13S1B 
THE OLD CATHEDRAL ORGANIST 
’Trs fortr yearn nun since first 
I elimhort these dusty, winding stairs, 
To piny the Dean In : how t spurned 
Beneath my feet all meaner cures, 
'When llrst t leant, my cheek on fire. 
And looked down hlushing at the choir. 
Handel, and fl.aydn, and .Mnjinrt.— 
I thought they watched me ns I played ; 
While Palestrina's stern, sad face 
Scorned In the twilight to uphrald ; 
Palo fingers moved upon the keys- 
The ghost-bands of past centuries. 
Behind my oaken battlement 
Above the door 1 used to loan, 
And watch, in puffing crimson hood. 
Come stately sailing in the Doan; 
On this, the organ, breathing low, 
Began to murmur sett and slow. 
1 used to shut my eyes, and hear 
The solemn prophecy and psalm 
Kise up like Inennse ; and 1 loved 
Before the prayer the lull and calm, 
Till like the stream that, hursts its banks, 
Broke forth brave Ihircell s *' O give Thanks.” 
I know those thirteen hundred pipes 
And thirty stops, ns blind men do 
The voices of the friends they lovo. 
The bird s song, and the thunder too; 
And the fierce diapason's roar, 
Like storms upon a rocky shorn. 
And now to-day 1 yield me up 
The dusky seat, my old loved throne, 
Unto another; and no more 
Shall come here In the dusk alone, 
Or in the early matin hour. 
To hear my old friend’s volco and power. 
And yet methlnks that centuries bonce, 
Lying beneath the chancel floor, 
In that dark nook I shall delight 
To hear the anthems swell once more; 
And to myself shnll softly smile, 
When music Hoods the vaulted aisle. 
Or, mocking gravely at some hand 
Loss skillful than my own was once, 
In my snug nest I'll lie, and mark 
The blunders of the foolish dunoo; 
But to myself the secret keep. 
And turn me round again to sleep. 
i Chanihrrx’ Journal. 
EDITORS IN COUNCIL, 
In the beautiful village of Ithaca, which 
nestles clown between the hills at the head 
of Cayuga Lake, — one of those charming 
sheets of water which make Central and 
Western New York so very attractive,—there 
gathered recently over eighty of the editors 
of New York State, in annual convention. 
They were mainly the heads of country pa¬ 
pers, with a scattering representation of the 
City Press; and to the looker-on conveyed 
a fair idea ot the intelligence of the journal¬ 
istic profession. Their average youthful- 
noss was perhaps the most noticeable feature, 
and would have been first remarked by the 
spectator. Gray hairs were not wanting; 
hut they were exceptional, and served to 
make the prevailing youth more apparent. 
A photograph of the assembled “ We,” as 
seen in that, very pleasant hall which the 
liberality of Ezra Cornell has given to 
Ithaca, would be worth looking upon. Let 
a hasty pen-sketch of some of the most 
prominent in the assemblage, answer instead. 
Hon. J. II. Bulk red, President of the 
Convention, is in the chair, and first attracts 
attention. A man crowding hard upon the 
hflics, his iron-gray hair and beard are about 
the only indications of years and labor. He 
is a practical man ; began life at “ the case” 
when only thirteen years old, as an appren¬ 
tice; by his Scotch tenacity of purpose 
finally became proprietor and editor of the 
Ithaca Journal; has been three times elected 
to the State Legislature; and is well known 
as a political speaker. Even while presiding, 
his quaint, dry humor crops out frequently, 
lie writes in a hold, strong style, and is 
felicitous in speech, though somewhat de¬ 
clamatory. 
A. O. Bunnell of the Dansville Adver¬ 
tiser, and J. G. P. IIolden of the Yonkers 
Gazette, are the Secretaries. Bot h arc young 
tones 
SAVED BY A SATCHEL 
s uiiiioujsrij Hiij xja: 
BY IDA M. HOLMES. 
[Continued from page 44fi, last number.) 
“ I am listening,” she said, without looking 
up. 
“ And I have leave to go on ?” 
“ Certainly.” 
“ Well, then, I thought wc might neither 
of us miss the sleep if wc talked a little while.” 
“ And what,” she said, raising her eyes 
and meeting his frankly, “ would you pro¬ 
pose talking about?” 
He felt the relmko and winced. “You 
think it would have been wiser to have been 
less honest, or rather to have made the talk 
its own apology ? You are right, as I knew 
you would he; but if you can get over this 
first mistake there are a thousand subjects 
to choose from, any one of which it might 
not he lost lime to discuss. Otherwise, will 
you sleep ?" 
“ I think not, sir; I will listen.” 
“ Which means that you throw the whole 
responsibility upon me and challenge me to 
interest, you.” 
“ Perhaps I didn’t mean quite that, now 
that you put it so plainly, but you surprised 
me. People so seldom,” she explained, see¬ 
ing his look of inquiry', “speak to me or 
help me; strangers, I mean. It is like this, 
you know, 1 always have to carry my own 
satchel, select my own seat, and supply my 
own entertainment. I scarcely know how 
to explain it, but there are numbers of ladies 
who are always meeting with all these little 
attentions.” 
“ I might have been afraid of you if I had 
not detected you following my example of 
studying faces, which was quite fair, as I 
acknowledged before, and which —don’t 
make any apology — I am glad of, because 
it has given me boldness. Perhaps you did 
not decide me to be one of the helpful men? 
dear conscience he thrives well, gaining a 
little all the while on those two hundred 
pounds which he probably hopes to attain to. 
G. C. TJraodon, — a slight figure, frank, 
open countenance, dark, curly hair, and 
black eyes partially hidden by spectacles,— 
conducts The Ithacan, a new paper which 
he is making a credit to the village that is its 
namesake; James I. Hendryx, not far away, 
in striking contrast ns to form and feature,— 
a heavy, slow-moving, careful man, — has 
made a fortune (for a printer) out of the Re¬ 
publican A Democrat, at Cooperatew»; and 
H. N. Beach, — slight, nervous, genial, bis 
small blue eyes ever a-twinklc with kindness 
and good humor—can take life comfortably 
on the income of the Brockport Republic. 
Most of these mentioned are the eldest 
tnen present, and all are of the weekly press. 
Ol the younger men there are so many we can 
only glance at a few IIenry Stowell of 
the Reveille, Seneca Falls, with keen eyes, 
looking over a heavy auburn moustache, not. 
over thirty; D. E. De Voe, his junior by 
five or eight years, editor and proprietor of 
the Corning Democrat; C. Iv. Sanders, 
Nunda News, retiring, known better by his 
DOMESTIC PETS. 
Probably no other people in the world 
are so fond of pets as are the French. 
Dogs, cats and birds abound in every part 
of I ranee, and are in many places treated 
with a degree of attention which is indeed 
whimsical. A wealthy Parisian bestows 
nearly as much care upon his clog as upon 
himself. Choosing, generally, one of the 
smaller species, which is neither watchful 
nor faithful, but only something to be 
petted, he makes it an object of fashion,— 
curtails its cars aud tail according to the 
prevailing style, shears It wholly or par- 
tially, dresses it. with ribbons and jackets, 
even dyes it green, yellow, blue or rose 
coloi, as he may fancy. In many houses 
the bathing and perfuming of my lady’s 
dog, and its care in general, make up the j 
principal duty of one of Uie servants. 
In the imperial palaces, in the neighbor¬ 
hood ol Paris, hundreds of packs of the 
purest breeds of hounds are kept, for the use 
of the court in hunting, showing that the 
mb t and nobility of France gratify their 
love for canines to the greatest extent. Nero, 
t celebrated Newfoundland, was the especial 
pet of the Emperor for several years, enjoyed 
palatial comforts during his life, was wept 
lancicr. It, is said that she has assisted 
in flic car© of dogs since her twelfth year. 
Wee her as she stands before t he tub, feeding 
the mother of the litter of pups. Let any¬ 
one else dare to handle one of that mother’s 
young with Impunity, as she docs! But 
Mary is the mistress of them all; even the 
stately Marco, whom you sen licking the 
sides of the tub, though he dare not touch 
the food itself, respects her presence. The 
young rascals allow themselves morn liber¬ 
ties ; one is seen to push another into the 
meal tub, while, at the same time, the hold 
sparrows arrest his attention. The deer 
know that the juicy grass tied up in Mary’s 
apron is intended for them; only the cat, 
perched up in the tree, seems to mistrust the 
seeming peace; and yet, apparently, she is 
ready, relying upon the presence of her 
mistress for protection, to join in the general 
merry-making. 
— 4 ♦ » 
THE SPIRIT OF INVENTION. 
Three hundred years ago, before man had 
gained control of the forces of Nature, and 
was yet fighting for the hare liberty to study 
them, Lord Bacon thus estimated the import 
of inventions in the world’s affairs“ The 
introduction of new inventions seemetk to be 
the very chief of all human actions. The 
benefits of new inventions mav extend to nil 
and his nervous temperament, evidently the 
senior. He is methodical and correct in all 
business habits; takes pains with what ho 
does; is a good secretary, a conscientious 
editor; and is even more modest, than the 
fraternity in general. Mr. Holden is a 
blonde; uncertain to guess upon as to age,— 
put him thirty, with teu years to vary. He 
is unassuming aud earnest, and thinks more 
than he talks. 
That oval-featured gentleman, with blue 
eyes, red cheeks and gray hair, who sits 
tliroiightfiiUy by a side table, is 8. C. Cleve¬ 
land of the Penn Yan Chronicle. His one 
hundred and eighty pounds, or thereabouts, 
of avoirdupois, indicate editorial prosperity 
and a dear conscience. By his side is C. B, 
Thompson of the Le Roy Gazette, one of the 
oldest present; a practical printer, and as 
much at homo at “ the case ” as on the 
tripod; in person tali, rather spare, thin 
censor, bredoma, smooth-faced as a boy, 
sober us a prophet; B. R. Williams, Demo¬ 
crat, Ithaca, tall, youthful, notwithstanding 
his dark whiskers and moustache, waggish, 
never overlooked; and A. II. IIali^ Re¬ 
union, Watertown, large-framed, muscular, 
outspoken, English in feature aud cut of 
beard. 
Major James S. Thurston, Elmira Ad¬ 
vertiser, of a fine physique and soldierly air, 
thirty, perhaps, but experienced; F. A. 
Marsh, Syracuse Standard, solemn-visaged, 
humorous in proportion to his grave looks' 
wearing his forty-five years in a wise way- 
D. J. Halstead, Syracuse Courier, among 
the “grays,” but young at heart; W. 11. 
Barnes, Auburn Morning News, graceful 
in form, gentlemanly in manner and ad- 
Sorrow. — At whatever sign of genuine 
sorrow no one but a brute can mock. Sor¬ 
row is not more a ebastener of the true soul 
than it is an inspircr of reverence. There 
is a measure of grief that is spiritual, ele¬ 
vating, purifying, divine. Most humanizing 
and divine is that immortal picture of Niobe. 
The teal's of a mother over her dead babe— 
her first bom—or the sadness of whatever 
heat is bereaved—these arc sacred symbols 
of the divine that stamp and hallow our 
brotherhood—our humanitv. 
jus wmtemxi hair and beard arc deceptive. 
Quiet in demeanor, his force is a silent force. 
Not an orator, he will read his plain, practi¬ 
cal essay on the management of weekly 
papers, in a plain, almost diffident way, 
aud in a voice hardly powerful enough to 
fill the hall. S. IT. Parker Mr. Ad ams' 
neighbor, and publisher and editor of a rival 
journal, the Geneva Gazetui, is younger, 
slioit ui stature, full-face, like his type, vig¬ 
orous, with a smile ot greeting ever on his 
face or in his deep, sharp eyes. A man of 
strong individual resolution, he will “re- 
b°lve” tor the Convention as chairman of 
the Committee on Resolutions. 
Saratoga has its representative, in Walk® 
, P° TTli B of the Saratogian, considered 
of it.” 
“ I doubt that; it seems to me more likely 
because they do think.” 
“And determine that it is not worth 
while ?” 
“To help one so •apable of helping her¬ 
self.” 
She flushed slightly. “ You pay me a 
compliment. It. might help my pride to 
think you are right; but mind, sir, I do need 
help sometimes,—look at that carpet bag; it 
is heavy.” 
“ Then you are too diffident to look your 
need. Acknowledge, now, if a man offered 
to carry your satchel, would you not be 
tempted to say, ‘ no, thank you.’ ” 
“ Perhaps you guess shrewdly,” laughing 
outright, “ but I was not aware of having 
such a forbidding manner.” 
“ I object to the word. You do not forbid 
VIRTUE and Knowledge.— Virtue is a 
power for good in itself. On the other hand 
knowledge is power for good only as it is 
allied to virtue. Unsanctified knowledge is 
often a dangerous instrumentality, while un¬ 
lettered virtue is a tower of strength to 
society. A character in its nearest perfec- 
Betteii it is, 
