Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 November 1884 — Page 2

LOVE'S TRIUMPH. ———“• Apart, tbcir liveu had been a Mivago trial; They met, and faded all the clouds of tears. The siiadvw backward moved, upon life « dial, Anrf closed the gap of many bitter years. From ont Night's loom the sable shadow length- ~ And gloomed the gold where late the suiUlaht I fed; Through I. re's sweet consolation soothed and strong hened. Heart c naped to heart they said again, r arewell! •»••• * . , * He crossed alone the threshold where they part d And in the dark held wi’e his rrms apart! And called aloud so yearningly that started Fnll into 1 fe the picture m his heart. And fragrant, frutty odors floated round him, Like Mime magician’s picture-weaving mist. Ana with the suotile chains of 1 ancy bound him — Her leading shackles on his willing wrist. He f It the clasp of aims and plaited fingers, The cellar of Love's knighthood, on his neck. And bowed his head as one who, willing, lingers. His going steps held by Love's chain in check. lie beat d the hushed half-sibi’ancc nf kisses S'.ir all the air as with a brecz>- of sigh, As th< ugh the p st eternity's abysses too hoed 1 tom out their depths Love’s dear replies. The low-hushed whisper of the surf of passion, From whiter throbbing billows than the waves. Foam-plumed, he heard in cadence pulsings dash on Love’s shore and die to silence in its cave. No note in all Love’s gentle gamut missing, A sweep of garments stared rhe perfumed air. He heard the sound of feet and carpet kissing And lelt Love's benediction on his hair. He looked in eyes whose depths he could not measure Blue-gray as morning's breaking__ovcr way J, He walked, love-shod, where but to love were pleasure Ere lest within Li e’s labyrinthine maze. * « v » » « » A city jarred harshly on hi= nearing, 'ihe waking dreamer from his dreams awok", And saw again the dreaded shadows neaiing That might his life with utter blackness cloak. Thtn came a thought, Lke sunshine d.rkncss chasing. That as immortal must be every act, No power that, is equal to erasing The record from the "tab et-leaves of fact.' His clenched hand clove the dark in fierce defiance. Oh, Master Fate! come you with shade or shine, While I on Memory's power can pkice reliance This day. depite your.utmost hate, is mine! —lien Ik House, in the. Currant.

A HOLIDAY MYSTERY.

Mr. Joseph Battledore and Mr. Samuel Newell were old friends and cronies, and what w’as really wonderful, their respective wives had rather cemented the intimacy by becoming violently attached to one another. The consequence was that the two families lived on the closest terms of friendship and good-will, and not unfrequently went to the same holiday resort for the summer vacation. This year they took adjoining houses at Eastbourne, and, according to custom* Mr. Battledore and Mr. Newell remained in town on the plea of business, running down to the seaside from Saturday to Monday, and occasionally staying for a few days at a time. The fact was that these old gen Semen were making business an excuse for a little mild dissipation in the absence of their excellent helpmates. The ladies naturally viewed the arrangement with some uneasiness, and each had an uncomfortable suspicion that the other’s husband might lead her spouse away. But nothing ever transpired of the old gentlemen’s proceedings which was calculated to disturb domestic harmony, though they were both subjected to a rigorous and searching cross-examination during their periodical visits to their families at the expiration of each week spent in town. Mr. Battledore and Sam Newell—for it would be affectation to speak of him as Mr. Samuel Newell, since everybody calls him Sam, though he was well past 60—were seated after dinner enjoying their wine one Monday evening, having returned from Eastbourne in the morning, when Mr. Battledore remarked: “I’m not sure they haven’t got the best of it down there,” nodding vaguely over his shoulder in the direction of Eastbourne. “It is rare holiday weather—much too hot for town.” “Precious slow’ at the seaside,” re - joined the other as he sniffed at his claret.” • “Well, yes; certainly,” acquiesced Mr. Battledore. “Jolly in Paris, though, I expect,” suggested Sam, insidiously. "Hot!” ejaculated Mr. Battledore, with an abstracted air. “Pooh! It was hotter than this when we went together three years agp, and yet we contrived to enjoy ourselves.” Mr. Battledore coughed uneasily, and helped himself to wine. The occasion referred to called forth mingled reflections. He and Sam Newell had crossed the channel for a short trip, with ttie full consent and approbation of their wives, and had what the Americans call “a high ol’d time.” But after their return Sam Newell, through undue appreciation of his own claret, had suffered himself to be beguiled into making unguarded admissions of rather an awkw ark nature, which he endeavored, with only partial success, to explain away the next morning. The wives accordingly laid their heads together, and, though no unpleasantness ensued, it was tacitly understood that an edict had gone forth which effectually banished from the breasts of the delinquents the smallest hope of ever being again allowed to visit the continent without ah escort. “I feel very much inclined to run across,” said Sam Newell, tentatively. “I could not get away,” returned Mr. Battledore. “Why?” ..“Oh, business, of course,” answered Mr. Battledore. “Won’t do, Joey. Don’t come the humbug over me,” said Sam, with a wink. . Mr. Battledore frowned slightly, and then suffered his features to relax into a smile. He was rather a pompous and dignified old gentleman, but he knew from experience that it was no use being pretentious with Sam. “My wife wouldn’t hear of, it; I’m sure yours won’t either,” he said after a pause- ’ “Why should she?” asked Sam, with another wink. “Eh,” exclaimed Mr. Battledore, starting. “Let us go and say nothing about it. Wo could start to-morrow morning and forns back Friday night in time to go , ■ -r»

. il to Eastbourne as usual. We should get three clear days over there,* t . Mt. Battledore' leaned back in his chair, fairly amazed by this audacious proposal. Had he been staying at homo the suggestion would have appeared impracticable on the face of it, but lie had been fortunate enough to let his house, and lor the time was Sam’s honored guest. Now, Sam’s household was devefted to their master, who did not disdain to bribe them to hold their tongues about his abnormally late hours when h.is wife was absent. Sam might, therefore, safely leave for a week without fear of being betrayed, and this circumstance removed a great danger. There would be no difficulty as regarded his office, for Mr. Battle lore had an easy and accommodating partner, who could be safely trusted to keep his secret. There remained only conscientious- scruples about deceiving his wife, and these, sad to relate, vanished like, snow beneath a noonday sun as Sam proceeded to expatiate upon the attractions and gayeties of the French capital. The upshot was that Mr.' Battledore and Sam Newell started for Paris the next morning, and enjoyed their brief trip amazingly—in an innocent fashion enough no doubt. They returned to London on the Saturday morning, as arranged, and were, relieved to find that no communication awaited either of them from their respective wives. In the afternoon they took their usual train to Eastbourne, as though nothing had happened, feeling tolerably easy in their minds. Sam Newell certainly did, but then he was the more hardened sinner, being a member of the stock exchange. Mr. Battledore’s misgivings were chiefly attributable to a blister on his nose, caused by exposure to the sun, and this troubled him a good deal, especially as they approached their destination. “What shall I say if my wife notices it,” he inquired, gazing reprehensively at himself in the polished case of his wateb. “Oh! she won’t notice it,” said Sam, in his off-hand way. 4 ‘But suppose she does,” insisted Mr. Battledore, irritably. “Tell her you’ve been smelling a flatiron to cure a cold,” suggested Sam. This was all the assistance Mr. Battledore received from his companion, and he worked himself up into quite a nervous state lest his blistered nose should give rise to awkward questions. Fortunately, however, Sam’s opinion turned out to be correct, for the truth was that the disfigurement was really very trifling. Mrs. Battledore made no comment upon her husband’s appearance, and so entirely unsuspicious of what had happened that she hardly referred to his supposed sojourn in town. Sam Newell’s wife made no suspicious inquiries either; and the conspirators took an early opportunity of secretly congratulating, one another upon their happy escape from detection. Somewhat toward the small hours of night, however, Mr. Battledore was aroused from his first doze by an ominous question from his wife, who inquired, rather meaningly as he imagined, whether he had received a letter from her.

“A letter! What letter?” he asked, taken aback. “The letter I -wrote to your office on Tuesday,” said Mrs. Battledore. It would have been perfectly simple, and also perfectly true, for Mr. -Battledore to have answered in the negative. The next moment he bitterly repented not having done so. But some how or other, -when the question was asked, he was siezed by an unreasoning panic arising from a guilty conscience, and the idea flashed across his mind that if he had said he had not received the letter, his wife would instantly suspect that he had been absent from the office. An instant's reflection would have convinced him’of his foolishness of such a notion, but he replied hastily • and thoughtlessly, inspired by secret uneasiness and his evil genius. “Oh! the letter. Oh, yes. Certainly," he said, burying his head in the pillow again. “Well?” said his wife interrogatively. “What?” murmured Mr. Battledore, pretending to be dozing off again. “You ordered it, I suppose ?” “Ordered it? Eh! what! Oh! of course, of course!” answered Mr. Battledor. What on earth made yoti write to the office ?” he added, by way of changing the conversation. “I thought it .would be more convenient. You W'ould only have to step around to the shop,” replied his wife. “ What the deuce does this all mean ?” thought Mr. Battledore, with a groan. “I hope it will be ready in time, Joseph! Joseph!” cried his wife emphatically, as he feigned to slumber. “Will it be ready in time?" “Of course,” said Mr. Battledore, shortly, trembling with apprehension. “What color did you choose, Joseph ?” demanded his persistent spouse little suspecting his mental perturbation. “Color?” murmured Mr. Battledore, faintly. “Yes; I left that entirely to you.” “I think it was a sort of bluishgreen,” said Mr. Battledore with desperation. To his unutterable relief his wife appeared satisfied with this answer, ori more probably she became drowsy her self at this juncture. At all events she asked no more, and Mr. Battledore was left to reflect upon the conversation. «*• By this time he had realized that he had made a fatal mistake in pretending to have-received the letter, and a greater mistake stilt in feigning to have executed some mysterious commission. He tossed about restlessly as he perceived how foolishly he walked into a dangerous trap. Should his wife now discover that he knew nothing of the. letter, and had answered her at random. her suspicions of something wrong would be immediately aroused, and Mr. Battledore was haunted by a dismal foreboding that the smallest clue would lead to the discovery of his recent escapade. He dared not anticipate the scene that Would'ensue when his wickedness and deceit stood revealed, for the truth was that he was afraid of his wife, and though pompous and self-im-portant in the world, he was pretty severely henpecked at home. However, it occurred to him that the case was not absolutely hopeless, for

Sam might find out through Mrs. Mewell what the letter was about, and by putting him on his guard enable bxm to avoid sinking deeper in the mire. Accordingly, next morning, having previously arranged with his friends to have an early dip into the sea, he started off before his wife was awake, and confided his trouble to his faithful companion; Sam scoffed at his fears and undertook to find out the necessary information from his wife without delay. Fortunately Mrs. Battledore made no allusion to the subject during breakfast, and on the ground of overwork at the office during the week, the friends seated themselves on the beach and threw pebbles in the glistening water which rippled musically at their feet.. But to Mr. Battledore’s dismay it transpired that Sam had failed in his mission. His wife pretended to know nothing about the letter, and had in her turn questioned him quite sharply about it. “She put me in a corner by asking what you had told me about it, and why 1 was putting questions to her,” said Sam, rubbing his nose in a perplexed way. “What did you say?” inquired Mr. Brattledore, breathlessly. “I said I only asked for fun.—That was a little weak, wasn’t it? But I don’t think she twigged that Fwas disconcerted. She seemed more curious to know what you had let drop about the letter,” said Sam. “Yes,’yes,” murmured Mr. Battledore. ——

“I said I had forgotten, but believed you had mentioned something about light green, turned up with blue'or some other - color. Evidently Maria did not know what to make of my answer.” “Then she will go and speak to my wife, who will be at me again, ’’moaned Mr. Brattledore. “I shouldn’t wonder. I say, Joe. what an ass you’ve made of yourself,” said Sam, revealing a little uneasiness on his own account. “Who knows what youristupidity may lead to. It may turn out to be the little cloud no bigger than a man’s hand. There is no trusting you. You would let out everything if you had a chance.” Sam Newell had much more reason to be afiraid Of his wife than his friend had of his, but he was animated by a bolder disposition. Nevertheless he shrank from the ordeal of having to confess to the Paris trip in the face of distinct prohibition, and, in a minor degree, he began to share his friend’s depression. Mr. Battledore’s nerveousness gave him just cause to fear that he would betray them both on the smallest provocation, and he rather jumped at the suggestion that they should return to town that evening, instead of waiting till the morrow. “I think we had better, and then you will be out of harm’s way all the sooner.” “That will put an end to the difficulty, for I shall no doubt find the letter somewhere about the office to-morrow, and can set everything right,” said Mr. Battledore eagerly. Accordingly these two dissemblers shirked their families as much as possibl all day, and then created considerable surprise and consternation by unexpectedly announcing their intended departure by an early evening train. Business was as usual, the excuse put forward, and after an uncomfortable afternoon they started back to town, consoled by the reflection that the danger was happily over. On the following evening, however, Mr. Battledore greeted his friend with a very rueful countenance. “The letter is not to be found anywhere. Those idiots at the office must have mislaid it.” “Or else it miscarried,” suggested Sam, with an exasperated grin. “But I said I repeivdd it! Now, what am Itodo ? What is it I’m supposed to have ordered. It might be anything from wall-paper or curtains to a pair of gloves or a drawing-room sofa,” exclaimed Mr. Battledore quite tragically. “It is certainly awkward, but if I were you I should pretend to forget all about the thing when next we go down. Ten to one your wife will then mention what it is,” said Sam in his confident way. ■ ' 0

Poor Mr. Battledore plucked up heart a little at his suggestion, but he continued to grow more and more uneasy, especially after receiving a postcard from his wife a day or two later, enjoining him to remember her commission and to bring it down with him on Saturday without fail, the last two words being liberally underscored. “How can I pretend I’ve forgotten it after that ?” said Mr. Battledore, peevishly, as he threw the post-card on the table. “You will have to. It’s the only chance," said Sam, looking quite serious. “Why couldn’t she have mentioned the article instead of saying it?” exclaimed Mr. Battledore, tearing the card viciously into small pieces. “I’ll tell you what, old fellow, I shall take Mrs. ‘N. a bracelet or something when we go down on Saturday,” said Sam thoughtfully. If there shall be a row it won’t do any harm, and it may enable me to assist you to ascertain what you wish to know.” Mr. Battledore’s apprehensions reached to a dangerous pitch when his friend announced his intention of adopting such a precaution. But a little calm reflection induced him to follow Sam’s shrewd example, and the result was that both gentlemen had propitiatory offerings to be sacrificed on the altar of conjugal affection. On reaching Eastbourne they were met by their wives in the carriage, and Mr. Battledore, at all events, felt by no means grateful for this little attention. However, he and Sam took their seats opposite the ladies, trying their best to look as if they had nothing on their minds, and, above all, no guilty secret. But before Mr. Battledore had time to recover his self-possession, his wife said: “ . “Joseph, you remember my speaking to you about a letter I wrote to you last week ?■* “Ye—yes,” said Mr. Battledore, wincing at a nudge from Sam. Well, I never sent it at all! Only this morning I discaverd it between the

leaves of my blotting book. I forgot to post it.?” 1 “It is of no consequence, of course,” chimed in Mrs. Newell; “only you will be the loser, Sam. Mrs. Battledore wrote to her husband to buy y|6u a Cigar case on piy behalf, and to have your initials engraved upon it. To-morrow, you know, is your birthday^^ t Mp. Battledore was by no means reassured by these speeches. On the contrary he realized that he was in a worse fix than ever since he would be now called upbn to explain what meant by saying he „he had received the letter. A sort 'of sickly feeling came over him as his wife said: , “By the way, Joseph, yon said you had received the letter, and talked as as though you knew all about it.” “And you, Sam, sajd Mr. Battledore had mentioned the subject to ydu; ami I was vexed at the time, as of course, it wasa se -ret,” interposed Mrs. Newell. “The fact is,” said Sam, coming gallantly to the rescue, for Mr. Battledore was at a loss to find words, “as Joe said to me afterward, we have been at cross purposes, We each had a secret, and we thought you had discovered ours. Joe let out that blue was the color he had chosen. I tried to find out bow the land lay from my wife; she nearly made me betray everything by asking questiou«.' However, I dare say neither of yjm guess what it is.” “No, indeed!” cried both the ladies, considerably mystified by this incoherent explanation, and on tiptoe of excitement—— —— “Well, here, Maria,” he said, producing a bracelet, like a conjuror. “Emeralds, you see. Don’t you remember my saying it was a sort of blushgreen or something. Well, Joe’s offering, I believe, has blue stones—turquoises." Mr. Battledore took the hint, and handed to his wife the bracelet he had bought as a peace offering, inwardly marveling at his old friend’s wonderful tact and impudence, and beginning to breathe quite steely again. In fact it was evident that Sam’s extempore discourse, followed by the bracelets, had satisfactorily explained what was mysterious in their recent behavior, and the secret of the unhallowed expedition to Paris seems unlikely ever to be revealed.

Forgotten.

An American traveler in England lately asked a farmer near Stratford-on-Avon to drive him irito town. He did so with alacrity, pointing out Shakespeare’s house, etc., with much pride. The American presently spoke of his plays. “A play-actor ?” exclaimed the Englishman. “Was that all he was? I thought, at least, he had been Mayor!” On the other hand an Englishman, visiting our foremost literary man last summer, asked a conductor on the Beverly train, — “Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes lives in this village?” “Don’t know, really. Young dentist moved there this spring. Probably he’s the party. Rising young map.’’. Somebody, before Carlyle’s death, inquired of a butcher in which house on Cheyne Walk, he lived. “Car-lyle? Oh, he’s the old man where they buy three loin chops on Monday. That’s the place. They eat no meat at all.” Young men invariably look forward to fame as the chief prize of life, but almost as invariably old men who have gained it are annoyed by the personal notice which it draws upon them. This personal notoriety lasts but a shor t time, even with the most brilliant reputations. Even while a famous man is living, he is but a name to all the world to but a small circle of his own acquaintances, and when he is dead, it is only his work that survives. Biography is. after all, but one man’s account and opinion of another man, which is very oiten totally incorrect. Shakespeare, Goethe, Franklin, still are great living powers in the world, but the men themselves are but faded shadows. Even of the person of the Savior of mankind, we have no accurate knowledge ; no tradition gives us the vqjce, or look, or peculiar bearing with which He walked the streets of Jerusalem. We can almost believe that the blot'ting out of His personal life was intended to teach us the worthlessness of personal glory; and that only the work done by a maU for mankind should endure. The word spoken from the soul lives when the lips that uttered it are dust.— Youth’s Companion.

The Congo.

Speaking of the Nile suggests Africa, and recalls the fact that the commercial nations of the world are organizing to open up the interior of the Dark Continent to trade. There is a population of nearly 50,000,000, who have so far been shut off from the commerce of the world. The inhabitants of Congo Land are far superior in_every way to the negroes of both the east and west coast of Africa. They are more industrious and in a higher scale of sejni-civ-ilization. Central Africa now produces many articles of prime necessity to the rest ot the world, and will in time consume vast quantities of goods in the way of clothing and ornaments, as well as some luxuries. There is a strife between the different nations as to which shall profit by this trade; but of course the United States is out of the race, as Europe can undersell us, and we have no ships of our own. Naturally, Great Britain would profit most by the opening of the Congo country; but France is first in this field, and Germany has entered her claim for an equality with other nations. The latter power is making itself felt in every quarter of the globe. Bismarck evidently believes that the maritime greatness of Great Britian has culminated, and that Germany has the best chance of being her successor as mistress of the seas and as owner of vast colonial posessions. Although the United States will not profit by the opening of the Congo to «ommerce, it is some salve to our national vanitv to know that it was an American, Henry M. Stanley, who first discovered the possibilities of the Congo, and who announced its importance to the outside world. But his great work has been done under tho auspices of the Belgian government— Demorest’s Monthly.

HEBREW A LIVING LANGUAGE,

t'»?d in Social and Business Life by Jewi in Many Localities. The appearance of an advertisement in a morning newspaper, offering a reward for the recovery of an account book in Hebrew, caused a reporter to call on the editor of a Hebrew newspaper, in this city, and ask him to what extent that language was still a living tongue. “Ik is popularly believed,” he began, “that the Hebrew language is dead in the same sense that Latin is dead. This is an error. Hebrew is still spoken by Jews, as their chosen language; it is used in synagogues, in social circles, in trade, and even, as you see by the advertisement, |n accounts. Newspapers are published in Hebrew characters, and there is not an orthodox Jew iu this city who does not use the ancient tongue in all the sacred offices of life. In fact, an orthodox Jew is required to be able to read and write Hebrew. The sacred books that are used are never in any other text than the original, and there ard even circulating libraries whose books are exclusively written in that tongue. The Hebrew is used almost exclusively as the language of social life and trade among Polish Jews. They have been cruelly persecuted, and the danger with which they have been confronted during the last six centuries in Poland and Polish provinces has had the effect of compelling them to use a language which is essentially their own and which cannot be acquired save by a vast deal of labor. Many of these Polish Jews neither read nor write, yet talk Hebrew with the facility of the dwellers in Jerusalem. German Jews have also acquired the common use of Hebrew, and use it with almost the facility as do the members of their race living in Poland, Hungary and through the Turkish provinces. From the same reasons which have made the old language the ordinary speech of the Polish Jew, the Russiah Jew has been compelled to adopt it. The present dispensations of the Russian government oblige the Russians to live in quarters by themselves, subject to almost the same severity that was enforced in Spain and England during the middle ages. They arq,surrounded by the people of the country, who are anxious to surprise them in any convert speech or act, and a mistake of any kind is apt to lead to the most fearful massacres. They are accused of practicing witchcraft and all manner of evil things, and these unfounded charges result in their drawing themselves in their shells, as it were, to associate only among themselves. The emigration of Russian and Polish Jews to this country has brought with it a language which is properly one of tho oldest in existence, and yet has by a curious reanimation become the newest. I believe that in the Jewish colony in the neighborhood of Grand, Essex, and Ludlow streets, a weekly journal is circulated, the text of which is entirely in the ancient character, and which is printed on a hand-press. It hasn’t a very large subscription list, but one of these papers is sometimes read by as many as thirty different persons. “It is, as you know, one of the requirements of our orthodoxy for tho head of the family to read the Old Testament in the original to his family. A chapter or more is read each evening during the week, and a more elaborate ceremony takes place at the beginning of the Sabbath. This tends to keep the language current, us it wera, and obliges every Jew to understand it. The younger members of the family circle are taught Hebrew by their elders, and it is not seldom that you will find in a family of ten or a dozen members a combination of Hebrew scholarship that would be the envy and pride of many aii eminent Orientalist. When I say that Hebrew is ifsed in the Polish or Russian colonies as the language of social life, and of trade I do not, of course, mean that it is the same language as that of the Scriptures or the same language as that of the old tongue. The dialects of tho various provinces creep in, and, while this curious combination of Russian or German and ancient Hebrew makes an excellent language for general use, it would puzzle a Hebrew scholar in a most demoralizing way if he were to go down into Essex street and try to converse with the natives. He would find that the grand old tongue of the prophet was sadly marred by its close contact with the vernacular. This is perhaps the natural fate of every ancient language. Still, as the Hebrew language is the tongue of a large number of persons, and as it is read and understood by persons who lay no claim to scholarship, it is a living language, and will remain so until the persecution of the Hebrews cease entirely in all lands.”--New York Commercial Advertiser.

President Madison’s Love Making.

Sidney Howard Gray, in his “Life of Madison,” says: Madison seems never to have been a young man, but during his last winter in Congress, “youth finally overtook him, and he fell in love.” The damsel was 16. Madison was twice her age; she was “of more than usual beauty and of irrepressible vivacity. He was of extraordinary solemnity. He fell in love with her, but it was her father, Gen. William Floyd, asingnerof the declaration, who did the love making on her side. They became engaged. But there was a sentimental young clergyman who “hung round her at the harpischord," and who knew how to make love to some purpose. Mr. Gray says that when she dismissed her solemn lover “she sealed her letter—conveying to him alone, it may be, some merry but mischievous meaning—with a bit of rye dough.” It was a cruel blow, and Mr. Gray quotes a sympathizing letter from Jefferson: “I sincerely lament the misadventure which has happened, from whatever cause it may have happened. Should it be final, however, the world presents the same and many other resources of happiness, and you possess many within yourself. Firmness of mind and unintermitting occupation will not long leave you in pain. No event has been more contrary to my expectations, and these are founded on what I thought a good knowledge of the ground. But of all machines ours is the most complicated and inexplicable.” , Good sense is the master of human life.— Bossuet.

Women Cashiers.

“Do women embezzle?” “No, they don’t. I never knew a wc» man who handled other people’? money to steal one cent. I have employed women as cashiers for years. They are quicker at making change than men; they will detect counterfeit i money quicker, they keep "their cosh accounts clearer, and don't want to run the whole store, as men do.” So said one of Buffalo’s heaviest dry goods merchants to a reporter. “Yes, they are invariably happy, I have heard of young women as clerks who had pilfered small articles—collars, handkerchiefs, etc. —blit the cases are rare. Most saleswopien and cashiers in Buffalo live at home, and keep off the streets at night. , Many belong to good families and to’ churches. are in every sense respectable. “Newspapers, nowadays are full of wicked embezzlements. Bank presidents run away with fortunes, wreck homes, families, lives, reputations, and public institutions. Cashiers gamble, steal, abscond, speculate and use money intrusted to them by poor working people. They lie, dissemble, deceive, and finally rob the directors of the corporations employing them; but women do not steal. Look at the suicides caused by all these breaches of trust! See the beggars these sleek-tongued villains have made in two cities during the past week—but women do not embezzle. “I have a cashier now who is the shrewdest woman I ever knew. She sits up there where the cash-bills roll in, evidently kept busy making change. But that young woman knows all that is going on at every counter of this large store. She catches shoplifters, reports irregularities among clerks, and detects eyery little devics invented by the salesmen to beat us or our customers. She is not a spy, or a ‘tattletale.’ The crookedness she reports among clerks would affect her if allowed to pass. She often calls me up and points out some mistake in tho cash check, saying, for instance, ‘that has occurred five times this week, Mr. is very careless.’ So you see she does not accuse him of willful mistakes in making out his checks, but I understand her and apply the proper dy“A cashier’s place is a hard one. She sits up there alone, generally; she must be quick to make change, and the knowledge that every cent lost comes out of her $8 or $9 a week naturally tends to make her nervous. She must watch for mutilated, punched, and plugged coins; and for counterfeit pieces and bad bills. The checks accompaning the cash are invariably written iu haste, are often illegible, and il she does not read the figures correctly she is liable to send back toe much change. “But you asked me if women embezzle. Never have I known a single ease ; never have I heard of one. I cannot say that of men. I have employed four young meh at different times. One left me, one was not quick enough, and the other two robbed me.”— Buffalo Ej-press. -

Standing on Plymouth Rock.

Never had I stood on more honored soil. The landscape, viewed from every point of interest, gave the keen impression of its original aspect. New England seldom clothes herself anew. "We were at Duxbury, eight miles up the bay. Going down to Plymouth one glorious morning—-oh,, how . .the sun. shines and the sweet sea breezes blow in Massachusetts!—we were a merry party. After leaving the depot, our first quest was Pilgrim Hall, in which is collected the relics of the'colony. It is a fine stone building, with a Grecian portico, adorned with a life-size bas-re-lief represting the landing of tho Pilgrims. Immediately outside the hall, engraved on a quaint slab, is the compact signed by the passengers of the Mayflower, displaying earnest zeal, love and devotion to the King of England. Three large pictures hang on the walls of the hall, descriptive of the embarkation and landing. In glass cases are various relics, swords and candles, purses, gems, rings, various deeds, records, and other manuscripts, curious and interesting, as displaying signatures of Miles Standish, John Alden, William Bradford and others. A cradle, several chairs, and cabinets of goodly shape and substance are also preserved. From the hall we walked to the old burying-ground on Burial Hill, where the site of the watch tower is indicated by four granite posts. A grand view of ocean and shore z we had there, and the dense masses of fbliage and patches of housetop at our feet. Then wandering about, we read the scarcely legible, rude inscriptions on the stones, which were made of slate, and had been capped with zinc to prevent decay. At the foot of the hill stands the church mentioned previously, on the site of the first church.— Cor., Chicago Inter Ocean.

A Liberal Cleric.

An Austin colored pastor, named Bledso, has made himself very unpopular with Jim Webster. He was passing the house of Jim, on Austin Avenue, when the proprietor called him in. “Come, parson, and hab a pifice ob cake and a glass ob wine. Dis heall am my buff day.” The reverend gentleman accepted the invitation. There was a large uncut cake on the table, and the clergyman was urged to cut it. “Whar shall I cut it?” he asked, taking up the knife, and looking at the cake in a bewildered sort of a way. “You kin jess hit whareber you pleases, parson.” “Which ? Say dat ober once moah.” “Jess cut hit whareber yer sees fit, parson.” A smile lit up the dusky features of the humble toiler in the Lord’s vineyard and he remarked fervently: “I’se much obleeged to yer, Jeems. Ib’leevede bes‘ place ter carve dis heah am in de seclusion ob my own .house, and, wrapping up the cake- in a newspaper, he carried it off under his arm.— Texas Siftings. The novel of the future will begin. “The full, bright mqon waa.juet silvering the tree-tops when a solitary coaehman, with a rope ladder under life arm, was seen wending his way,” etc. • o- • «■ ■ •. . ...