was at Jumieges, four-
teen miles from Rouen, where there1
was then a vast and famous abbey con
taining no less than two thousand four
hundred monks and lay brethren, "they
(t. C, the courtiers) poisened his dear
Agnes de Soreau, without whom he
could not live one moment."
It is stated that Francis I., who lived
about a century after her, believed in
the gentleness and patriotism of "the
Lady of Beauty;" as she was named,
and, finding a picture of her among
others, he wrote the following lines
under it :
"Gerjtllle Agnea! ploz i'bonnmr tn merit re
La cauae eunt de France recouvref ,
Vue ee que pent ihhiun cloitre ouvrer
Cloae auuuaui. ou Lieu UeTote heruiltc.
Dress Tor Farmer's Wive.
We copy some extracts from a paper
read before the Washington Grange of
the Patrons of Husbandry by Mrs. R.
B. Bruce.
She says : In regard to dress in the
first place, let us dress within our
means, and for comfort and conveni
ence, instead of fashion. First in order,
let us dress the head. God in his in
finite wisdom covered the head with
hair, and the good book says that long
hair is an ornament to a woman, and
since God's works are perfect and no
work of art can compare with his, let us
then arrange our natural hair in a tasty
manner, and not let fashion load our
heads with hemp or borrowed hair.
Then the covering for the head ; of
what real account is the present style,
except for ornament. Oar husbands
and brothers wear a hat that protects
their heads and faces from the hot rays
of the sun in summer, and in winter a
fur cap or hat which is both warm and
comfortable to shield them from the
cold blasts, while we place upon our
heads a cupola, erroneously called
bonnet or hat, held in position by gny
ropes and stays, and if we wish for
comfort we must carry a parasol to pro
tect our heads from the scorching rays
of the sun in summer, and in winter,
over this cupola, wrap some extra fix
ings to keep out the cold, which is
neither handy or convenient, especially
when the team is waiting for as. Oh
for the good, old-fashioned days when
a bonnet was made to cover the head,
light and cool for summer, and warm
and comfortable for winter. I could
hardly adopt the Quaker styles, yet I
think they are far preferable to the
fashions of the present day. Perhaps a
medium between the two would suit my
And our dress, of whatever fabric it
may be made in a becoming style, easy
fitting and convenient, and not counter
feit deformity by carrying a pack upon
our backs to the inconvenience of our
selves, and to the utter disgust of all
sensible men and women. Deformities
will come to ns fast enongh at best ; let
ns, then, not tempt our Maker by ridic
ulously attiring ourselves, lest He in
his vengeance may deal with ns or our
offsprings. If we had been born thns
deformed, Oh, what a pity it would
have been t then why do it for fashion's
sake ? And then again, how much more
convenient it would be, if, when a dress
is made, it would stay made and look
well until it is worn out, and how much
it would lessen our labors. And then
how much good could be done with the
time and means now spent in useless
display. My tastes are plain and sim
ple. I consider such an over-loaded,
puffed out concern as yon see at the
present time for o dress, not only ridic
ulous but vulgar.
The question arises. What are you to
do with the girls ? they want to dress
in style or as others do. I will answer,
as the twig is bent so the tree inclines.
And our under dress, let it be suffi
ciently warm, as many of the aches and
pains that we have can be traced to in
sufficient clothing. Let our shoes be
such as will keep our feet dry and warm,
as our health depends much upon this
point. I would recommend a thick
woolen stocking for winter, and cotton
only for summer wear. And, finally,
let our whole apparel be for comfort
and convenience. Let there be a variety
in our wardrobe, for variety is the spice
of life.
These views I would recommend for
the following reasons : First, It would
lessen the burden of many who now find
it hard to maintain their place in society.
It would lessen the force of temptations
which often lead men to barter honesty
and honor for display. If there was less
strife in dress, it would enable people
in moderate circumstances to go more
into society. It wonld enable all classes
to attend church. It would save valu
able time. It wonld relieve our means
from a serious pressure, and thus enable
ns do more for good enterprises.
A Leavenworth photographer has
been explaining the altogether-too-elaborate
way in which he procured a
"spirit" photograph. He says he first
took a picture of Mr. Harris,and painted
his whiskers out. Then he cut the face
out of a lady's photograph and pasted
Harris' face in. He made a negative
from this, and then a transparent posi
tive. He next held this positive before
a sensitised plate in a dark room and
the ghost-picture wss made.
Tlarket lor Old
Clothes tn
C. C. Fulton writes from Paris to the
Baltimore American : This is called
the Marche du Vieux Linge. It is a
market for old clothes and stuffs, shoes
and tools, and is a very extensive affair,
It is about seven hundred feet long by
two hundred leet Droad, boil in iron
pavilions, and contains two thousand
four hundred places for dealers, each of
about thirteen square feet, and each
and all these stalls are filled with deal
ers, from which some ides can be ob
tained ;of the scene here presented.
This was built as a speculation, the city
granting the contractor the right to
build it and receive the rents for fifty
years, at the same time paying the city
two hundred thousand francs per annum,
and the whole to revert to the city at
the expiration of fiftv vears. It cost
the contractor three million five hun
dred thousand francs. The new stalls
set np for the dealers are so elegant.
and the articles offered for sale so cle
verly "renovated," that the visitor can
scarcely believe himself to be in an "old
clothes" mart, It has been a very suc
cessful speculation ; and the poor man
can here procure a very respectable
out nt lor a very small outlay, xhese
dealers are constantly on the lookout for
the contents of rubbish rooms, old
clothes, and all the odds and ends that
accumulate in an easy-living household.
The space occupied by this structure is
two entire blocks, the street passing
through it being roofed over with iron,
glass and zinc It is a very elegant
structure, built on the model of the
Grand Central market, entirely of iron.
The roof is about forty feet high, with
a greater elevation in the centre, where
there is an immense open gallery,
reached by two flights of iron stairs.
Seeing that there was a crowd of people
up there, we ascended, and found a
doorkeeper, who required one son ad
mission. This proved to be a place for
the sale ol old clothes too far gone for
renovation, and the articles were piled
up in lines along the floor, through
which the purchasers, to the number
probably of a thousand, were circulat
ing. Both buyer and seller pays one
sou admission, which defrays the ex
pense of this branch of the establish
ment. Musty-looking old shoes by the
cart load were here, shocking old hats
and all manner of woman's apparel.
They were doing an extensive business,
however, and daring our ramble we
were frequently invited to purchase
some threadbare garment, from which
it may be judged how shabby the Eu
ropean traveler gets in his outward ap
pearance by the time he reaches Paris.
The goods displayed in the two thou
sand fonr hundred stalls below looked
as brigbt and new, almost, as the dis
play ia the windows on the boulevards.
though many of them were slightly out
of fashion."
French Dreanre of Itoyalfy.
Under the old French Monarchy the
title of "Dauphin" was borne by the
eldest son of the King ; in the latter
years of Louis XV. it was borne by his
grandjon, afterwards the unfortunate
Louis XVL The title was originally
that of the sovereign lords of the
province of Dauphine, which, in the
middle of the fourteenth century, was
presented to France by tbe last of these
lords on condition that the heir-appa
rent to the throne Bhould be called
Dauphin of Vienne, and actually govern
the province. Almost sovereign powers
were exercised by the Uaupuui at first.
but gradually his title became one of
honor only. Originally it was derived
from the lords of the soil having the
hgure of a dolphin lor their crest, the
name of which was gradually transferred
to the province. The Count de Cham
bord, who, because his grandfather was
King of France, claims the crown as a
n'7if, wholly ignoring the fact that the
French people ought to be permitted to
choose their own sovereign if the Mon
archy is restored, is childless, but, now
that the Count de Paris has acknowl
edged him as head of the Bourbon line,
returns the compliment of writing to
him as "Dauphin" that is, one pre
tender to the crown of France gives to
another a title which belongs only to
the heir of that crown. At tho same
time that crown is but a shadow of the
past. The throne which it symbolizes
is in the dust, De. Paris addresses
De Chambord as "your Majesty," and,
in return, the Bourbon addresses the
Orleans pretender as "My dear Dau
phin." They settled everything between
them. De Chambord as King and De
Paris, theheir-presumptive,as Dauphin,
may sound very well, but the will of
France stands like an inaccessible
brazen wall between these gentlemen
and the realization of their dream of
A House of oar Own.
Next to being married to the right
person there is nothing so important in
one's life as to live under one's own
roof. There is something more than s
poetical charm in the expression of the
"We have our cosey house; it is
thrice dear to us because it is our own.
We hsve bought it with the savings of
our earnings. Many were the soda
fountains, the confectionery saloons,
and the necessities of the market we
had to pass ; many a time my noble
husband denied himself of the comfort
of tobacco, the refreshing draught of
beer, wore his old clothes, and even
patched up boots ; and I, O, me ! made
my old bonnet do, wore the plainest
clothes, did the plainest cooking;
saving was the order of the house, and
to have s house of our own had been
our united aim. Now we have it ; there
is no landlord troubling ns with rais
ing the rent, and exacting this and that.
There is no fear harbored in our bosom
that in sickness or old age we will be
thrown out of house and home, and the
money we haye saved which otherwise
would have gone to pay rent, is suffi
cient to keep us in comfort in the winter
days of life."
What a lesson do the above words
teach, and how well it would be if hun
dreds of families would heed them, and
instead of living in rented houses,
which take a Urge share of their earn
ings to pay the rent, dress and eat ac
cordingly, would bravely curtail ex
penses, and concentrate their efforts on
having " a home of their own." Better
a cottage of your own than a rented
Deatli from at Yellow Jacket's
nil as;.
A daughter of Geo. Murpny, of
Vienna, Scott county, Ind., was eating
some apple-butter, when a yellow jacket
alighted upon it and was inadvertently
swallowed. The insect stung her in
the throat, which at once commenced
swelling, and in less than an hour was
completely closed, causing her death by
A citizen of Danville, Vs., recently
bequeathed f 1000 each to five churches
of different denominations, of Bona of
which he wss a member.
Yontlis Column.
To Whom It Hay Concern.
I wont stay at home till I'm faded and gray;
1 will ere ue wurtd, 1 declare ! "
And tbe monse stuck hi tail in a d-'Sperste wsy
Through the bole at the foot of the stair.
My father and mother can traTcl about.
But I must stay here till I die.
They say I'm too aimt le too small to go out.
And think they are wiser than I.
ni show them If I eaa be trosted or no
If I'm nt ss cunntue as tbey !
The thinirs they call ea t. will aot ind me so slow
But 1 can keep out of their way.
"1 ehsnt lose my bresth. a mr mother haa done.
Nor my tall, ae my tcrsndfather diU.
The truih ia, they're gcttiDK Uo old for a run,
w hale 1 am sa .pry as a kid.1
So he twisted shoot with his stiff little tall
Ti 1 it stuck w&ere bie head was before.
Thon started to w.lk to the old sitcoea pall.
aum muni wj tiie orurui yeuow noor.
Twas qnlte an exenrslon. the traveler thooi;ht,
Ae be cautiously Tentuml anad.
"How silly !" he murmured. "Mire are to be caucht.
n bo should do tue catching tuatcad.
'Let the things tber rail rate bother me if they dare !
I'll carry them home foe DIT tea
And tbe mouse locked about with a confident sir
1 or the creatures he thought tot m u be.
That gray rnrry mass !j big there In the snn '
tas s mouutain. without any doubt.
Be never imagined the thing conld he one
OX the cat. he'd been cauUoued about.
So he walked to its side in s critical wsy,
A sof ( ss itself sbd ss bold -Whn
iw to ! went a paw in his srkt of gray,
And well, what remains to be tola t
The old varent mice came home early that night
And pasaed the old cat on tbeir wsy
Her jaws were sll bloody, and close st her right
I.1V tbe last final end of tbe poor little mile
Who thought himself wiser than thee.
LaiU Corp tu.
Fish Palaces. "Fish palaces I" I
hear a little reader exclaim. "What is
a fish palace ? I never heard of one be
fore." Didn't you ? Well, a fish palace is a
very large aquarium. Don't screw up
your mouth and squint your eyes as
though I'd been fooling you, but read
what I have copied for you from an
English magazine about a great
aquarium. You will be very much in
terested. I know. Here it is :
You have all read fairy tales of en
chanted golden, fishes who were dis
guised princes and princesses, and who
lived in fish-ponds in the grounds of
palaces that ought to have been their
own. In these days they build palaces
for tbe fishes themselves, without much
hope that care or kindness will, change
them into anything else. It is one of
these palaces I want to tell von some
thing about. One day, a good many
years aj;o, in walking along a boulevard
m i-aris, we saw a window with some
curious glasses of living huh and sea
anemones in it. Bat though it looked
like an ordinary shop, we found our
selves, on passing through the door, in
a very wonderful pla.'C Straight before
us was a turnstile, and bevond the turn
stile was a passage full of dim greenish
light It was a fish palace, a great
aquarium. Low music and dim light
were everywhere, and slowly our eyes
grew used to it, and we began to see
deep green water on each side of us
with just a glass between, and all the
water full of strange creatures. Once
we stopped at a place where hideous
monsters with many arms and crreat
eyes stared at us ; they were the pieuvres
or devil-fish. Then we came to a troop
of tiny sea-horses, nodding their heads
and curling their tails ; some, fastened
by these tails to a bit of rock or sea
weed, were maving their heads and
bodies in a half circle round and back
again, nodding their heads all the time,
I suppose catching little tbintrs to eat.
Some would suddenly uncurl their tails
and dart through the water straight and
fast on some errand best known to them
selves. Odd, queer little things, enough
to mount a wholo regiment of sea
fairies. Do you know what a sea-horse
is ? He is a very small fellow, not more
than about three inches long, whose
home is in the Mediterranean Sea ; he
has a head very like a bony little black
horse, and a tail sometimes straight,
sometimes wriggling, prettiest when
curled up round and round in ridgy
coils, and his rough little neck arched
like a spirited pony. But pretty as he
was, we had to leave him to look at his
neighbors. There were dainty little
"demoiselles," also from the Mediterra
ean, in tbeir dresses of scarlet snd
blue, one or two enormous frogs, sponge
and coral-making little creatu ts, and
many more, bat it is so long ago that I
cannot remember all of them, and the
pretty fish palace, like many other
pretty things, is gone from Paris.
Crooks. "Well, boys, bnsy as bees
this bright Saturday afternoon, I see,"
said Mr. Atkins, or "Uncle Bill." as all
the boys called him. "What are you
all about ?" he went on as he threw
himself on the grass beside them.
"I'm trying to make a mast for my
ship," said Johnny, who was whittling
at a knotty stick, "but the old thing is
so crooked that I shall never get a
straight mast out of it."
"I'm afraid not, indeed. But what
are yon at, Ned 1"
"I was going to make a telegraph,
sir, but the wire is so full of kinks, and
they are so hard, I can't get them out."
'Look heie, boys !" cried Jim, com
ing from the house, where he had gone
for s pitcher of water ; "isn't this jnst
the queerest old pitcher you ever saw ?
It looks as though it were making faces
at you."
Sure enongh, the handle was put on
all awry, and the mouth was twisted,
"as if it had been eating persimmons,"
Johnny said.
"Ah, boys!" said Uncle Bill, "take
care of the crooks before they get in so
hard. Johnny's stick was once a tender
twig that you could bend any way, and
now you can't get the crooks off without
splitting it all up. Jim's pitcher was
once soft clay, and could be moulded
into any form, but the crooks are baked
in, and you can't get them out, even H
you break the pitcher in pieces. And
as to Ned's wire, the only thing yon can
do with it is to heat it in the lire, and
then, when it is red hot, pound them
ont. Take care of the crooks, then, lest
God put you into the furnace of sorrow,
and pound them out with many hard
knocks. Or perhaps it may be even
worse than that, for the Bible says,
'That which is croeked cannot be made
straight,' "Children' Hour.
My first is in skein but not in silk,
My second is in water but not in milk ;
My third is in noun but not in verb.
My fourth is in stock but not in herb ;
My fifth is in sad but not in pity.
My sixth is in song but not in dit'y ;
My whole is the name of a very large
Answer : Kansas.
The Indianapolis Journal says : "As
an instance of the increasing value of
walnut lumber we note that the stand
ing walnut trees on a half section of
land on Eel river, in Miami county, was
recently sold to a lumber dealer for
$17,000. There is a large amount of
other timber on the tract which is not
included, only the walnut timber being
sold." imf
The best style of writing is righting
Part of the German garrison of Stras
borg consists of 600 trained carrier
pigeons. ,
Many cases of diphtheria have re
cently occurred in various parts of Cam
bria county.
Toe may glean knowledge by reading,
but you must separate the chaff from
the wheat by thinking.
Glasgow is about to honor the mem
ory of Robert Barns by erecting a col
ossal statue of the poet.
Rev. Mr. Ancient has received an
other gold watch. It is evident that he
is getting his reward in time.
London thinks that in the course of
s few years the Thames embankment
will be the finest promenade in Europe.
A bale of cotton was sold a auction
in Memphis, for the benefit of the suf
ferers from yellow fever, and it brought
The snpply of youno; ladies at Salt
Lake is not equal to the demand, and
More-men region cries oat for more
Keep company with persons rather
above than beneath yourself ; for gold
in the same pocket with silver loseth
both its color and weight.
When your companion bows to a lady
yon should do so also. When a gentle
man bows to a lady in your company,
always bow to him in return.
The most extensive wedding on record
occurred a few days since in Cincinnati,
when a widowed mother, three sons snd
two daughters were all married at once.
A citizen of Connecticut, recently in
troduced to a newly-married man, con
gratulated him warmly, and said, "Ah,
these Litchfield county Kirla make
clever wives ; lve had three of 'em."
Economy is the parent of integrity.
of liberty and of ease, and the beaute
ous sister of temperance, of cheerful
ness and health. Prof useness is a cruel
and crafty demon, that gradually in
volves her followers in dependence and
It was reported that a Iarira amount
of practical treasure was found within
a few miles of St. John, N. B., a few
days ago, owing to the caving in of the
bank-earth caused by the encroachment
of the sea. The treasure consisted
mostly of Spanish coin of the sixteenth
When they opened the case of the
plaster of Paris casts of statues and
busts presented to the San Francisco
Art Association by tbe Government of
France recently, they found that only
the legs of the beautiful Apollo Belvi-
dere remained, and the head that was
on Alexander the Great.
The Brazilian Cable between Portugal
and Brazil will not be completed for
some months. Tempestuous weather
has prevented tbe opening- of the first
section of the cable between Lisbon and
the Madeira Islands, and the contrac
tors have therefore been permitted to
defer sending the second section to ses
until next sriring.
The inhabitants of Santa Cruz Bay,
on the Pacific coast, depend for a living
we are told, upon the whales washed
ashore. Lately they were lucky enough
to secure a pair of these monsters, and
all the inhabitants, young and old, went
to work securing blabber. We know
some people in this part of the country
who try to live in this same way. They
are always waiting for a whale or some
thing "very like a whale" to arrive, but
he never comes. The way to be sure of
s whale is to embark on the ocean of
enterprise, hunt him np, and then hunt
him down.
Now that it is the fashion for ladies
to load themselves with all manner of
breloques hanging from their chate
lains, there is an ingenious way of
cheating the watch-grab thieves. A
Norwegian knife of tortoise-shell, a
vinaigrette, tablets, pencil, scissors, and
the everlasting cross and heart and
anchor are all appended to the chate
laine, and a watch-case of tortoise-shell,
showing its face but hiding the jewelled
back and the gold which would tempt
the thieves. The costly watch seems
like another cheap tortoise-shell orna
ment, and the thieves pass it by.
Dr. Dio Lewis tells a good many old
truths in a fresh and interesting manner.
He has recently pointed out the results
of the habit so common among business
men. of keeping the head constantly
covered while about their business. Ha
says that you never see a man lose a
hair below where the hat touches, which
is a statement not strictly true. We
have often seen cases of baldness ex
tending far below the line where the
hat touches the head. There is no
doubt, however, that wearing of silk
hats tends to promote baldness. We
do not pretend to explain the fact, but
we think experience sufficiently demon
strates it.
A social reformer, writing in Lippin
eott's, says: "One effect of the panio, it
is to be hoped, will be to make the din
ners less magnificently heay. I am
sure every lady in New York-who was
last winter constrained to sit from seven
o'clock until eleven o'clock at those
monstrously elaborate and expensive
dinners which have become so much
the fashion, will be glad to dine in a
mora simple manner, in a shorter time,
with less display, and with fewer courses
and fewer excitements. One entertainer
last winter introduced live swans and
small canaries to enliven his dinner.
The swans splashed rather disagreeably.
'Do you know why he had the swans?
said a lady to a gentleman. 'I suppose
he wanted the Ltdat of society,' said
the gentleman. 'Well, yes, said ths
lady, 'but I did not know, although ha
is as rich as a jew, that he was a Ju
piter.'" The women are catching it hard in sll
quarters on the score of extravagance.
Preachers fling texts at them. Leo
tares toss society jokes at their bonnets
and chignons. The papers print all
manner of squibs about their ruinous
spendthrift ways ; and new even the
German journals have taken the matter
np, and dish out whole columns of ho
nuietic sourkrout for their female read
ers. Really this thing is rather over
done. Considering that woman has bat
one pet weakness, while man has a
whole family of them, and that for
every dollar she throws away on dress
ha wastes ten on cigars, champagne,
fancy rides, cards, terriers, dinners at
the clubs, and other things of the sort,
there is rather more talk than there is
wind for, and we all know that words
made out of old breath are worse than
empty. Three quarters of the extrava
gance of society happen to bo of the
masculine gender, and three-quarters ol
the extravagance of women of which we
hear so much is of masculine origin.
Considering the facta of the ease, it
would be rather mora becoming if soma
of our masculine censors prated las
and economised more. An onaoa of
practice is worth a pound of preach aay