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Abbey, at. Poet’s Corner, under the roof-beams 
of which he was so soon to be laid in his grave, 
with a ruin of tears and flowers, he abruptly 
asked• What do you think would bo the reali¬ 
zation of oueol my most cherished day dreams? ’ 
Adding, Instantly, without waiting for any an¬ 
swer:—'To settle down now for the remainder 
of my life within easy distance of a great thea¬ 
ter, in the direction of which i should hold su¬ 
preme authority. Ii should be a house, of 
course, having u skilled and noble company, 
COUNT SCLOPIS 
DEACON FUSTIC’S WIFE 
Count Sclopis, President of the late Geneva 
Tribunal of Arbitration between the American 
and English Governments, is a man of much 
note in his own country, being a jurisconsult of 
great repute, and who has been for several 
years President of the Italian Senate. The man¬ 
ner in which hr- has presided over the delibera¬ 
tions of the great international tribunal has met 
with cordial approval from all part ies. The 
fact that he was chosen to preside Is, of it¬ 
self, a sufficient tribute to hiB ability and 
honor, and indicates the confidence all par¬ 
ties have in his judicial mind and executive 
ability. Wc give his portrait herewith, and 
regret that we have not the data at hand to 
give a more elaborate record of the past his¬ 
tory of this man. 
BY LAURA HOUTHOATK. 
DMACON' Fustic’s wife was an active Chris¬ 
tian ; she always rose ut five o'clock in the 
morning, Summer or Winter, and before the 
rest of the world had fairly opened its eyes, she 
had not only set her housekeeping ntfairs in 
train, and planned out the Deacon's work 
toi the day, but she had refreshed and 
wound up her soul, by n good, solid portion 
from the Biblo and Scott's Commentaries. 
Now, on one particular morning Mis. Fus¬ 
tic was up a little earlier than usual, and 
after administering a good, vigorous shake 
to the slumbering Deacon, and starting old 
Hannah from her bed with a loud call, she 
gave such a tremendous rap on black 
Peter's door, as caused his bones to jerk as 
though he had received a charge from a gal¬ 
vanic battery. 
“ Why, Peter, here It Is near 
o’clock and you not up! 
A FELLOW BY THE NAME OF 
HOLMES.” 
The following story is told concerning the 
late President Lincoln: — “In 1845, ‘Abe 
Lincoln,’ as he was then called, came to 
Bloomington, III,, about sixty miles from 
his home in Springfield, to defend an aged 
father in a suit for slander brought by his 
son. The old man's spouse, a second wife, 
and not altogether saintly in the estimation 
of the step-son, had spoken severely of the 
step-son's wife, and he prosecuted for slan¬ 
der, ns was supposed by some, more to get 
the old man’s money than to keep peace in 
the family. They had goue through the evi¬ 
dence, and Lincoln made t he closing speech. 
As he approached the close, he called the 
father to his side before the Jury, and spoke 
of the unnatural aspect, there presented by 
a man of gray hairs defending himself 
against the conduct of his child. Ruistng his 
hand higher than that frosted head, ho sum¬ 
moned the spirit of the departed mot her to 
console the defendant In his unmerited 
sorrows; to shield him in these days when 
he needed some requital of affection from 
the assault of their thankless child. ‘Her 
spirit of love is all that remains to him now,’ 
said Lincoln, ‘ for 
“ The mossy marbles rest 
On the lips t hat be has pressed 
In their bloom: 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been curved /or many a year 
On the tomb.'” 
“These lines Htled in like an exquisite 
piece of mechanism. The case was gained. 
A witness of the scone who reports the case 
says that at the close he asked Mr. Lin¬ 
coln, who was the author of those lines you 
repeated ? ’ 'Oh,’’ said he, * it was a fellow 
by the name of Holmes.’ " 
a'most five 
Well, now, be 
brisk and get. your ohoreB done up, and the 
wagon ready to take mo over to the Corners 
as soon us breakfast's over." 
And go, after breakfast, while the Deacon 
placidly took his hoe for u little exercise 
round the flower-bed, Mrs. Deacon, his wife, 
started for the Corners with a big bundle 
carefully wrapped up, and also n basket con¬ 
taining bottles, and parcels of ono sort and 
|Ov another. On they went, the Deacon’s wife 
talking partly to Peter and partly to her- 
sclf - 
§§^'1 “There now, Peter, stop. 1 want to find 
0,1 1' bow old Mr. Flktzel is." 
The wife of “old Mr. Fletzel" was al¬ 
ready approaching the wagon, and Mrs. 
Fustic learned that the invalid was much 
£ better, Mini the medicine ho had taken for 
the two or three dayfl had worked wonders. 
H| “ Well, never you mind that medicine any 
Up more," said tho Deacon's wife, in n Cono 
that signified that nothing but compliance 
W was to bo thought of. “ Here, you give him 
this that I’ve brought, you; there, Jot me 
sm?; this is the bottle. Now, give him this 
three times a day, be sure. Como now, 
Y/, Peter, let’s bo getting along; I'm in a 
/yt hurry," 
A mile further they went, and then drew 
near a little, dilapidated, disheartened-look- 
Ing house. 
“ Here, Peter, stop; I want to speak with 
Susie Evarts." 
“She as has lost her husband?" asked 
Peter, 
“Yes; here she is coming out. Well, 
Susie, I hope you are pretty well—that is,’ 
as well as you can be." 
“ Pretty well, nud 1 try to he cheerful," 
said Susie, beginning to cry. “ T keep my 
heart up by I hinking- by thinking how nice 
a little boy will bo." 
“ Little boy I Now, Susie, that’s just rid¬ 
iculous! What in tho world would you do 
with a boy ? Oh, no; a little girl’s better for you." 
A shade of disappointment passed over Susie’S 
face. “The doctor has left, some belladonna 
for me,” she said. 
“Bella-l'ool! Now. don't you take any such 
stuff us that, Ilore, I've brought you some 
boneset; now you steep it, and take a good 
bowlful before you go to bed at night; and don’t 
have no fussing with queer medicines. Well, 
now, I must, be going. Sam James' wife is going 
to have a party to-night, and I want to lend her 
these curtains of mine." 
Mrs. James had risen early that morning, and 
now, as Mrs. Fustic drove up, she was perched 
on the standing-stops, putting up some freshly- 
done-up white tnuslin curtains at her parlor 
windows. The window wus already finished, 
and Mrs. Holmes, her next door neighbor, and 
IIattie MARSTON.abrlghUeyed girl of eighteen, 
were busily engaged adjusting the loops of 
cherry-colored ribbon. 
"Oh, how lovely they make the whole room 
look," said Hattie: “so airy and cheerful." 
OLD UNCLE JAKE 
“Old Uncle Jake,” us he was called, a 
colored man, died at, Albany, the other day, 
whose life during the rebellion was full of thrill¬ 
ing adventures and devotion to the Union. One 
dreary night in September, 1803. while u com¬ 
pany of the Fourteenth Vermont infantry was 
on picket, duty in a pine swamp near Newborn, 
N. C., Uncle J»ko came into the lines at the risk 
of his life, to tell that a large force ol' rebels 
would gobble them up that night. On this In¬ 
formation tho company were deployed as skir¬ 
mishers, and about midnight eurno in contact 
with the enemy, and drove them back In great 
astonishment, to find the Yankees ready to 
meet them. A few weeks later, the capluiu and 
two sergeants of the Vermont company wore 
taken prisoners, and put in a boat to cross the 
bay. L'ncle Jake, who was rowing, cut the 
cords that bound them, and they, with a desper¬ 
ate struggle, succeeded in overpowering their 
captors and making them prisoners. Later still, 
Uncle Jake went out to get his wife and chil¬ 
dren arid bring them within the lines, when he 
was seized by the rebels, and tortured, to get 
some Information of the Union forces. News 
was oarriod to the Union pickets, and a squad 
of cavalry went just in time to find the rebels in 
the act of stringing old Jake up to a tree, hating 
faded to get any satisfaction from him. A short 
fight, and Jake was free again. These are only 
some of the incidents which would form a vol¬ 
ume if written. The war closed, and Uncle 
Jake was brought North. His wife died at Bos¬ 
ton, aud his children scattered. Two years ago 
he came to Albany, and with a small boy went 
around gathering ashes from day to day, until 
a short time ago he sickened and died. 
o <) u n r r 
we who cannot stretch out a huml without coin¬ 
ing in contact with genius and wealth, grown so 
fast that the muck of the sprouting place is not 
yet washed off by success. 
SCLOIMS. 
In obedience to my own judgment; the players, 
as well as the plays, being absolutely under my 
command. There,* said he, laughingly, and in a 
glow at the mere fancy, 
that’s my day dream! 
WEBSTER STOPPING THE INTEREST 
/v » Kirhit iri scaioner 8 Monthly says:—"Not 
lav away, in the Rue Bayard, day and night, 
works Gustave More, now painting, now rap¬ 
idly sketching in his great sketch books the de¬ 
signs wnich are to electrify the world. He is a 
little man, with dense black hair and ruddy 
complexion; with healthy chest and sinewy 
arms; and with « confiding, friendly manner, 
which at once wins everybody to him. His jet- 
black mustache shades clear-out aud firm lips, 
indexes to a character which has always held 
him above the level of the grosser Parisian 
temptations. His whole heart and soul are In 
hls work. He has had lights specially prepared 
in his great rambling studio, so that he may 
paint when he desires; and at the very moment 
that his admirers are swallowing their night¬ 
cap cup of coffee, and stupidly gazing at the 
procession of p&inted beauties along the Boule¬ 
vard des Italiens, he is sketching vigorously, or 
pacing up and down in the studio, overmastered 
by some now conception which be dare not yet 
con tide to paper. Dore has a horror of t he 
French passion for holidays, and once told a 
frfend that his severest trial was on New Year’s 
DANIEL \\ EUSTKK once dined with an old Bos¬ 
ton merchant, and when they came to wine, a 
dusty old bottle was carefully deountod by Peter 
and passed to the host. Taking the bottle, he 
poured out Mr. Webster’s glass and handed It to 
him. Then pouring out another for himself, he 
held it to the light and said: 
“ How do you like it, Mr. Webster? ” 
" I tfunk it a fine specimen of old Port.” 
“Now, you can't guess what that cost me?” 
said the host. 
“Surely not," said Mr. Webster. “I only 
know that it is excellent.” 
“ W( ‘ H ' now, I can tell you, for I made a care¬ 
ful estimate the other day. When I add the in¬ 
terest to the first price, I find that it cost me the 
sunj ol just one dollar and twenty cents per 
glass!" 
“ Good gracious! you don’t say so,” said Mr. 
Webster; and then draining his glass he hastily 
presented it again with the remark : 
“Fill up again asquick as you can, for I want 
to stop that confounded interest." 
PERSONAL ITEM8. 
Henry M. Smith, from 1854 to 1««5 connected 
with tho Democratic Press and Chicago Tribune, 
later and successively with the Chicago Repub¬ 
lican, Advance, etc., resumes, Oot.l, his old po¬ 
sition as managing editor of the Chicago Tribune. 
Dr. Arbhjcn, lately deceased, was the Inti¬ 
mate companion aud adviser of the Emperor 
William and Prince Bismarck during the late 
campaign in France; and because of his rela¬ 
tions to the Prussian Premier, come to beknown 
by the title of “ Bismarck’s Pen.” 
Mrs. Chase of New Hampton, N. EL, braided 
1.J00 palm leaf hats during the year ending July 
4, besides doing her own household work. It 
would be interesting as on economic item, if we 
could add the amount she received for this 
work, but we cannot. 
SOME OF THE SWEET SINGERS, 
A writer recently wrote concerning the 
prima donna just now the New Vork sensa¬ 
tion : “ Lucca, like Nilsson, came of plebeian 
stock, but, unlike Nilsson, she lnts matured 
into lyric greatness by a slower and surer pro¬ 
cess. I know not what slaves of St. Cecilia hunt 
the peasant fields of Europe for these diamonds, 
but most of us know by what laborious process 
they are polished and set, and how inevitably 
they oome, at last, to decorate a title with the 
radiance of their genius. The Baroness Von 
Rhaden sprang from obscurity in Vienna. It 
was in the Hof Theuter that she was first discov¬ 
ered, a little imp only eight years old, whose 
duties were to stand on her toes three hours 
